"Not at all, not at all," cried Peggy Murphy, "that's an ordher for money. I knew the looks of it the minute I set eyes on it—the very same as wan that Mrs. O'More sent me from Dublin, the price of a pair o' chickens she sent for, afther she went up. Bedad, you're in luck, Dan. How much is it for, now, Maggie?"
"Ah! good gracious! don't be axin' the child them things. Sure how in the world could she tell, an' it afther bein' written in America?—God bless us! let her have a look at the letther anyhow."
"'My dear uncle and aunt,'" began Maggie, slowly spelling out.
"My dear Uncle and Aunt," began Maggie
Mrs. Brophy uttered a shrill scream, and clapped her hands together. "It's from Larry! Lord bless an' save us! it's Larry himself, him that I thought in his grave this fifteen year! God bless us, it's dramin' I am—it can't be true! Dan, d'ye hear that? Good gracious, what's the man thinkin' of, stan'in' there, lookin' about him, the same as if he never heard a thing at all. Dan" (with an impatient tug at his sleeve), "d'ye hear what I'm tellin' you? Larry isn't dead at all, an' he's afther writin' to us from America."
"Well, to be sure," cried Mrs. Kinsella. "Your sister's son, wasn't he, ma'am? La'rence Kearney. A fine young fellow he was, too. He went an' listed on yez, didn't he?"
"Aye, an' she was near breakin' her heart when he done it," chimed in Peggy Murphy; "sure, I remember it well."
Several other bystanders remembered it too, and expressed their sympathy by divers nods and groans; old Dan at last impatiently throwing out his hands for silence.
"Whisht! whisht! we can't be sure whether himself's in it at all yet. Let the poor little girl be gettin' on wid the letther, can't yez? Sure maybe it isn't Larry at all."