I set down and thort the matter over. Why shud I be turned out in this fashun ses I to mesilf. It’s a shame, a crool shame it is. It was thin Mr. Mulvaney cum sontring in and befure I know wat I’m about I’m telling him the story of me sorrers. “Bad cess to thim all!” ses he, “they desarve to lose a fine girl like you, Delia, and if ye’d lissen to my airging it’s laving thim ye’d be to-day and stipping wid me over to Father Dugan’s. These Wolleys do be a trubblesum famly. Shure they’ve toorned the hole poynt oopside doon wid thrubble. I heer that the Robbins are arfter being beside thimsilves wid feer of Mr. James. Now Delia” ses he, “ef ye’ll not be heering to the praste, thin it’s anuther bit of advice I’m arfter giving you. Stip across to the Widdy Bangs’ house,” ses he, “and tell her your thrubbles,” ses he. “I’ll bet me job aginst the Frinchman’s that she’ll fix you all rite wid the family.” So I wint over to the widdys house. A spoonky little culloured maid opened the frunt dure. She guv a luk at me face—ignoring me best clothes on me body and ses she: “Go to the back dure,” ses she. “_I_ recave me collars there.” “It’s Mrs. Bangs” ses I “I want to see.” “Mrs. Bangs,” ses she, “is ingaged wid Mr. Wolley.” I heerd the widdy’s voyce inside and prisintly she cum oot and ses: “Hoo is it Lilly,” ses she, (My God! The Nigger’s name was Lilly and she black as hell). “Why, it’s Delia!” sez the widdy. “Can I spake to you a minnit, mam!” ses I. “Why certinly Delia. Whot is it,” ses she. I wint to throw me aprun over me hed but fownd I’d left it at home, so I set up a paneful cry widout it. “Oh wirrah! wirrah!” ses I, “it wuz an avil day whin I crossed the oshun. Oh mam” sez I, “it’s a cruel warld and peeple do be hard on a poor hardwarking crachure wid niver a frind in the world.” The widdy looked as if she were aboot to larf, but she’s that sorry fer me she controlled hersilf. She poot her hand on me shoulder and ses she kindly: “Cum! What is it, Delia? my deer?” “Mrs. Wolley do be arfter firing me, Mrs. Bangs,” ses I, “and all because I’m odyiss in the site of Miss Claire and all because I hilped her meet Mr. Harry Doodly—the crool faithless good-for-nothing villyun” ses I. “You poor crachure,” ses she, “and you want me to spake fur you. Why, of coorse I will. I’ll go rite over and appeel to Claire’s sinse of justiss.” Whin I was gitting ondrissed to-nite I herd me dure opening, and I guv a lowd yill, fer I’m in me chimmy aloan. As Miss Clair cum in, I rooshed into me closet, and I spoak to the child frum behind the harf closed dure. “What is it darlint?” ses I “Its ashamed I am fur you to see me in dishabeel and me wid twinty bunyuns on me feet and moles on me ligs and arms. What is it swatehart?”