in her bed-room until daylight looking back through all the years of
her short life.

It seemed as if she were cutting off all that beautiful golden
period. She would never again know the free, careless, happy-go-
lucky, living-from-day-to-day existence, that she had loved so much.

It was a pale, wistful, tired little Peg that joined her father at
breakfast next morning.

His heart was heavy, too. But he laughed and joked and sang and said
how glad they ought to be--going to that wonderful new country, and
by the way the country Peg was born in, too! And then he laughed
again and said how FINE SHE looked and how WELL HE felt and that it
seemed as if it were God's hand in it all. And Peg pretended to
cheer up, and they acted theiv parts right to the end--until the
last line of land disappeared and they were headed for America. Then
they separated and went to their little cabins to think of all that
had been. And every day they kept up the little deception with each
other until they reached America.

They were cheerless days at first for O'Connell. Everything reminded
him of his first landing twenty years before with his young wife--
both so full of hope, with the future stretching out like some
wonderful panorama before them. He returns twenty years older to
begin the fight again--this time for his daughter.

His wife was buried at a little Catholic cemetery a few miles
outside New York City. There he took Peg one day and they put
flowers on the little mound of earth and knelt awhile in prayer.