“Ho, ho, me beauty!” said Bridget to herself on the way home. “I’m thinkin’ the ould wan ud have a worrud to say about that. So the nephew is afther her along wid the uncle, and she afther both fish wid the wan hook. Well, I hope the gossoon gets her, and it’ll do him anny good. Di Belly ought to be cut out, the ould divvil, wid his winkin’ and blinkin’ and collyfoxin’ afther young gerruls. But it’s noane iv my potaties, and I’ll not disgrace mesilf talkin’ iv it. If who’s-this--Sara the Pepper Pod--iver got hold iv it though, wouldn’t there be a whillihu in Mulberry! Thim ghinny wimmin do be good for nothin’ but makin’ trouble wid their tongues. And phat am I sayin’, annyway? Talkin’ iv the ghinnies! Faith I’m half ghinny mesilf.” When she reached the bank she said to Signor Tomato, “There’s trouble brewin’ in the Di Belly family.” “Troub in de fam! Ees what for?” He took an ancient black pipe from his mouth and stood up, all attention. She told him what she had seen in the gloom of the _caffè_. “Ha, ha!” he cried, placing a forefinger wisely beside his nose, as he always did when quoting his Neapolitan saws, “the mouse dances a _tarantella_ when the cat takes a _siesta_.” “True for ye, Dominick; and a jewel iv a dance ’twill be agin the ould maid’s comin’ from Italy. Bad ’cess to her annyhow, and may the divvil fly away wid her back hair! Tellin’ me to hould me tongue!” When the boiling pot had filled the bank with its savour, she went to the door and looked with pride on her raven-curled trio in the roadway playing “duck on a tomato can.” “Here, Pat, Mike, Biddy!” she called. “Come in and ate your soup.” They romped in, playing tag on the way. CHAPTER VIII JUNO PERFORMS A MIRACLE