“She’s a hard, cruel woman. I’ll say that for her, Tom dear,” said Mrs. Murphy. “But never you mind. You’re welcome to stay here, though it’s a poor place. We’re going to have some supper directly, and you must take some with us.”
“I’ve eaten supper,” said Tom.
“What did you have?”
“Two apples.”
“I don’t say nothin’ ag’in’ apples, for it’s them I live by, but tay and toast is better for supper. Biddy, toast the bread, and I’ll set the table. When a body’s tired, a cup of tay goes to the right spot, and you’ll find it so, Tom dear.”
The good-hearted woman bustled about, and set the table, while Biddy, a girl of ten, toasted a large number of slices of bread, for the young Murphys were all blessed with good appetites. The tea soon diffused a fragrant aroma about the little room. Mrs. Murphy, humble as were her means, indulged in one solitary extravagance. She always purchased the best quality of “tay,” as she called it, no matter what might be the price.
“It’s a dale chaper than whiskey,” she used to say, in extenuation of her extravagance. “It’s mate and drink to me both, and warms me up besides, when I’ve got chilled by rason of stayin’ out all day.”
There was a plate of cold meat placed on the table. This, with the tea and toast, constituted Mrs. Murphy’s evening repast.
“You can sit by me, Tom dear,” she said, her face beaming with hospitality. “It isn’t much I’ve got, but you are heartily welcome to what there is. Children, set up to the table, all of you. Mike, see that Tom has enough to ate. There’s one thing I can give you, and that’s a cup of illigant tay, that a quane might not turn up her nose at.”
In spite of the two apples, Tom made room for a fair share of Mrs. Murphy’s supper. Once more she felt that she had a home, humble enough, to be sure, but made attractive by kindness.