“Ye must take men as ye find them, Ernest, me boy. I’m not speakin’ of meself, that has neither chick nor child, brother nor sister, wife nor husband belonging to me,” said Father McClosky with intense seriousness and earnestness; “for sure it’s little matter to me if I’m full or hungry; but for a man who has little children, to whom a few dollars makes all the difference between comfort and privation,—why, ye can’t blame him if he has an eye to the main chance, as folks call it.” “But has such a man as that always five dollars in hand to pay for his one necessary share?” “Sure he don’t need it, av he’s enough to pay for his meals—and, as I said before, it’s but little he needs for that. He comes here and enters his name as an applicant for what we call the patron’s share, and makes arrangements for his meals, as to the number in his family and the cost per day; then he pays ten cents a week extra on his share until the whole five dollars is paid, and, the day he hands in his last instalment, gets his certificate of stock and twenty-five cents interest; for, ye see, fifty weeks is almost a year, and the directors do it as an encouragement to him.” “Suppose he pays his five dollars down.” “So he ought, if he’s got it, and he gets his quarter back again, but only on one share. Sure, it’s not a society for the promotion of avarice that we are.” “I see. And one share is sufficient to enable a whole family to become patrons.” “Yes, that is, all who are under age or not self-supporting. We find the young folks eager enough to become shareholders when they begin to work for themselves.” “I dare say. Ah! there is the wagon you spoke of.” They had been standing near a window overlooking a large, paved yard, into which, as he spoke, a wagon rattled at storming pace, and simultaneously a side door opened and two or three boys appeared, each bearing a tray full of tin pails. Each pail was marked in large red letters, legible to Mr. Clare at his window, with the name of the mill, factory, or schoolhouse to which it was destined, and a small white ticket just above bore that of the individual to whom it belonged. It was marvellous to see the swiftness and ease with which the loading was accomplished and the boys vanished, even though one of them stopped to “give a back” to the others, who “leap-frogged” over it into the open door. “Boys will be boys,” said Father McClosky, “and, sure, exercise promotes digestion. Now, that wagon,” pointing to where it had just disappeared, “will be back inside of half an hour, ready to fill any other orders. There’s mighty good things in some of them buckets, let me tell ye. Miss Sally never stints on them. She says they use up what would be wasted, corners of pie and ends of cake and the like, stray apples and oranges, too, and always a kind thought for any poor girl that’s away from home, or a bone-tired teacher, with no one belonging to her.” “Is Miss Sally one of your heretics?”