The front door into the Mall, Cluhir's most fashionable quarter,
banged.

"Well, well!" said Mrs. Mangan, still sympathetic, while she removed
the curling-pins from her bison fringe; "wasn't it the will of God
that I had a headache this morning and couldn't go to Mass! I'll have
something to say to Father Greer now if he draws it up to me that I
was backward in my duty!"

Much fortified by this reflection, Mrs. Mangan hurriedly proceeded
with her toilette, squalling meanwhile to her bench-woman in the
kitchen a summary of the Doctor's orders. She had no more than
achieved what she called her "Sunday dress," a complimentary effort to
be equally divided between Saint Stephen and young Mr. Coppinger, when
the back-door into the yard from the house slammed, and her daughter's
voice announced her return.

"Come up, Tishy, till I talk to you!" shouted Mrs. Mangan, slinging a
long gold watch-chain over her head and festooning it upon her ample
bosom: "Did you meet Pappy?" she continued, as her daughter's steps
drew near.

"I did to be sure," returned Miss Letitia, coming into her mother's
room and flinging herself into an armchair, "when I was crossing the
bridge it was. He roared to me to hurry you and Hannah. Holy Mary
Joseph! How stiff I am! That old horn on the saddle has the right leg
cut off me!"

"Well, never mind your legs now," replied Mrs. Mangan, peremptorily,