"I know I'm little," she nodded back at him, "but it's the grit in me
that makes me strong. I can do it. For Tim's b'ys an' mine I can do it.
Four days in the week I'll wash for other people, Friday I'll wash for
my own, Saturday I'll mind for 'em, an' Sunday I'll rist."

A few moments there was silence. The
widow seemed to have no more to say.

"An' what am I to do?" finally burst out Pat. "An' what's Mike to do?
Sure we can help some way."

"That you can, Pat. I was comin' to that. Did you notice the biggest
room in the little house we rinted the day?"

Pat nodded.

"I thought you did. You're an obsarvin' b'y, Pat, jist loike your
father. Well, I belave that room will jist about hold three beds an'
lave a nate little path betwane ivery two of 'em. It's my notion we can
be nate an' clane if we are poor, an' it'll be your part to make ivery
wan of thim beds ivery day an' kape the floor clane. Larry an' mesilf,
we'll slape in the kitchen, an' it's hopin' I am you'll kape that
shoinin', too. An' then there's the coal to be got in an' the ashes to
be took out. It does seem that iverything you bring in is the cause of
somethin' to be took out, but it can't be helped, so it can't, so 'Out
with it,' says I. An' there's the dishes to be washed an'--I hate to ask
you, Pat, but do you think you could larn cookin' a bit?"

She looked at him anxiously. The boy met her look bravely.