There were a great many steerage passengers coming on at Queenstown, he said, and there was quite a hurry getting them aboard. Two officers stood at each side of the gangway and took the tickets as the people crowded forward. They generally had their tickets in their hands and there was usually no trouble. I stood there and watched them coming aboard. Suddenly there was a fuss and a jam. “What is it?” I asked the officer. “Two girls, sir, say they have lost their tickets.” I took the girls aside and the stream of humanity poured in. One was about fourteen and the other, perhaps, eight years old. The little one had a firm grip of the elder’s hand and she was crying. The larger girl looked me straight in the eye as I questioned her. “Where’s your tickets?” “We lost thim, sur.” “Where?” “I dunno, sur.” “Do you think you have them about you or in your luggage?” “We’ve no luggage, sur.” “Is this your sister?” “She is, sur.” “Are your parents aboard?” “They are not, sur.” “Are you all alone?” “We are, sur.” “You can’t go without your tickets.” The younger one began to cry the more, and the elder answered, “Mabbe we can foind thim, sur.” They were bright-looking, intelligent children, and the larger girl gave me such quick, straightforward answers, and it seemed so impossible that children so young should attempt to cross the ocean without tickets that I concluded to let them come, and resolved to get at the truth on the way over. Next day I told the deck steward to bring the children to my room. They came in just as I saw them the day before, the elder with a tight grip on the hand of the younger, whose eyes I never caught sight of. She kept them resolutely on the floor, while the other looked straight at me with her big, blue eyes. “Well, have you found your tickets?” “No, sur.” “What is your name?” “Bridget, sur.” “Bridget what?” “Bridget Mulligan, sur.” “Where did you live?” “In Kildormey, sur.” “Where did you get your tickets?” “From Mr. O’Grady, sur.” Now, I knew Kildormey as well as I know this ship, and I knew O’Grady was our agent there. I would have given a good deal at that moment for a few words with him. But I knew of no Mulligans in Kildormey, although, of course, there might be. I was born myself only a few miles from the place. Now, thinks I to myself, if these two children can baffle a purser who has been twenty years on the Atlantic when they say they came from his own town almost, by the powers they deserve their passage over the ocean. I had often seen grown people try to cheat their way across, and I may say none of them succeeded on _my_ ships. “Where’s your father and mother?” “Both dead, sur.” “Who was your father?” “He was a pinshoner, sur.” “Where did he draw his pension?” “I donno, sur.” “Where did you get the money to buy your tickets?” “The neighbors, sur, and Mr. O’Grady helped, sur.” “What neighbours? Name them.”