the fire in a corner of the room.

"Ye'll pardon me," said Mrs. Fitzpatrick to Kalmar, "fer not axin'
ye in at the first; but indade, an' it's more your blame than mine,
fer sorra a bit o' thim takes afther ye."

"They do not resemble me, you mean?" said the father. "No, they are
the likeness of their mother." As he spoke he pulled out a leather
case, opened it and passed it to Mrs. Fitzpatrick.

"Aw, will ye look at that now!" she cried, gazing at the beautiful
miniature. "An' the purty face av her. Sure, it's a rale queen she was,
an' that's no lie. An' the girl is goin' to be the very spit av her.
An' the bye, he's got her blue eyes an' her bright hair. It's aisy
seen where they git their looks," she added, glancing at him.

"Mind yer manners, now thin," growled Tim, who was very
considerably impressed by the military carriage and the
evident "quality" of their guest.

"Yes, the children have the likeness of their mother," said the
father in a voice soft and reminiscent. "It is in their behalf I am
here to-night, Madam--what shall I have the honour to name you?"

"Me name, is it?" cried Mrs. Fitzpatrick. "Mishtress Timothy
Fitzpatrick, Monaghan that was, the Monaghans o' Ballinghalereen,
an owld family, poor as Job's turkey, but proud as the divil,
an' wance the glory o' Mayo. An' this," she added, indicating
her spouse with a jerk of her thumb, "is Timothy Fitzpatrick,
me husband, a dacent man in his way. Timothy, where's yer manners?