“Alanna, we wouldn’t have known ourselves, we’d have been so grand,” he added.  “Goold letthers, no less.  I don’t know that I’d altogether fancy them little skulls, though.  They would have been altogether too mournful.  I’d sooner have R.I.P. at all the corners—­wouldn’t you?”

“Maybe I would an’ maybe I wouldn’t,” said Mary.  “We needn’t be botherin’ our heads about it.  Larry’ll be apt to be puttin’ up a tombstone over us when we do go.”

“Sure what good will that do us over there where nobody knows us?” murmured Dan discontentedly.  “If it was here where all the neighbours ‘ud be lookin’ at it, it ’ud be somethin’-like.  But what signifies what kind of an ould gully-hole they throw us into over beyant—­there’ll be nobody to pass a remark about us, or to put up a prayer for us afther we’re gone, only Larry and his wife; an’ I question if she’s the lady to be throublin’ her head over the like of us.”

Mrs. Brophy was quite taken aback at this harangue, but soon recovered herself sufficiently to rate Dan as soundly as she considered he deserved; then, with many muttered comments on his ingratitude, she proceeded to crawl over to the hearth to prepare breakfast.

“Woman alive!” ejaculated Dan presently, “sure it’s not tay ye’re wettin’ this mornin’, an’ only a sign of it left in the bag.  Ye’ll be callin’ out for yer cup on Sunday, an’ there’ll not be a grain left for ye.”

“Good gracious, won’t the two of us be out of it before Sunday?” returned Mary tartly.  “Upon me word, a body ’ud lose patience wid ye altogether.  I’m sick an’ tired tellin’ ye that we’ve no call to be savin’ up the way we used to be doin’.  Sit down there, an’ don’t saucer yer tay, but drink it like a Christian out o’ the cup.  An’ for goodness’ sake, Dan, don’t be blowin’ it that way.  I declare I’ll be ashamed of me life if that’s the way ye’re goin’ to go on forenenst Mrs. Larry.”

“Would ye have me scald the throat out o’ meself?” retorted Dan indignantly.  “I wish to goodness that letther o’ Larry’s was at the bottom of the say.  Ye’re that contrairy sence, I dunno whatever to do wid ye.  Bedad, if that’s the way wid ye I’ll not stir a fut out o’ this.  Mind that!”

Mrs. Brophy, though much incensed, nevertheless deemed it prudent to make no reply; and presently Dan, pushing back his stool, got up and went out.  Mary sat cogitating for some minutes alone; her reflections were not altogether of the pleasantest order, and she was relieved when, by-and-by, Mrs. Kinsella’s voice hailed her from the doorway.

“How’s yourself this morning?” inquired the visitor pleasantly.  “Did you think it was dramin’ ye were when ye woke up?  I suppose the two o’ yez’ll soon be out o’ this now.  I was thinkin’”—­leaning her arms affably on the half-door—­“any ould things, ye know, that wouldn’t be worth yer while to bring along wid yous ’ud come in very handy for me down below.  Of course I wouldn’t