Down across the railroad track, a little northeast of the depot, was a
triangular bit of ground containing about as much as two lots, and on it
had been erected a poor little shanty of two rooms. The widow knew of
this place, and she meant to try to secure it.

"'Twill jist do for the loikes of us, Pat, for it's a low rint we're
after, an' a place quiet loike an' free from obsarvers. If it's poor ye
are, well an' good, but, says I, 'There's no use of makin' a show of
it.' For it's not a pretty show that poverty makes, so it ain't, an',
says I, 'A pretty show or none.' I see you're of my moind," she
continued with a shrewd glance at him, "an' it heartens me whin ye agree
with me, for your father's gone, an' him and me used to agree
wonderful."

Pat's lips twitched. He had been very fond of his father. And all at
once it seemed to him that town and the shanty were the two most
desirable things in their future.

"But, cheer up, Pat! 'Twas your father as was a loively man, d'ye moind?
Yon's the town. It's hopin' I am that our business'll soon be done."

Pat's face brightened a little, for he found the entry into even so
small a town as Wennott a diversion. To-day he looked about him with new
interest, for here were streets and stores that were to become familiar
to him. They entered the town from the south and drove directly to its
center, where stood the courthouse in a small square surrounded by an
iron hitching-rack. Stores faced it on every side, and above the stores
were the lawyers' offices. Which one belonged to the man who had charge
of the place the widow wished to rent, she wondered, and Pat wondered,