But Danny leaned over and put it into Kathleen’s hand. “Those that are slow at knitting stockings are oftentimes quickest at catching turfs,” he said. “You may have the cross to wear, mavourneen, if you like.”
Kathleen hung her head. “I finished the stockings before I left Donegal,” she replied, “and the peddler said they were well-knit.”
“Is there bog-land all over Ireland?” asked little Mary Ellen, who knew that her sister did not like to talk about the stockings.
“Grandmother Barry used to say that Kilkenny was the most favored county in the country,” replied Bee; “and in one of my old reading-books there was a rhyme about Kilkenny, that it had:
Fire without smoke, air without fog,
Water without mud, and land without bog.“
“Kilkenny,” repeated Kathleen. “That is where I am going to visit Aunt Hannah, I suppose; but I know I shall never like it so well as living here with you, Cousin Bee.”
Bee went into the house and came back again in a few minutes, carrying a small flat box from which she took a photograph of a pleasant-faced woman, the very image of dear Uncle Barney.
“There’s your Aunt Hannah Malone,” she said, showing the picture to Kathleen; “she is the best woman in the world, and the mother of ten fine children.” And Kathleen, looking at the twinkling eyes and smiling mouth, knew at once that she should be happy in Kilkenny.