“Father Scanlan wants to know,” he cried, “what ails the baby that you can’t bring it to church,” he says.
All turned questioning eyes to Barney, till his mind flutthered like a wounded parthridge. Only two disayses could the unfortunate man on the suddint raymember.
“It’s half maysles and a thrifle of scarlet faver,” he says. He couldn’t aisily have said anything worse. Seeing a turrible look on Mrs. Mulligan’s face, he says agin, “But I don’t think it’s ketching, ma’am.”
The fright was on. With a great cry, Mrs. Brophy dived for and picked up little Cornaylius and rushed with him out of the door and down the road; Mrs. Mulligan, thinking she had little Patsy, bekase of the clothes, snatched up the King—his head still rowled in the cloth—and darted up the road. She was clucking curses like an angry hen as she went, and hugging the King and coddling him, and crying over him and saying foolish baby langwidge, till he was so disgusted that he daytermined to give her a shock.
“Oh, me poor little darling!” she sobbed, press-
