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“ An’ what will the Granny take for her breakfast?”
Mr. O’Toole was in the habit of inquiring, as though
the subject were a highly complicated one, and
admitted of a variety of answers. At the same time
he flourished his ladle, and regarded his mother with
a smile of deferential interest.

“Mush an’ milk, af it plaze ye, Dennis me son,”
Granny would reply with her silvery brogue.

‘Biddy, me love?”

“Mush an’ milk in coorse!”

Biddy had little admiration for the grand ways of
her husband. :

“ Terry, me boy, an’ how is it with ye the mornin’? ”

“ Mush an’ milk, sir, af ye plaze.”

“ An’ Norah honey, what will ye have?”

“Mush an’ milk, sir, plaze ye.”

And so on until all were helped in due order.

But “moild” as was the father, and “sinsible” as
was the mother, it was to Granny’s lap the culprit
always fled who had just escaped.from the scene of
some gay roguery; and it was into Granny’s ear that
they poured daily a recital of the trials and adventures
of each individual little O’Toole, which is saying a
good deal, for there were eight of them! and when
the day was ended, and from the four quarters of the
globe the eight little O’Tooles came trooping in for
supper and bed, while Dennis rested by the fire, and
Bridget bustled more softly than usual about the room,
it was Granny’s silver voice which related to them some
marvellous story, giving them glimpses into beautiful
paradises outside their own poor, besmirched little
world. Sometimes the story would be of the exqui-
site fairy Erina, who waved a wand and a green
island rose from the depths and settled into the midst
of the sea, “ the same bein’ called Ireland, me dears,
at the prisent day ;” sometimes it was of the noble
giant Ap Tolladin, the founder of the kingly house
of O'Toole: but oftener the story was of the charming
and unfortunate Princess of Kilcannel, who, after
being hunted from her father’s kingdom, and treated
with exasperating cruelty — one feature of her torture
being an enforced existence for weeks at a time upon
a diet of toads and mushrooms — was finally rescued
and restored to her possessions by a brave and hand-
some knight, in whose society she enjoyed all man-
ner of blessings forever after. This story Granny
related to one child or another almost every day of her
life.

One afternoon when Terry was eight or ten years
old, he was trudging along the highway in a doleful

GRANNY.

mood, because he could not go to school. A maiden
lady who kept house by herself in the village near
Terry’s home, had that day opened a “select school,”
and as there was no other in the place just then,
nearly all of Terry’s mates were going. Terry had
begged hard to be ailowed to go too; but Dennis
had answered sadly:

“Spade it as hard as I can, me boy, it's little
enough we get to ate, let alone the larnin’.”

Terry knew that his father spoke the truth, so he

had quite given up the idea, and was plodding home-

ward from the village with a package of nails, where-
with to make coops for some of Granny’s expected
broods, when he suddenly met the teacher face to
face. Terry’s eyes filled with tears the minute.

““What’s the matter, my boy?” asked the teacher,
who was odd, but kindly.

Terry paused to sob a bit, for the sympathizing tone
had filled his heart full to overflowing; then added:

“ Nothin’ much, mum !”

“Tell me about it,” said the teacher peremptorily.

“Nothin’ ” — with a great swallow of salt tears —
“ only —I can’t go to school.”

“Do you keep hens?” inquired the teacher with
apparent irrelevance. She knew something about the
O’Tooles, and she did not keep hens herself.

Terry beamed all over with a vague sense of en
couragement,

“Granny does.”

“Well, bring me an egg a day, and you can come
to school.”

Terry went home hop-skip, sure of Granny’s help;
and every day he carried an egg to school, and
learned far more than its worth, while Granny —
Granny was the happiest little Irish woman in the
world, to think that she could do something to make
a ‘“gintleman ” of her pet.

‘Terry grew tall and strong very fast, and at sixteen
could do a man’s work, and earn almost a man’s
wages, and take care of his own schooling evenings.
Granny’s hens were housed now, thanks to Terry’s
skill, in a regular palace which stood on a knoll be-
hind the house, afid was surrounded by a village of
ornamental coops. In fact a good many improve-
ments had been made all about the modest O’Toole
dwelling. This had originally consisted of two rooms
below and a “loft” above, which was roughly par-
titioned into two dusky chambers.

Granny had always slept in a curtained little bed
in her own special corner of the western and larger