noses and pat their glossy necks and say in a choked voice, "Tim's
horses! Tim's horses! and we can't kape 'em!" And many a time that day
would she smooth the signs of grief from her face to go into the house
again with what cheer she could to her seven sons, who were gathered
listlessly about the kitchen stove. Many a time that day would she tell
herself stoutly, "I'll not give in! I'll not give in! I've to be brave
for eight, so I have. Brave for my b'ys, and brave for mesilf. And shall
I fret more than is good for Tim's horses whin I know it's to a kind
master they're goin', and he himsilf a helpin' us to-morrow with the
movin'? The Lord's will be done! There's thim that thinks the Lord has
no will for horses and such. And 'tis mesilf is thankful that I can't
agree with 'em."

Occasionally, as the morning passed, one of the boys stepped to the
window for a moment, for even to glance out at flying flakes and a
wintry landscape was a relief from the depression that had settled down
upon them all.

That was a neighborhood of churches. Seven or eight miles from any town,
it was remarkable to see three churches within half a mile of each
other. Small, plain buildings they were, but they represented the firm
convictions of the United Brethren, the United Presbyterians, and the
Methodists for many miles around. Now all these people, vary as they
might in church creeds, were united in a hearty admiration for plucky
little Mrs. O'Callaghan. They all knew, though the widow would not own
it, that destitution was at her door. The women feared that in taking
her boys to town she was taking them to their ruin, while the men
thought her course the only one, since a destitute woman can hardly run
a farm with only seven growing boys to help her. And for a day or two
there had been busy riding to and fro among the neighbors.