She told them she had a nice pat of butter in the cupboard. The wild berries picked by the children had been covered over, so they were not softened by the rain while on the way home. With a pot of good tea and the newly-baked bread, she proudly thought her visitors might satisfy their hunger. After looking at her husband and the other gentlemen, the lady sat down again, saying: "You are very kind and generous, Mrs. O'Neil, like the rest of your people. Wherever I have travelled in Ireland I have met just such kindness. I shall never forget my visit here. "And what a beautiful country it is! I never saw such green grass anywhere else in the world. No wonder it is called 'The Emerald Isle.'" Mrs. O'Neil smiled her happiest smile. She loved to hear her country praised. "Ah! Ireland was a great place once," she cried. "But times have changed, and many of the days have been sad ones since the rule of our own kings. Did ye ever hear tell of the famine?" she asked. "Yes, indeed," said one of the gentlemen, as Mrs. O'Neil bustled about the table. "I shall never forget a story I read at the time. I was a little boy in school. It was about a family who were suffering terribly from the famine. Their supply of potatoes had come to an end and the new crop was killed by the blight. There was no money to pay the rent, and the poor little children with their parents were turned out of their home by the hard-hearted landlord. "But at this dreadful moment, help came from a kind friend in America, and they were saved from further suffering." When he had finished speaking, Mrs. O'Neil told of the suffering people who became homeless and starving, and who died before help reached them. Norah crept close to her mother's side as she listened to the story. Her big blue eyes were full of tears. This dreadful famine happened before Mrs. O'Neil was born, for Norah's grandmother was herself a child at the time. The potato crop had been poor for several years, and many were the families who were obliged to beg from those who were a little better off than themselves. But at last there came a season when all the crops failed. It was the dreadful year of 1847, when the blight fell upon every part of Ireland. Stop for a minute and think of the thousands of little children who lived almost entirely on potatoes up to this time. Some of them, it is true, had bread every day, and meat once or twice a week. But there were many many homes where the only food of the family was potatoes. Then you can picture what happened when there were no more potatoes. The smiles soon gave place to tears. The roses faded away from the cheeks. The bright eyes grew dull and heavy. Poor little children of Ireland! Think what became of them when the last piece of furniture had been sold to buy bread! Alas! many of them were soon without even shelter. For they were driven with their parents out of their small homes, because there was no possible way of paying the rent.