"'Tis an iligant breeze there is this mornin'," he cried. "Come out, mother, dear, and sit in father's chair. You've got a wash boy this mornin', so you have, and he'll need a lot of showin'."
He reached for the washboard as he ceased, and smiled lovingly on his mother.
"Moike! Moike!" cried Mrs. O'Callaghan in a trembling tone, "'tis sweet to be took care of. I hain't been took care of since your father died."
"Then 'tis time you was!" answered Mike. "And I'm the boy to do it, too. Come out, mother dear."
And the mother went out.
"But there's your housework, Moike."
"That can wait," was the positive reply.
"But there's your schoolin'."
"I'm not goin' to school to-day. I know my lessons. I learnt 'em last night. Will I be goin' to school and sittin' there all day, and you all tired out a-washin' for us? I won't that."
"Moike, 'twas your father was dreadful headstrong when he set out to be. It's fearin' I am you're loike him there."