She liked to taze me, and make me believe she was worse than she was. “At last Mr. Hill and his wife made up their minds to buy a large farm clear up in the country, a great many miles off from Philadelphia, and Elsie and me went with them. This did Gracey good, and she was a better girl ever afterward, for when she was left alone in Philadelphia, she saw how cross she’d been to me, and this made her sorry; and she went to church rigilar, and attended to her duties, and used to go and talk to my good old priest, Father Shane, for he writ about it to me, unbeknownst to her—och, but I was glad thin. “After I’d been in the country—on the farm, I mane—a letter came from mother, telling us of poor grandmother’s death, and the letter had all tears over it, which made Elsie and me cry, for we know’d they were poor mother’s tears. In this same letter she said she wished we could send her a ticket to come to Ameriky with; that if she could only see her Bridget once more before she died, she would be happy. This was spring-time, so I takes up Elsie’s money and mine, and goes off to Philadelphia to buy a ticket for mother and show Gracey mother’s letter. Gracey had no money to give me, for she was always extravagant; and no wonder, for she was pretty, like mother, and liked a bit of finery better than plain folks like myself. She cried about it, but I comforted her, and told her niver mind, I’d enough; but I couldn’t buy myself a dress—that I didn’t let her know though for fear she’d fret. “So I bought the ticket, and got Father Shane to write a letter for me. I was going to stay in Philadelphia a week—so Mrs. Hill said I might; but the day after I bought the ticket, a wagon came all the way from the farm to tell me Elsie was dying—that she had sickened the day I left, and had the measles. Then again, Miss Enna, I was in trouble, for Elsie was so good, and she looked like father. Och, I cried all the way out to Mrs. Hill’s. Sure enough, when I got there my poor baby was near gone. I nursed her night and day, poor child, but ’twas no use, God took my _wean_ away from me. “The night she died she opened her eyes and know’d me for the first time. I thought she was getting well, though the doctor said she couldn’t. “‘Bridget,’ siz she, ‘we’d a nice play down in the glen, hadn’t we!’ “I couldn’t answer, my heart was so full, for I saw she thought she was home in Coleraine. “‘Bridget!’ she called, and held out her little hands to me. I took her in my arms, cryin’ all the time. “‘Let’s go into the cottage,’ siz she, ‘for father and grandmother have been callin’ us a good many times. It’s dark out here, Bridget, and cold—hold me, Bridget, dear, for I can’t see.’