“And are there no faults with America, whatever?” Mr McQueen said to Michael.
“There do be faults with her,” Michael answered, “and I’ll never be the man to say otherwise. There’s plenty of things to be said about America that would leave you thinking ’tis a long way this side of Heaven. But whatever it is that’s wrong, ’tis the people themselves that make it so, and by the same token it is themselves that can cure the trouble when they’re so minded. It’s not like having your troubles put down on you by the people that’s above you, and that you can’t reach at all for to be correcting them! All I say is there’s a better chance over there for yourself and the children.”
The Twins and Dennis and the other young people were getting tired of sitting still by this time, and when Michael stopped talking about America they jumped up. The children ran outdoors and played tag around Grannie’s house, and the older people stayed inside.
By and by Grannie came to the door and called them. “Come in, every one of you,” she cried, “and have a fine bit of cake with currants in it! Sure, Michael brought the currants and all the things for to make it yesterday, thinking maybe there’d be neighbours in. And maybe ’tis the last bit of cake I’ll be making for you at all, for ’tis but two weeks now until we start across the water.” She wiped her eyes on her apron.
Mr McQueen was very quiet as he walked home with Mrs McQueen and the Twins. And that evening, after the children were in bed, he sat for a long time silent, with his pipe in his mouth. His pipe went out and he did not notice it. By and
by he said to Mrs McQueen, “I’ve made up my mind—”
“The Lord save us! To what?” said Mrs McQueen.
“To go to America,” said Mr McQueen.
Mrs McQueen hid her face in her hands and rocked back and forth and cried. “To be leaving the place I was born, and where my father and mother were born before me, and all the neighbours, and this old house that’s been home since ever I married you—’twill break the heart in my body,” she said.