"But town is a bad place for boys, I'm told," urged the neighbor.

"Not for mine," answered the widow quietly. "They're their father's
b'ys, an' I can depind on 'em. They moind me loightest word. Come here,
Pat, an' Moike, an' Andy, an' Jim, an' Barney, an' Tommie!"

Obediently the six drew near. She raised Larry to her lap, and looked up
touchingly into their faces. "Can't I depind on ye, b'ys?"

"Yes, mother, course you can," answered Pat for them all.

A moment the widow paused to steady her voice, and then resumed, "It's
all settled. A-Saturday I goes to town to get a place. A-Monday we
moves."

The neighbor saw that it was indeed settled, and, like a discreet woman,
did not push her counsel further, but presently took her leave, hoping
that the future might be brighter than it promised for Mrs. O'Callaghan
and her boys.

* * * * *

"Aise 'em up an' down the hills, Pat, the dear bastes that your father
loved!"

Mrs. O'Callaghan and Pat were driving to Wennott behind the team that
was theirs no longer, and it was Saturday. No need to speak to Pat. The
whip rested in the socket, and he wished, for his part, that the horses
would crawl. He knew how poor they were, and he did not want to go to
town. But mother said town, and town it must be.