"Let me, Mrs. Nolan—I see them."
"Well, well—but 'tis the spry lad ye are! Sure, you're across the floor in one leap—like a stag just."
"Oh, sure; my legs are young. And one spoonful o' sugar is it, ma'am?"
"One—yes. And now sit down. And so it's a Republican ye are? And an Irishman, too? Well, well—they do be queer happenin's in the world!"
"Queer enough. And from what part of Ireland are ye, ma'am?"
"Galway."
"A fine place, ma'am. I know it."
"Do ye now? But you're not Galway?"
"I wouldn't lie to ye, ma'am, though I'm tempted—I'm not; but I had an uncle, as fine a man as ever lived, who died there. I went to see him there once, and a grand time I had with salmon-fishin' in the loch and fishin' with the Claddagh men in the bay—and on a Saturday night the little boys singin' the old Irish songs in the streets and before Mrs. Mack's hotel door. And was it in Galway the last of your people died?"
"It wasn't. And they didn't die—they were killed, God rest their souls!"