“Yes, it is a sudden sort of spurt,” he assented. “And it’s your health, you say! Sure, I used to look on you as the mortial picture of a grand, strong man.” “You can’t always tell by looks,” said The O’Mahony, gravely. “But--the point’s this. I’m leaving O’Daly and Jerry here, as sort o’ joint bosses of the circus, during my absence. Daly is to be ringmaster, so to speak, while Jerry’ll be in the box-office, and kind o’ keep an eye to the whole show, generally.” “I lamint, sir, that I’m not able to congratulate you on the felicity of your mettyphor,” said Cor-mac O’Daly, whose swart, thin-visaged little face wore an expression more glum than ever. “At any rate, you git at my meaning. I have signed two powers of attorney, drawn up by O’Daly here as a lawyer, which gives them power to run things for me, while I’m away. Everything is set out in the papers, straight and square. I’m leaving my will, too, with O’Daly, an’ that I wanted specially to speak to you about. I’ve got just one heir in this whole world, an’ that’s your little gal, Katie. P’r’aps it’ll be as well not to say anything to her about it, but I want you all to know. An’ I want you an’ her to move back into my house, an live there jest as you did afore I come. I’ve spoken to Mrs. Sullivan about it--she’s as good as a farrow cow in a family--an’ she’ll stay right along with you, an’ look after things. An’ Jerry here, he’ll see that your wheels are kept greased--financially, I mean--an’--I guess that’s about all. Only lookout for that little gal o’ yours as well as you know how--that’s all. An’ I wish--I wish you’d send her over to me, to my house, in half an hour or so--jest to say good-bye.” The O’Mahony’s voice had trembled under the suspicion of a quaver at the end. He turned now, abruptly, took up his hat from the table, and left the room, closely followed by Jerry. O’Daly rose as if to accompany them, hesitated for a moment, and then seated himself again. The mother superior had heretofore preserved an absolute silence. She bent her glance now upon Mrs. Fergus, and spoke slowly: “Ah, thin, Margaret O’Mahony,” she said, “d’ye mind in your day of good fortune that, since the hour you were born, ye’ve been the child of our prayers and the object of our ceaseless intercessions?” Mrs. Fergus put out her rounded lower lip a little and, rising from her chair, walked slowly over to the little cracked mirror on the wall, to run a correcting finger over the escalloped line of her crimps. “Ay,” she said at last, “I mind many things bechune me and you--not all of thim prayers either.”