china dogs on the shelf above the wide hearth.

The legend ran that when he was young, a marriage had been arranged
for him. On the appointed wedding-day he had gone to the chapel, the
priest was there, and the wedding-guests, but no bride came. Michael
Twomey therefore, after a fruitless exercise of patience, left the
chapel in deep wrath and humiliation, and proceeded to walk home
again. On the road he was faced by a string of laughing girls, and
among them there was little Mary Driscoll. Mary had then, no doubt,
such grace as youth can give, and that she had, at least, good teeth,
was obvious to the disgruntled Michael Twomey, as she was grinning at
him from ear to ear. Also, possibly, his sight may not even then have
been of the best. Be that as it may, Michael caught at Mary's arm.

"Come on to the chapel, Mary!" he shouted at her, in the Irish that
was a more common speech in those days than it is now; "The priest is
there yet, and the money is in my pocket. I'll marry you!"

Michael had made a luckier hit than he knew. Little Mary Driscoll
recognised the sporting quality of the suggestion, and being a girl of
spirit acceded to it.

Mary had been to America. She was one of the many of her class who put
forth fearlessly for the United States, adventuring upon the unknown
without any of the qualms that would beset them were the bourne
London, or even one of the cities of their native land. Wasn't Mary's
mother's sisther's daughter, and Maggie Brian from Tullagh, and the
dear knows how many more cousins and neighbours, before her in it?
Didn't her brother that was marrit in it, send her her ticket, and
wasn't there good money to be airned in it?