The sturdy figure of the boy began to move briskly about. He made up the fire and then he slipped out at the door and took an observation. No shade anywhere but at the east end of the shanty, where the building itself threw a shade. He hurried in again. "Will you be gettin' up, mother dear, if you please?" In surprise she stood up. The strong, young arms reached past her, lifted the chair, and then the boy began to pick his way carefully so as not to strike this treasured possession against anything. "What are you doin', Moike?" asked Mrs. O'Callaghan in astonishment. "I'm takin'--the chair--outside--where--there's a cool shade. 'Tis too hot--for you here where I'm cookin'." He turned and looked back as he stood in the doorway. "Come, mother dear, and rest you in the cool." "Moike! Moike!" cried the widow, touched by this attention. "'Tis what your father would have done if he was here. Always afraid he was, that I would be gettin' overtired or something. 'Tis sweet to have his b'y so loike him." Mike's heart gave a great throb. He knew now the taste of that praise that kept Pat pushing ahead. "'Tis for Pat to lead--he's the oldest," he thought over his cooking. "But see if I don't be lookin' out for mother after this, and makin' it as easy for her as I can. I'd lug forty chairs ten miles, so I would, to have her praise me like that." The next morning the widow rose still weary. The kitchen was uncomfortably warm as a sleeping place now, but what could be done about it? Nothing. "It's all there is, and I won't be sayin' a word about it, so I won't," she thought. "I'll jist tuck Larry in with Moike, and I guess I can stand it." Wash day for the home. She hardly felt equal to her task. Breakfast was over, but what was Mike doing? Not making his beds, nor washing his dishes. He had put on and filled the boiler. Now he was carrying out wash bench and tubs to the west side of the shanty. The west was the shady side of a morning. In he came again--this time for the father's chair. "'Tis an iligant breeze there is this mornin'," he cried. "Come out, mother, dear, and sit in father's chair. You've got a wash boy this mornin', so you have, and he'll need a lot of showin'." He reached for the washboard as he ceased, and smiled lovingly on his mother. "Moike! Moike!" cried Mrs. O'Callaghan in a trembling tone, "'tis sweet to be took care of. I hain't been took care of since your father died." "Then 'tis time you was!" answered Mike. "And I'm the boy to do it, too. Come out, mother dear." And the mother went out. "But there's your housework, Moike." "That can wait," was the positive reply. "But there's your schoolin'." "I'm not goin' to school to-day. I know my lessons. I learnt 'em last night. Will I be goin' to school and sittin' there all day, and you all tired out a-washin' for us? I won't that." "Moike, 'twas your father was dreadful headstrong when he set out to be. It's fearin' I am you're loike him there."