She would come and sit cross-legged just beyond the bamboo curtain and silently watch him at work. "Och! he's a broth of a boy!" "Why, I thought he'd broken your head, Terry?" "Phooh! that's nothing? A piece o' plaster'll set all to rights; and Terry O'Flaherty's not the boy to care for the stroke of a supple-jack. Yet I fancy that we who have been poor ourselves must be the best judges of the needs of the people. One of your aunts died, I believe, and the other removed to London. He was always tenderly courteous; he answered her ordinary questions readily and her extraordinary ones patiently; he always rose when she entered or left the room.
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