“Come home wid me, Rosie!” commanded he. “Don’t be stayin’ here till see yez father chated an’ robbed.” “She’ll go home with me, after this,” said Jimmie Larkin, as he fondly kissed the tears from her cheek. “Thin, the divil do her good av ye!” O’Hara swept the room with a stormy glance. “It’s the law I’ll have on yez,” foamed he, “Ivery wan av yez’ll sup sorra for yez divilment, raymimber that!” And he banged the door after him and was gone. * * * * * IT was a beautiful night; the moon was sailing through the heavens attended by countless myriads of jewel-like stars; the breeze rustled gently through the street, and as Larry neared Maggie’s home he caught the soft notes of an old, old song. Owen sat upon the step, enjoying the fineness of the night, and as the young man came up he arose and gripped him by the hand. “God bless ye, Larry,” said he, with a subdued emotion rare in the Celt. “God bless ye for what yez done for me and mine! I niver towld Maggie till the day, but iv Kelly had won, it’s find another home we’d had till do, for ivery dollar I could rake an’ scrape were in that stock. I took a great risk, b’y, I see it now; but it wur all for her sake, Larry, all for her sake.” Larry entered, leaving the old man smoking peacefully upon the steps. The hallway was dim, and he walked softly to avoid knocking against things. But a shaded lamp threw a soft light about the parlour, and he paused in the doorway to listen to the faint music and the words of the song. Maggie sat at the piano, her back toward him; she was dressed in white, clinging stuff that displayed the full charm of her fine figure; her fingers touched the keyboard lightly, caressingly and she sang in a subdued, brooding way: “_Oh promise to meet me when twilight is falling, Beside the blue waters that slumber so fair, Each bird in the meadow your name will be calling, And every sweet rose-bud will look for you there._” She paused, her fingers still straying over the keys, and Larry took up the song: “_In morning and evening for you I am sighing, The heart in my bosom is yours evermore, I’ll watch for you, darling, when daylight is dying, Sweet rose of Killarney, Mavourneen asthore._” She arose and slowly turned toward him. Her face was rosy, her eyes shining with a light that was good to see. He advanced half way, then paused, his arms outstretched. She understood, on the instant, and came the remainder of the way; then the strong arms were around her and he had kissed her upon the lips. “When shall it be?” he asked, in a masterful way. “Not for a long, long time,” she answered. “Remember Mary!” “I’ll never forget her.” His eyes were dim with feeling. “Poor Mary,” whispered Maggie, softly. “Dear, sweet, gentle Mary!” THE END RECENT PUBLICATIONS _of_ McClure, Phillips & Co. [Illustration] _New York_ 1901-1902 By Joel Chandler Harris GABRIEL TOLLIVER [Illustration]