“She was a handsome, fine woman, in her day, God bless her,” said Mrs. Doherty.

“Yes, any body can tell that,” answered Norry.  “I wonder how they came here at all.”

“I know it well,” answered old Peggy Doherty.  “She telled me all about it afore she took bad entirely.  Her man was well off, and had a brother next to the bishop in the church, in the county of C——.  When landlords began to root out the people from their homes, the brother of Mr. O’Clery, her husband, wrote letters in the newspapers about the cruelty of the landlord, who was called ‘Lord Mandemon;’ and on that account, and because the priest took part with the poor,—­as they always do, God bless ’em!—­the landlord came down on Mr. O’Clery, sold out his sixty milch cows, after being twenty-one days in pound; and though the cows were worth ten pounds each, Lord Mandemon’s agent sold them by auction, and he bought them back himself for two pounds each; and so the poor family was ruined.  After that, O’Clery sold out another farm he had; and, collecting all that was due to him, he came to America, against the advice of the priest, his brother.  He thought, he said, to live with his family in ‘a free country,’ where there were no landlords or tyrants, and, while he had some means, to buy a farm which he could call his own.  But he took the cholera when within sight of land, and he only lived a few days.  God rest his soul, and the souls of all the faithful departed.  And God help those poor orphans,” she said, piously, looking to where the little group, wearied from grief and crying, lay asleep on a straw bed.

“I do really pity the poor creatures,” said Norry.  “I suppose they will have to go to the poorhouse.”

“I hope not; God forbid, asthore, the poorhouse is such a dangerous place for Catholics.  I heard the priest say he would call to-morrow; and may be he will do for the little dears.”

“’Tis hard for him to provide for all that are in distress,” said Norry.

“I know it; but it would be a murther to let such well-reared and decent children into the hands of those poormasters, but especially that Van Stingey, whose great delight is, they say, to convart the children of Catholics to his own sect.  See what he done to the little Cronin children, whose father and mother died lately.”

“I heard of that; but I am afraid the priest won’t be able to call on to-morrow, as he promised, if it continue to snow so.”

“O yea, God forbid; but it is a terrible night.  Do ye hear how it blows? O Heirna Dioa.”

“Yes, and the snow is falling in mountains; the roads will be blocked up, and hills and hollows will be on a level in the morning.”

“God help every poor Christian that is out to-night,” said Mrs. Doherty.  “I hope the Lord will save his reverence from all harm.”

“Amen!” answered Norry.  “He will have a hard night of it.  Had he far to go?”