“’T would hurt me more nor him to tak’ a little, small mon across me knee,” Kerrigan replied, “but ’t would be both me duty and right. But he’s only jokun’, me dear. He’s laughun’ in his sleeve this minut’.”
Reilly eyed him with a look of ferocity.
“Tin years younger, ye lump,” he said, “and small as I am, I’d fetch ye the mate of it over the jaw, big as ye are.”
“Hiven be thanked for the tin years, thin!” exclaimed Kerrigan, piously.
“Yes, Heaven be thanked!” echoed Kate. “’T would be a sore thing for a loving girl to see her old father in the hands of a strong man. You’ll always be tender to him, won’t you?”
“Always,” promised Kerrigan—“tender, but firm.”
“Thank you,” she said softly. “I knew you would. But good-by, Father.”
“Ye can’t go,” snapped Reilly. “Into the house wid yez!”
“What!” she cried. “And me of age, and earning me living these five years!” She threw back her head and walked toward the gate, with her father following after.
“Thin I’ll go wid yez, ye ungrateful girl,” Reilly declared.