“I like that part of it no better than yourself,” said Mr McQueen, “but when I think of the years to come, and Larry and Eileen growing up to work as hard as we have worked without getting much at all, and think of the better chance altogether they’ll have over there, sure, I can’t be thinking of the pain, but only of the hope there is in it for them.”
“I’ve seen this coming ever since the children told us about Grannie Malone’s letter,” said Mrs McQueen. “’Tis Michael has put this in your head.”
“’Tis not Michael alone,” said Mr McQueen; “’tis also other things. To-morrow I pay Conroy the rent money. And it will take all that the pig brought and all I’ve been able to rake and scrape myself, and nothing left over at all. And there’s but ourselves and the Twins, and the year has not been a bad one. We have had the pig, which we wouldn’t be having another year. And what would it be like if there were more of us to feed, and no more pigs to be found in the bog like manna from Heaven, to be helping us out?”
“Sure, if it’s for the children,” sobbed Mrs McQueen, “I’d go anywhere in the world, and that you know well.”
“I do know it,” said Mr McQueen. “And since we’re going at all, let it be soon. We’ll go with Grannie and Michael.”
“In two weeks’ time?” cried Mrs McQueen.
“We will so,” said Mr McQueen. “I’ve no debts behind me, and we can sell the cows and hens, and take with us whatever we need from the house. Michael Malone will lend me the money and find me a job when we get there. The likes of this chance will never befall us again, and faith, we’ll take it.”
“Did he tell you so?” asked Mrs McQueen.
“He did, indeed.”
