Mrs. O'Shaughnessy is a widow, too, and has quite an interesting story.
She is a dumpy little woman whose small nose seems to be smelling the
stars, it is so tip-tilted. She has the merriest blue eyes and the
quickest wit. It is really worth a severe bumping just to be welcomed
by her. It was so warm and cozy in her low little cabin. She had her
table set for supper, but she laid plates for us and put before us a
beautifully roasted chicken. Thrifty Mrs. Louderer thought it should
have been saved until next day, so she said to Frau O'Shaughnessy, "We
hate to eat your hen, best you save her till tomorrow." But Mrs.
O'Shaughnessy answered, "Oh, 't is no mather, 't is an ould hin she was
annyway." So we enjoyed the "ould hin," which was brown, juicy, and
tender.

When we had finished supper and were drinking our "tay," Mrs.
O'Shaughnessy told our fortunes with the tea-leaves. She told mine
first and said I would die an old maid. I said it was rather late for
that, but she cheerfully replied, "Oh, well, better late than niver."
She predicted for Mrs. Louderer that she should shortly catch a beau.
"'T is the next man you see that will come coortin' you." Before we
left the table some one knocked and a young man, a sheep-herder,
entered. He belonged to a camp a few miles away and is out from Boston
in search of health. He had been into town and his horse was lamed so
he could not make it into camp, and he wanted to stay overnight. He was
a stranger to us all, but Mrs. O'Shaughnessy made him at home and fixed
such a tempting supper for him that I am sure he was glad of the chance
to stay. He was very decidedly English, and powerfully proud of it. He
asked Mrs. O'Shaughnessy if she was Irish and she said, "No, ye
haythen, it's Chinese Oi am. Can't yez tell it be me Cockney accint?"
Mr. Boutwell looked very much surprised. I don't know which was the