"'Ye mind what I say'd t' ye on th' road t' Antrim, Jamie? That "love is Enough"?'
"'Aye.'
"'I tell ye again wi' my dyin' breath.'
"I leaned over an' kiss't 'er an' she smiled at me. Ah, bhoy, if ye could haave seen that luk on 'er face, it was like a picture ov th' Virgin, it was that.
"'Tell th' childther there's only wan kind ov poverty, Jamie, an' that's t' haave no love in th' heart,' says she.
"'Aye, I'll tell thim, Anna,' says I."
He choked up. The next thought that suggested itself for expression failed of utterance. The deep furrows on his face grew deeper. His lips trembled. When he could speak, he said:
"My God, bhoy, we had to beg a coffin t' bury 'er in!"
"If I had died at the same time," I said, "they would have had to do the same for me!"
"How quare!" he said.