She unhesitatingly named a number, many of whom I knew; and as that had frequently been done before, I saw no reason to doubt the girl’s word. “Now,” I said, “I want to speak with your sister. You may go.” The little one held on to her sister’s hand and cried bitterly. When the other was gone, I drew the child towards me and questioned her, but could not get a word in reply. For the next day or two I was bothered somewhat by a big Irishman named O’Donnell, who was a fire-brand among the steerage passengers. He _would_ harangue them at all hours on the wrongs of Ireland, and the desirability of blowing England out of the water; and as we had many English and German passengers, as well as many peaceable Irishmen, who complained of the constant ructions O’Donnell was kicking up, I was forced to ask him to keep quiet. He became very abusive one day and tried to strike me. I had him locked up until he came to his senses. While I was in my room, after this little excitement, Mrs. O’Donnell came to me and pleaded for her rascally husband. I had noticed her before. She was a poor, weak, broken-hearted woman whom her husband made a slave of, and I have no doubt beat her when he had the chance. She was evidently mortally afraid of him, and a look from him seemed enough to take the life out of her. He was a worse tyrant, in his own small way, than England had ever been. “Well, Mrs. O’Donnell,” I said, “I’ll let your husband go, but he will have to keep a civil tongue in his head and keep his hands off people. I’ve seen men, for less, put in irons during a voyage and handed over to the authorities when they landed. And now I want you to do me a favour. There are two children on board without tickets. I don’t believe they ever had tickets, and I want to find out. You’re a kind-hearted woman, Mrs. O’Donnell, and perhaps the children will answer you.” I had the two called in, and they came hand in hand as usual. The elder looked at me as if she couldn’t take her eyes off my face. “Look at this woman,” I said to her; “she wants to speak to you. Ask her some questions about herself,” I whispered to Mrs. O’Donnell. “Acushla,” said Mrs. O’Donnell with infinite tenderness, taking the disengaged hand of the elder girl. “Tell me, darlint, where yees are from.” I suppose I had spoken rather harshly to them before, although I had not intended to do so, but however that may be, at the first words of kindness from the lips of their countrywoman both girls broke down and cried as if their hearts would break. The poor woman drew them towards her, and, stroking the fair hair of the elder girl, tried to comfort her while the tears streamed down her own cheeks. “Hush, acushla; hush, darlints, shure the gentlemin’s not goin’ to be hard wid two poor childher going to a strange country.”