Pat made no answer.

"Did you see thim geese a-squawkin' down by the tracks?" asked Mrs.
O'Callaghan, as she and her son settled themselves on the high spring
seat of the farm wagon.

Pat nodded.

"There's an idea," said his mother. "There's more than wan in the world
as can raise geese. An' geese is nice atin', too. I didn't see no
runnin' water near, but there's a plinty of ditches and low places where
there'll be water a-standin' a good bit of the toime. An' thim that
can't git runnin' water must take standin'. Yis, Pat, be they geese or
min, in this world they must take what they can git an' fat up on it as
much as they can, too."

The thin little woman--thin from overwork and anxiety and grief--spoke
thus to her tall son, who, from rapid growing, was thin, too, and she
spoke with a soberness that told how she was trying to strengthen her
own courage to meet the days before her. Absorbed in themselves, mother
and son paid no heed to their surroundings, the horses fell into their
accustomed brisk trot, and they were soon out on the narrow road that
lay between the fields.

"Now, Pat, me b'y," said Mrs. O'Callaghan, rousing herself, "you're the
oldest an' I'll tell you my plans. I'm a-goin' to git washin' to do."

The boy looked at his mother in astonishment.