"That's what I'm coming to, Peter. She has gone into a convent. And that's what's happened since you went away. I can't stop here, Peter—I will never do a hand's turn in Ireland—and father is getting too old to go to the fairs. That's what we were thinking when you came in."
There was a faint tremble in his voice, and Peter saw how heart-sick his brother was.
"I will do my best, James."
"I knew you would."
"Yes, I will," said Peter; and he sat down by the fire.
And his father said:—
"You are not smoking, Peter."
"No," he said; "I've given up smoking."
"Will you drink something?" said James. "We have got a drain of whiskey in the house."
"No, I have had to give up spirits. It doesn't agree with me. And I don't take tea in the morning. Have you got any cocoa in the house?"