Half-way up the rocky hillside they came upon the Brophys' abode, a one-storied cabin, with a cabbage garden, a potato plot, and a scanty patch of wheat climbing up the mountain at the rear. Dan himself stood in the doorway, eagerly on the lookout for them; while a querulous voice from within warned them that "herself" had reached the limit of her patience. Entering they descried her--a tiny old woman, bent almost double with age and rheumatism, leaning forward in her elbow-chair with the letter on her knee. Maggie was hustled to the front and the packet placed in her hand. She turned it over and over, and finally broke the seal. "It's from America," she said. "Bedad, alanna, I knew that before," returned old Dan, who was bending over her, his weather-beaten face betraying the utmost mystification. "Sure all of us knew that," murmured the bystanders. "Well, give the child time to see what's in it," urged Mrs. Kinsella. "Father Taylor himself couldn't tell yez what's in a letther before he had it opened." "Who's it from, Maggie asthore? Tell us that much," cried Mrs. Brophy with shrill eagerness. Maggie drew the letter from the envelope and slowly unfolded it. An enclosure fell out. Several hands were outstretched to catch it, and Mrs. Kinsella succeeded. "What in the name o' goodness is this?" she asked. "There's print on this. I hope to heaven it's not a summons, or a notice to quit, or anything that way." "Not at all, not at all," cried Peggy Murphy, "that's an ordher for money. I knew the looks of it the minute I set eyes on it--the very same as wan that Mrs. O'More sent me from Dublin, the price of a pair o' chickens she sent for, afther she went up. Bedad, you're in luck, Dan. How much is it for, now, Maggie?" "Ah! good gracious! don't be axin' the child them things. Sure how in the world could she tell, an' it afther bein' written in America?--God bless us! let her have a look at the letther anyhow." "'My dear uncle and aunt,'" began Maggie, slowly spelling out. [Illustration: THE FLITTING OF THE OLD FOLKS "My dear Uncle and Aunt," began Maggie] Mrs. Brophy uttered a shrill scream, and clapped her hands together. "It's from Larry! Lord bless an' save us! it's Larry himself, him that I thought in his grave this fifteen year! God bless us, it's dramin' I am--it can't be true! Dan, d'ye hear that? Good gracious, what's the man thinkin' of, stan'in' there, lookin' about him, the same as if he never heard a thing at all. _Dan_" (with an impatient tug at his sleeve), "d'ye hear what I'm tellin' you? Larry isn't dead at all, an' he's afther writin' to us from America." "Well, to be sure," cried Mrs. Kinsella. "Your sister's son, wasn't he, ma'am? La'rence Kearney. A fine young fellow he was, too. He went an' listed on yez, didn't he?" "Aye, an' she was near breakin' her heart when he done it," chimed in Peggy Murphy; "sure, I remember it well."