“Even then the girl hesitated. She'd been so used to bein' a slave that I suppose she couldn't realize she was free at last.
“'But, Mike, dear,' she says. 'I—oh, your lovely hat! Put it down, Archie, darlin'. Put it down!'
“Archibald had been doin' a little cruisin' on his own hook, and he'd dug up Mike's shiny beaver where it had been dropped in the hall. Now he was dancin' round with it, bangin' it on the top as if it was a drum.
“'Put it down, PLEASE!' pleads Margaret. 'Twas plain that that plug was a crown of glory to her.
“'Drop it, you little thafe!' yells O'Shaughnessy, makin' a dive for the boy.
“'I won't!' screams Archibald, and starts to run. He tripped over the corner of a mat, and fell flat. The plug hat was underneath him, and it fell flat, too.
“'Oh! oh! oh!' wails Margaret, wringin' her hands. 'Your beautiful hat, Mike!'
“Mike's face was like a sunset.
“'Your reverence,' says he, 'tell me this; don't the wife promise to “obey” in the marriage service?'
“'She does,' says Father McGrath.