“Mrs. Maggie McCaffry, and me husband is Tam that is working for Mr. Burns at Beartown.”
Mike clasped his hands and with a glowing expression stepped forward.
“I knowed it! I knowed it!” he exclaimed, as if overrunning with joy.
“Knowed phwat?”
“That ye were my mither’s fourth cousin that lift Tipperary fur Noo York six years ago, but by some mistake landed in Dublin jail—bad cess to them as made the same mistake!”
“It’s bad enough fur ye to be born in the same counthry wid mesilf, but I war-r-n ye to make no claim to relationship. There’s some things a respictable leddy can’t stand.”
“Did ye not almost break me heart by thinking I was a Dutchman?” asked Mike reprovingly.
“I’ll make the same roight by axing the pardon of ivery Dutchman I maats for the rist of me born days. ’Twas har-r-d on the poor haythen.”
“Aunt Maggie, I’ll give ye all me wealth if ye’ll consint to let me dry mesilf in front of yer fire.”
“Arrah, now, what are ye saying? Five cints is no object to me——”