"That's what. First jail-break in fifteen years. What d'ye think
of your Tommy, old girl, eh? Ain't he the gamest? Ain't you proud
of him?"

My God, Mag! Proud of him. He didn't know--he couldn't
see--himself. He, shut in like a wild beast, couldn't see what
this year has done for him. Oh, the change--the change in him! My
boy Tommy, with the gay, gallus manner, and the pretty, jolly
brogue, and the laughing mouth under his brown mustache. And this
man--his face is old, Mag, old--oh!--and hard--and--and tough,
cheap and tough. There's something in his eyes now and about his
shaven mouth--oh, Maggie, Maggie!

"Look here, Nance." He caught me by the shoulders, knocking up
my chin so that he could look down squarely at me. "What's your
graft? What's it to be between us? What've ye been doing all this
time? Out with it! I want to know."

I shook myself free and faced him.

"I've been--Tom Dorgan, I've been to hear the greatest actors
and actresses in the world say and do the finest things in the
world. I've watched princesses and kings--even if they're only
stage ones. I've read a new book every night--a great picture
book, in which the pictures move and speak--that's the stage, Tom
Dorgan. Much of it wasn't true, but a girl who's been brought up
by the Cruelty doesn't have to be told what's true and what's
false. I've met these people and lived with them--as one does who
thinks the same thoughts and feels what others feel. I know the