"Well, I think people'd help her more if she'd not complain so! And half
of it in the Slavish language, that a body can't understand!" So Mary
began to tell funny things about Mrs. Zamboni and her other polyglot
neighbours, imitating their murdering of the Irish dialect. Hal thought
her humour was naive and delightful, and he led her on to more cheerful
gossip during the remainder of their walk.



SECTION 13.

But then, as they were on their way home, tragedy fell upon them.
Hearing a step behind them, Mary turned and looked; then catching Hal by
the arm, she drew him into the shadows at the side, whispering to him to
be silent. The bent figure of a man went past them, lurching from side
to side.

When he had turned and gone into the house, Mary said, "It's my father.
He's ugly when he's like that." And Hal could hear her quick breathing
in the darkness.

So that was Mary's trouble--the difficulty in her home life to which she
had referred at their first meeting! Hal understood many things in a
flash--why her home was bare of ornament, and why she did not invite her
company to sit down. He stood silent, not knowing what to say. Before he
could find the word, Mary burst out, "Oh, how I hate O'Callahan, that
sells the stuff to my father! His home with plenty to eat in it, and his
wife dressin' in silk and goin' down to mass every Sunday, and thinkin'
herself too good for a common miner's daughter! Sometimes I think I'd