"Is it 'live'? Thin I could hardly say. It's mate an' petatys an' tea, an' Pat will have his glass. He's sober enough--not like Mike, that's off on his sprees every month; but now we don't be gettin' the same as we used. Pat says there's that cravin' in him that only the whiskey 'll stop. It's tin dollars a month for the rooms, an' that's two an' a half a week steady; an' there's only seven an' a half left for the five mouths that must be fed, an' the fire an' all, for I can't get more'n the four dollars for me washin'. It's the mate you must have to put strength in ye, an' Pat would be havin' it three times a day, an' now it's but once he can; an' that's why he's after the whiskey. The children an' meself has tay, an' it's all that keeps us up." "How do you cook your meat, Norah?" Norah looked at me suspiciously: "Shure, the bit we get don't take long. I puts it in the pan an' lets it fry till we're ready. Poor folks can't have much roastin' nor fine doin's. An' by that token it's time it was on now, if you won't mind, ma'am. The children 'll be in from school, an' they must eat an' get back." "I am going in a few moments, Norah. Go right on." Norah moved aside her boiler, drew a frying-pan from her closet, put in a lump of fat and laid in a piece of coarse beef some two pounds in weight. A loaf of bread came next, and was cut up, the peculiar white indicating plainly what share alum had had in making the lightness to which she called my attention. A handful of tea went into the tall tin teapot, which was filled from the kettle at the back of the stove. "That isn't boiling water, is it?" I ventured. "It'll boil fast enough," Norah answered indifferently as she pulled open the draughts, and soon had the top of the stove red hot. The steak lay in its bed of fat, scorching peacefully, while the tea boiled, giving off a rank and herby smell. "Pat doesn't get home to dinner, then, Norah?" "There's times he does, but mostly not. They'd like a hot bite an' sup, but it's too far off. There's five goes from here together, an' a pailful for each--bread an' coffee mostly, an' a bit o' bacon for some. It's a hot supper I used to be gettin' him, but the times is too hard, an' we're lucky if we can have our tea an' bread, an' molasses maybe for the children. Many's the day I wish myself back in old Ireland." As she talked the children came rushing up the stairs, Norah the second, pale-faced and slender, leading the way; and I took my leave, burning to speak, yet knowing it useless. Fried boot-heel would have been as nourishing and as tooth-some as that steak, and boiled boot-heel as desirable and far less harmful a drink, yet any word of suggestion would have roused the quick Irish temper to fever-heat. "It's Norah can cook equal to myself," Norah had said with pride as she emptied the black and smoking mass into a dish; and these methods certainly cannot be said to be difficult to follow.