CHAPTER XIV


"Go away from me, Miss Christian!" shouted Mrs. Twomey (but this was
merely an ejaculation of pleased surprise, not to be taken literally).
"Go-to-God-he-did-not!"

"He did, indeed, Mrs. Twomey!" replied Christian, rooting at her habit
pocket, and extracting her purse. "He said that he'd won the
scholarship, and he knew you were praying hard for him or he wouldn't
have got it, and he said I was to give you this, with his love."

"This" was a golden sovereign, a coin that did not often in its beauty
and entirety come Mrs. Twomey's way.

She curtseyed so low that since--as has been said--she was but little
over four feet, Christian had to lean low over Harry's withers in
order to drop the sovereign into her hand.

"That the sun may shine on his soul, my lovely gentleman! That he may
never want crown, pown', nor shi'n, nor you nayther! The Kingdom o'
Heaven is your due, the pair of yee, and may yee be long going there!
Amin!"

A silent and prayerful moment followed on the benedictions, and Mrs.
Twomey's bright little eyes rolled devoutly heavenwards. This
concession to the solemnity of the occasion disposed of, the
beneficiary became normal again.