"Ye are so! Very well, thin, consider yourself under arrest this minute," said Haney, beginning to clamber out of the carriage. The woman stared a moment; then a slow grin developed on her face so like to Haney's own that Bertha laughed. The lost sister was found. As Haney neared her, he called out: "Well, Fan, ye're the same old sloven ye were when I used to kick your shins in Troy for soapin' me mouth." "Mart Haney, by the piper!" she exclaimed, wiping her lips and hands in anticipation of a caress. "Where did ye borry the funeral wagon?" He shook her hand--the kiss was out of his inclination--and responded in the same vein of mockery: "A friend of mine died the day, and I broke out of the procession to pay a call. Divil a bit the dead man cares." "Who's with you in the carriage?" "Mrs. Haney, bedad." "Naw, it is not!" "Sure thing!" "She's too young and pretty--and Mart, ye're lame! And, howly saints, man, ye look old! I wouldn't have known ye but fer the mouth and the eyes of ye. Ye have the same old grin." "The same to you." "I get little chance to practise it these days." "'Tis the same here." "But how came ye hurt?" "A felly with a grievance poured a load of buckshot into me side, and one of them lodged in me spine, so they say." She clicked her tongue in ready sympathy. "Dear, dear! But come in and sit ye down. Ask yer girl to come in--I'm not perticular." "She's me lawful wife," he said, and his tone changed her manner into something like sweetness and dignity. "Go ye in, Mart. I'll fetch her." As the young wife sat in her carriage before this wretched little home and watched that slatternly sister of her husband approach, she rose on a wave of self-appreciation. Haney lost in dignity and power by this association. For the first time in her life the girl acknowledged a fixed difference between her blood and that of Mart Haney. She was disgusted and ashamed as Mrs. McArdle, coming to the carriage side, said bluffly: "'Tis a poor parlor I have, Mrs. Haney, but if ye'll light out and come in I'll send for Pat. He'll be wantin' to see ye both." Bertha would have given a good deal to avoid this visit, but seeing no way to escape she stepped from the carriage under the keen scrutiny of her hostess and walked up the rickety steps with something of the same squeamish care she would have shown on entering a cow-barn. "Here, Benny!" called Mrs. McArdle. "Run you to Dad and tell him me brother Mart has come, and to hurry home. Off wid ye now!"