"There is a grand church in the city of Dublin called St. Patrick's Cathedral. When you grow up, Norah, you must surely visit it," said the kind priest, as he finished his story-telling. "It stands on the very spot where St. Patrick himself once built a church. It is a fine building, and its spire reaches higher up toward heaven than anything you have ever seen made by men. "But, my dear little children, your mother has prepared me a nice luncheon. I must eat it, and then visit poor Widow McGee, who is very ill." A half-hour afterward, Father Tom had left the little home, and Mrs. O'Neil was once more hard at work over her wash-tub. Norah was out in the yard amusing baby Patsy. "Mother, mother," she called, "Mrs. Maloney is on her way here. She has just stopped at Mrs. Flynn's." "Come in and get some petaties ready for her, Norah. I don't want to stop again in my work." (Mrs. O'Neil pronounced it "wurruk.") Mrs. Maloney lived in a lonely cabin about two miles away. You would hardly believe it, but Norah's home was almost a palace beside Mrs. Maloney's. There was one little window, as she would have called it. It was really only a hole in the wall. When heavy rains fell, the old woman stuffed it with marsh-grass. The thatched roof had fallen in at one end of the cabin. The furniture was a chair and a rough bedstead. Poor old Mrs. Maloney! Once she had a strong husband and eight happy children, but, one by one, they had died, and now she was old and feeble, and had no one in the world to look after her. Is it any wonder that the generous people whom she visited always had something to give and a kind word to speak to her? Every few days, she went from house to house, holding out her apron as she stood in the doorway. She did not need to say a word. One kind woman would give her a bit of tea, another a loaf of bread, a third a cabbage, and a fourth a little butter. In this way she was kept from starving, or from going to the workhouse, which she dreaded nearly as much. As Norah dropped the potatoes into her apron, the old woman blessed her heartily. As she turned to leave, Mrs. O'Neil called after her to ask how she got along in yesterday's bad storm. "Sure and I was that feared I dared not stay in the cabin. It was so bad I thought it would fall down on me shoulders. So I wint out and sat on the turf behind it. I was wet indade when the storm was over." "Too bad, too bad," said Mrs. O'Neil, in a voice of pity. "We must see what can be done for you." She did not forget. That very night she asked her husband if he could not find time to mend the old woman's hut and make it safe to live in. He promised her that as soon as the potatoes were hoed he would get his friend Mickey Flynn to help him and they would fix it all right. "Ah! Tim, Tim," said his wife, with her eyes full of tears, "of all the eight children Mrs. Maloney has lost, there is none she grieves over like her boy John, that went to Ameriky and was never heard of again.