“Tis a sin an’ a shame till hark till the cacklin’ that do be goin’ aroun’ about her,” said Mrs. McGonagle. “Thim Kelly’s is spalpeens, so they are!” “Divil pull the tongues out av thim!” cried Mrs. Burns. “Did she not feed me two children whin I hadn’t a bite nor a sup in the house?” “Ah! An’ did she iver pass a body widout a good word?” “Yez may say so, Mrs. Nolan. Iv I wur Larry, it’s have thim afore Judge Moran, I wud!” But a little time had elapsed since the events narrated in the preceding chapters. Mary’s frail health had suddenly failed, and Larry passed most of his time hovering about the sick-room. Their engagement had caused much comment in the parish and afforded the Kellys a chance to rid themselves of much of the venom which the willing of the estate had distilled. “Scure till the bit av luck cud they expect,” Mrs. Kelly had declared. “The owld man’s eyes were hardly closed afore they were makin’ eyes at wan another. The white-faced t’ing is mad after him!” “It’s the bit av money she wants,” her husband had said. “She do be a sly one for all her quietness.” It was this sort of thing--and worse--that had caused the indignation of the trio of ladies in the court; it had gotten about the neighbourhood and had long been the topic for conversation over cans of beer. “Here comes Rosie, again,” said Mrs. Nolan. “Arrah, what wud Larry do at all, at all, widout her? Divil the bit av good owld Mrs. Coogan is as a housekeeper. Rosie t’inks a power av Mary an’ tinds till her loike a sister. An’ Maggie Dwyer, God bless her, she’s the good girl till thim.” Mrs. Nolan’s red face became solemn. “Whisper!” said she, “did yez hear the talk about Rosie an’ Larry?” “Divil take ye, Mrs. Nolan!” Mrs. McGonagle fairly bristled. “Is it help till carry it around ye’d be doin’?” “Sure, I’m not sayin’ it’s true.” “Ye had better luk at home,” muttered Mrs. Burns from amid her cloud of steam. Larry was in the kitchen washing his hands at the sink. He had just been raking the fire so that it would burn brighter, and the remains of his breakfast still littered the table. Mary was in the adjoining room propped up by pillows in a big rocker; she had just awakened from a light sleep and had been watching his efforts, a faint smile upon her lips. When Rosie O’Hara came into the kitchen by the back door, Larry greeted her, ruefully. “I’ve bin tryin’ to make the fire come up,” said he with a glance at the grey grate. Rosie laughed. She set the steaming pitcher of broth, which she carried, upon the table. “I’ve brought that for Mary,” said she, attacking the range with vigour; “I thought she might like it. How is she?” “She had a bad night--had a hemorrhage after youse went home, and she don’t breathe very easy. She’s asleep now, though.”