Mrs. Brady smiled. She knew the boy's love for her husband, and she understood that to stand next to the General in Pat's estimation was to be elevated to a pinnacle. "Thank you, Pat," she replied. Then she went on snipping at the choice plants she kept in the house, even in summer, and Pat, proudly wearing his rose, hurried off. But when Pat arrived at home and hastened out behind the shanty, the post-holes were dug. Mike had risen at three o'clock that morning, dug each one and covered it with a bit of board before his mother was up. "And have you come to say you can't come this evenin'?" asked Mike, as Pat advanced to where he was sorting over such old scraps of boards as he had been permitted to pick up and carry home. "I've come to get to work this minute," replied Pat, throwing off his blouse and hanging it on the sill of the open window, with the rose uppermost. "Where'd you get that rose?" inquired Mike, bending to inhale its fragrance. "Mrs. Brady give it to me." "Mother would think it was pretty," with a glance at his older brother. "And she shall have it," said Pat. "But them boards won't do. I've bought some cheap ones at the lumber yard, and they're on the way. And here's the nails. We'll get that stove out this day, I'm thinkin'. I couldn't sleep in my bed last night for thinkin' of mother roastin' by it." "Nor I, neither," said Mike. "Well, let's get to diggin' the holes." "They're dug." "When did you dig 'em?" "Before day." "Does mother know?" "Never a word." Pat went from corner to corner and peered critically down into each hole. "You're the boy, Mike, and that's a fact," was his approving sentence. Just then the boards came and were thrown off with a great clatter. Mrs. O'Callaghan hurried to the door. "Now, b'ys, what's the meanin' of this?" she questioned when the man had gone. "Have my rose, mother dear," said Pat. "And it's a pretty rose, so it is," responded Mrs. O'Callaghan, receiving it graciously. "But it don't answer my question. What'll you be doin' with them boords?" "Now, mother, it's Mike's plan, but I'm into it, too, and we want to surprise you. Can't you trust us?" "I can," was the answer. "Go on with your surprise." And she went back into the shanty. Then the boys set to work in earnest. Four scantlings had come with the boards, and were speedily planted firmly. [Illustration: Pat and Mike building the kitchen.] "We don't need no saw, for the boards are of the right length, so they are. A man at the yard sawed 'em for me. He said he could as well as not. Folks are mighty good to us, Mike; have you noticed?" "The right sort are good to us, of course. Them Jim Barrows boys are anything but good. They sets on all of us as much as they dares." By three o'clock the roof was on, and the rough scraps Mike had collected were patched into a sort of protection for a part of the east side of the new kitchen. "Now let's be after the stove!" cried Mike. In they went, very important.