“Tell us about Mother, then,” says little Eileen. “Was she the best in the width of the world, too?”
“Sure, I’ll never be telling tales on my only twin sister,” says Uncle Larry, “beyond telling you that there was many another in green old Ireland just like her, whatever kind she was. But I can’t stay here wearing out my tongue! Look out the window! The chickens have gone to roost, and the sun is down. So get along with you to your beds.”
When he had gone, and the children were in bed, and the house quiet, the Mother sat down by the light in the kitchen with a basket of mending beside her.
And while she darned and mended and waited for Himself to come home, she remembered and remembered about when she was little Eileen, herself, and the King of the Crossing was just her twin brother Larry.
And this book is what she remembered.