"Gold it would be, if I had my way, and the glass precious stones. But I do the best with what there is," replied Molly.
She dearly loved to hear a word of praise in return for her labours. This Kathleen knew well, and she encouraged Mrs. Quirk to admire the flowers and other decorations. The old lady readily did this, for she was typically Irish in finding it far easier to give a generous measure of encouragement than to blame the actions of another.
"It is you, Molly," she would say—at first, until corrected by the girl, it had been Miss Molly—"that can put the flowers in their proper places! It is a pleasure to come into the church and find the altar so beautiful. Those carnations, now, they remind me of Heaven."
"It is dahlias they are, Mrs. Quirk," Molly would reply; "and out of your own garden."
"Is it dahlias? Well, I am getting a little blind, Molly; but the beauty is there, whatever the flowers may be."
Thus encouraged, Molly would speak of her proteges.
"Joe McCarthy told me the same, and he thinks more praise is due to you than me. You send me the flowers every day."
"And why not? What better use for them? But which is Joe McCarthy?" Mrs. Quirk might answer.
"Don't you know Joe? Such a good boy, but unfortunate. He was with Regan, driving the cart, when the horse ran away and broke himself and the cart into small pieces. It was a mercy Joe was not in the cart," Molly would continue.