“Bud we can’t ate bricks an’ mortar, sure,” complained he. “An’ I’m too owld till go till work, now, Maggie.”
“But I am not,” said Maggie, with a laugh. “Why you have said yourself, Daddy, that I earn more in a month than you ever did with Mr. McMullen.”
“Is it have me sponge on yez bit av wages ye’d have me do?” exclaimed the old man. “God forgimme, Maggie, I couldn’t do that.”
The door bell rang at this moment.
“It’s Mr. Mason, I suppose,” said Maggie. “He told me that he would drop in during the evening, and said that he wanted to speak to you.”
But it was Annie Clancy, the grocer’s daughter, a quiet, pretty girl, and a great favourite of Maggie’s.
“I only came in to say that Mary Carroll is coming around to see you,” announced Annie. “She said that she was afraid you’d be goin’ out, so she asked me to run around and tell you to wait.”
“An’ how is young McGonagle, Annie?” asked Owen, banteringly.
“Now, Daddy!” warned Maggie, with uplifted finger.
“What harm?” persisted Owen, who delighted to twit the girl about her sweetheart. “Sure, they tell me, Annie, that he do sarve yez father wid better milk than any av his other customers.”