"We'll be used to it in toime," said the heavy-eyed little widow to
yawning Pat and Mike the next morning. "And the more things you get used
to in this world the better for you. I belave it's quite something loike
to be able to sleep with engines tootin' and blowin' off steam, and
bells a-ringin', and cars a-bumpin'. Even a baby can slape where 'tis
quiet, you know."

Breakfast had been over an hour.

"Now, Pat," said his mother, "that's not the way to make beds. Off with
them covers and make 'em over again."

Mrs. O'Callaghan was standing in the doorway and looking in at the
roomful of beds. "I don't mane it for unkindness, Pat, but sure and the
way you've got 'em made up they look jist loike pigs' nests with covers
over 'em. There, that's better," she commented when Pat had obediently
made all the beds over again under her instructions. "You can't larn all
there is to bed-makin' in a day. 'Tis practice makes parfect, as your
copy book used to say. But I'm thinkin' you'll have it in a week, for
you're your father's son, and he was a quick wan to larn, was Tim. And
now I'll be teachin' you a bit of cookin' while I have the chance. You
must larn that as quick as you can, Pat, for a poor cook wastes a sight,
besides settin' dishes of stuff on the table that none but pigs can eat.
And in most places the pigs would get their messes, but here we've got
no pigs, and whativer you cook we've got to be eatin'. Andy was askin'
for beans for to-morrow a bit ago. What's your ideas about bakin' beans,
Pat? How would you do it?"

Pat thought a moment. "I'd wash 'em good, and put 'em in a pan, and bake