‘I never heard from him at all,’ said Mrs. Duffy, in a matter-of-course tone; ‘he couldn’t write, and I couldn’t write. But he went to Australy, and he is in Australy now, if he hasn’t tumbled off. I can’t help thinking at times he must ha’ tumbled off, though the flies never do tumble off the ceiling. I’ve watched ’em for hours and hours together, thinking of my Johnny, and no fly never tumbled off yet. They have to walk with their heads downwards in Australy, like them flies; but my Johnny wasn’t brought up to it, and I’m afeard for him at times.’ ‘Oh, no, he couldn’t tumble off,’ said Kate, laughing a little; ‘but are you sure you would know him yourself, Mrs. Duffy, after thirty years?’ ‘Can a mother forget her own boy?’ asked the old woman; ‘ay, ay; I should know my Johnny among a thousand, or tens of thousands. I’ll be glad to bring my friend with me to-morrow, and many thanks to you for asking her. I’ve got to go out into the country to sing a carril or two at a farm-house, where they’re always very good to me; but that’ll be afore dinner; and we’ll come punctual to your house at five o’clock, me and my friend; and a merry Christmas and a happy New Year to every one of us, and you above all, my dear.’ ‘A miserable Christmas, and an unhappy New Year it will be for me,’ thought Kate; but she did not say it. Mrs. Duffy insisted upon lighting her down the court with her only candle, which guttered and wasted terribly in the night wind; and the last glance she had of the kindly, withered old face was lit up by its flickering flame at the entrance of the dark passage. Very early in the morning, long before the Christmas sun was ready to show itself, Mrs. Duffy roused up to the fact that if she was to sing a ‘carril’ a mile and a half away in the country, it was time to set out. Even her hard heap of rags and straw, with the thin, scanty blanket she had been shivering under all night, were more attractive to her at seventy years of age than the long, lonely walk, through lanes deep down between high hedgerows, with cartruts filled with mingled mud and ice. But she was of a brave and grateful heart, and after a short prayer for herself and everybody, uttered before quitting the feeble warmth of her bed, she sallied out into the chill frostiness of the coming dawn. Up and down the street she heard the shrill voices of children chanting some Christmas ditty; and she thought of Johnny when he was a boy, with his yellow hair, and round, red face, turning out all eagerness and hope on a Christmas morning, and singing in a voice which could not fail to rouse the most determined sleeper. ‘He came home once with three shillings and twopence halfpenny, all in ha’pence,’ thought Mrs. Duffy, wiping away a tear from the sunken corner of her eye.