"Sure 'tis herself's the kind lady, givin' the poor Irish immigrants the welcome!"
Welcome!
Miss Kezia began to beat an ignominious retreat. She had to confess herself unequal to the occasion. Her inclination set strongly toward turning these undesirable guests from her house. But their gratitude was so exuberant; they were so sure of her welcome, so childishly hilarious.
"'Tis herself's giving us the grand time entirely!"
"Won't ye be sittin' down wid us, me dear?" The old woman who had kissed her hand dragged a chair forward invitingly.
"'Tisn't much we've left ye," she pursued, "but ye'll be havin' a piece of cheese now?"
Miss Kezia heard, amazedly, her own voice making excuses, as she edged back into the doorway. A grimy little hand was thrust up in front of her; a beguiling little voice suggestively besought God to bless her.
Miss Kezia looked down into a smutty imp's face with eyes as blue and innocent as Heaven.
"God bless ye, lady! God bless ye, lady!"
Slowly Miss Kezia opened her purse, slowly she took from it a halfpenny, and dropped it into the little hand.