"Ye did, father."

"Then why didn't ye obey me?"

"Sure an' what would I be doin' at home, all alone, without you?
Don't be cross with me, father."

He took her hand and they walked home in silence. He had been crying
and Peg could not understand it. She had never seen him do such a
thing before and it worried her. It did not seem right that a MAN
should cry. It seemed a weakness--and that her father, of all men,
should do it--he who was not afraid of anything nor anyone--it was
wholly unaccountable to her.

When they reached home Peg busied herself about her father, trying
to make him comfortable, furtively watching him all the while. When
she had put him in an easy chair, and brought him his slippers, and
built up the fire, she sat down on a little stool by his side. After
a long silence she stroked the back of his hand and then gave him a
little tug. He looked down at her.

"What is it, Peg?"

"Was my mother very beautiful, father?"

"The most beautiful woman that ever lived in all the wurrld, Peg."

"She looks beautiful in the picture ye have of her."