place respicted,' says I."

She turned from the door and went back to her work.

"There's some as thinks the Gineral has a business," she went on.
"There's them that calls him a banker. But what sort of a business is
that now? Jist none at all. All he does is to take in the money, and put
it in a safe place where nobody won't steal it, and hand it out again
when it's needed, and lend a little now and then to somebody that wants
it and is loikely to be payin' it back again. Anybody could do that.
There's no work to it. And, by the same token, it's no business. When
the war was over, the Gineral's business was done, I say, and it's
hopin' I am it'll soon be evenin', for I'm wantin' to hear what Pat'll
say."

It was, in the main, a quiet supper at the shanty, and, for the most
part, a silent evening. One by one the boys went to bed, and Pat and his
mother were left alone.

"Pat," began Mrs. O'Callaghan, in a tremble of eagerness and
apprehension, "who do you think was here the mornin'?"

"Sure and I couldn't guess, mother dear. You'll have to be tellin' me."

"And so I will," was the prompt reply. "'Twas Mrs. Gineral Brady, then.
And she loikes your work that well, Pat, she wants you to go to her
house to live."

At first the boy looked bewildered. Then a light of understanding
flashed over his face, and he blushed as if with shame. To go out to