"Ye see, Mistress McVeigh, Tommy wus one o' the boys, an' a pal o' ours, an' we hate to see ye stuck for the full expenses o' this funeral. God knows we owe him plenty fer the generous way he stayed by his mates, an' we don't want him receivin' charity from no one. We had a meetin' o' the lot o' us down town las' night, and every man put in his share to make Tom right with the world. We've got fifty-five dollars here, and we want ye to take it."
The men counted out the money on the table, silver and bills of small amounts, until it made quite an imposing pile, then they placed a piece of paper upon it, with the words, written very badly, "For Tommy, from his pals."
They looked towards Nancy, and her averted face was wet. She did not sob, yet tears were streaming down her cheeks.
Sophia Piper was home in ten days, having received a message after considerable delay. The resident minister met her at the station and comforted her as well as his kindly soul knew how. He told her all the circumstances connected with the death and burial of her brother, and took particular pains to place Nancy McVeigh's part in it in its true light, as he had a warm spot in his heart for the old tavern-keeper. They drove together out to the home of Cousin Jim, where the servants had opened the house in preparation for their coming. The weather-stained gable of Nancy McVeigh's tavern, like some old familiar face, came into view by the way, and Sophia asked to be set down at the door.
Nancy, tall, angular and sympathetic, walked into her parlor to meet her guest.
The minister did not stay, but left them together, the younger woman sobbing on the breast of the older, who bent over and stroked the troubled head softly.
CHAPTER III.
JOHN KEENE'S EDUCATION.
"If the world had no mean people, there'd be little use fer kindness," remarked Nancy McVeigh to Moore, the operator at the railway junction, who always enjoyed a smoke and a half-hour chat with his hostess after his midday meal. They were discussing the escapades of young John Keene in the little parlor upstairs, whither Mistress McVeigh had gone to complete a batch of home-knit socks for her son, Cornelius, who lived in Chicago.