beds for all sorts of summer blooms hugging the house, and looked about
to see farther on occasional other beds. Everything was represented in
her flower garden, from sweet alyssum and mignonette to roses and
lilies, just as a little of all sweet qualities mingled themselves in
her disposition. She was no longer young, and she had come to be quite
frail.

"I hope he will come," she said as she let herself in at the front door.

From the shanty she had come the back way, a part of which followed the
railroad track, and the walk had not been very long, but wearily she
sank down to rest.

"He's such a handy boy," she thought. "If he shouldn't come!"

And down at the shanty Mrs. O'Callaghan, as she washed vigorously for
her boys, was thinking, too.

"It's wishin' I am 'twas avenin'," she cried at last, "and then 'twould
be off my moind, so 'twould. I can't tell no more than nothin' what
Pat'll be sayin'. And what's worse, I can't tell what I want him to be
sayin'. 'Tis the best I want him to be doin', but what's the best? If he
don't go, there's a chance gone of earnin' what we need. And if he does
go, I'll be at my wits' ends to kape him from settlin' that Jim Barrows.
It's widows as has their trials when they've sivin b'ys on their hands,
and all of 'em foine wans at that."

It was a very uncertain day. Cloud followed sunshine, and a sprinkle of
rain the cloud, over and over again.