O'Connell remained silent.

"Did ye love her betther than ye love me, father?"

Her soul was in her great blue eyes as she waited excitedly for the
answer to that, to her, momentous question.

"Why do ye ask me that?" said O'Connell.

"Because I always feel a little sharp pain right through my heart
whenever ye talk about me mother. Ye see, father, I've thought all
these years that I was the one ye really loved--"

"Ye're the only one I have in the wurrld, Peg."

"And ye don't love her memory betther than ye do me?"

O'Connell put both of his arms around her.

"Yer mother is with the Saints, Peg, and here are you by me side.
Sure there's room in me heart for the memory of her and the love of
you."

She breathed a little sigh of satisfaction and nestled onto her
father's shoulder. The little fit of childish jealousy of her dead
mother's place in her father's heart passed.

She wanted no one to share her father's affection with her. She gave
him all of hers. She needed all of his.