Thus brought to book Jim grew confused. He blushed and stammered under the unfavorable regard of his mother and two older brothers, and finally confessed that he knew nothing more. At which Barney and Tommie nudged each other. They did not understand what all the talk was about, but they could see that Jim was very red in the face, and not at all at his ease, and their beforetime hectored little selves rejoiced.
"B'ys," said the mother, "I told you if your blessed father was here he'd not be above learning from any one, old or young. And he wouldn't, nayther. And sure he said larn himsilf. And from Jim here he'd learn better than that, and he'd learn, too, how them that knows very little is the quickest to make a show of it. But kape on, Jim. It's glad I am you know the difference betwane larn and learn, and sure the only difference is that wan's wrong and the other's roight."
Jim had hoped to quite extinguish Andy by his corrections, and he hardly knew where he was when his mother finished; and he was still more abroad when Pat took him out after supper and vigorously informed him that bad manners were far worse than bad grammar.
"Well, well," thought the widow that evening as she waited alone for Pat, "Jim do be gettin' ahead of me, that he do. He's loike to have the consate, so he is, take him down as a body will. But there's wan good thing about it. While he's studyin' to beat us all on the talkin' he's lettin' the little b'ys alone famous. He didn't never do much to 'em, but he jist riled 'em completely, so he did, and made 'em cross at iverybody."
CHAPTER XIV
A month went along very quietly and, following that, another month. The weeds that had flourished along the sides of the ditches were all dead. No more did the squawking O'Callaghan geese delight themselves among them. The kitchen stove had long been brought back into the shanty, and Barney and Tommie, sitting close behind it on their short evenings that ended in bedtime at half-past seven o'clock, had only the remembrance of their labors. But that memory sweetened the prospect of savory dinners to come, for even Barney and Tommie liked to feel that they were of some importance in the family world. Often had their mother praised them for their care of the geese, and once she had bought for them a whole nickel's worth of candy and had bestowed this great treat with the words, "And how could I be havin' geese only for the little b'ys? You'll jist be givin' Larry a bit, for sure and he'll be past four nixt summer, and helpin' you loike anything."
The candy, like the summer, was only a memory now, but, without putting their hope into words, there lingered in the minds of the two an anticipation of more candy to come.
As for Larry, he lived from day to day and took whatever came his way cheerfully, which he might well do, since he was a general pet wherever he was known.
But now a new difficulty confronted the widow. Snowtime had come. How was she to get Larry along to her wash places? She was sitting late one Friday afternoon thinking about it. All day the snow had been falling, and many times, in the early dusk, had Jim been out to measure the depth with his legs. And each time he returned he had worn a more gratified smile.