THE SILVER FOX 63 



into the house, where her mother was sitting 

 on a stool by the fire, with a cup of tea in 

 her hand, and a bare-legged grandchild 

 squatting beside her on the warm hearth- 

 stone. Since her bereavement, the widow 

 Quin breakfasted fitfully by half-cupfuls at 

 intervals during the morning, and did not 

 sit at the table. 



" Oh, musha, musha, a quare hour o' the 

 day he comes to his breakfast, goin' on 

 eleven o'clock, an' he that wiut out before 

 it was makin' day ! " 



Mrs. Quin shed tears, and little Mikeen 

 utilized the opportunity by burying his 

 dirty face in her cup, and taking a long 

 drink of the bitter strong tea. 



Tom Quin did not waste words on his 

 family when he came in. He sat down on 

 the settle, with his hat on, and his eyes 

 fixed on the floor between his muddy boots. 

 His dog, a black-and-grey cur, remotely 

 allied to the collie breed, snuffed with an 

 habituated nose at the pots and pans under 

 the dresser, found no change in them since 



