And a little boy's voice said, "We've come to bring you a sup of milk
that Mother sent you."
Grannie Malone jumped out of her chair and ran to the door. "Och, if
it's not the McQueen Twins--the two of them!" she cried. "Bless your
sweet faces! Come in, Larry and Eileen! You are as welcome as the
flowers of spring. And how is your Mother, the day? May God spare her
to her comforts for long years to come!" She swung the door open as she
talked, took the jug from Eileen's hand, and poured the milk into a jug
of her own that stood on the dresser.
"Sure, Mother is well. And how is yourself, Grannie Malone?" Eileen
answered, politely.
"Barring the rheumatism and the asthma, and the old age in my bones, I'm
doing well, thanks be to God," said Grannie Malone. "Sit down by the
fire, now, till I wet a cup of tea and make a cakeen for you! And
indeed it's yourselves can read me a letter from my son Michael, that's
in America! It has been in the house these three days waiting for some
one with the learning to come along by."
She ran to the chair and picked up the letter. The Twins sat down on a
little bench by the fireplace, and Grannie Malone put the letter in
their hands.
"We've not got _all_ the learning yet," Larry said. "We might not be
able to read it."
"You can try," said Grannie Malone.
Then she opened the letter, and a bit of folded green paper with
printing on it fell out. "God bless the boy," she cried, "there's one
of those in every letter he sends me! 'Tis money that is! Can you make
out the figures on it, now?"
Larry and Eileen looked it over carefully. "There it is, hiding in the
corner," said Larry. He pointed to a "5" on the green paper.
"Five pounds it is!" said Grannie Malone. "Sure it's a fortune! Oh,
it's himself is the good son to me! What does the letter say?"
The Twins spread the sheet open and studied it, while Grannie hovered
over them, trembling with excitement.
"Sure, that's _Dear_, isn't it?" said Eileen, pointing to the first
word.
"Sure," said Larry; "letters always begin like that."
"Dear G-r-a-n-n-i-e," spelt Eileen. "What could that be but Grannie?"
"'Tis from my grandson, young Patrick, then," cried Grannie. "Indeed,
he's but the age of yourselves! How old are you at all?"
"We're seven," said the Twins.
"Patrick might be eight," said his Grandmother, "but surely the clever
children like yourselves and the two of you together should be able to
make it out. There's but one of Patrick, and there should be more
learning between the two of you than in one alone, even though he is a
bit older! Try now."
Larry and Eileen tried. This was the letter. It was written in a large
staggery hand.
"Will you listen to that now!" cried Grannie Malone. "Is it taking me
back to America, he'd be! 'Tis a terrible journey altogether, and a
strange country at the end of it, for me to be laying my old bones in!
But I'd be a proud woman to see my own son, in any country of the world,
and he an alderman!"
There was a letter from Michael himself in the envelope also, but the
Twins could not read that, however much they tried.
So Grannie was obliged to put the two letters and the green paper under
the clock over the fireplace, to wait until the Priest should pass that
way.