Hen Cassidy came next. Hen's mother was a widow who lived on the edge of want. Hen and I did a little barter and exchange on the side, while Anna emptied and refilled his can. He had scarcely gone when the verdict was rendered:
"Bacon an' nettles," Jamie said, "she's as hard up as we are, this week!"
"Poor craither," Anna said; "I wondther if she's got aanything besides broth?" Nobody knew. Anna thought she knew a way to find out.
"Haave ye aany marbles, dear?" she asked me.
"Aye, a wheen."
"Wud ye give a wheen to me?"
"Aye, are ye goin' t' shoot awhile? If ye are I'll give ye half an' shoot ye fur thim!" I said.
"No, I jist want t' borra some." I handed out a handful of marbles.
"Now don't glunch, dear, when I tell ye what I want thim fur." I promised.
"Whistle fur Hen," she said, "and give him that han'ful of marbles if he'll tell ye what his mother haas fur dinner th' day."