"
"Kathleen, will you get me a towel or praskeen of some sort to wipe my
face wid," said her father, looking about for the article he wanted.
"I left one," she replied, "on the back of your chair--an' there it is,
sure."
"Ay, achora, it's you that laves nothing undone that ought to be done;
an' so it is here, sure enough."
"Why, then, Gerald," asked Tom M'Mahon, "in the name o' wonder what
makes you stick to the meal instead o' the soap when you're washin'
yourself?"
"Throth, an' I ever will, Tom, an' for a good raison--becaise it's best
for the complexion."
The unconscious simplicity with which Cavanagh uttered this occasioned
loud laughter, from which Kathleen herself was unable to refrain.
"By the piper, Gerald," said M'Mahon, "that's the best thing I h'ard
this month o' Sundays. Why, it would be enough for one o' your daughters
to talk about complexion. Maybe you paint too--ha! ha! ha!"
Hanna now put in her head, and asked "what is the fun?" but immediately
added, "Kathleen, here's a message for you."
"For me!" said Kathleen; "what is it?"
"Here's Peety Dhu's daughter, an' she says she has something to say to
you."
"An' so Rosha Burke," said Mrs. Cavanagh, "has taken her to live wid
them; I hope it'll turn out well for the poor thing."
"Will you come out, Kathleen," said Hanna, again peeping in; "she
mustn't tell it to anyone but yourself.
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