HOW PATSEY FOUND HIS FORTUNE.

HERE was a great commotion in the Killikelly cabin that morning. There always was, for that matter, for they made up the jolliest crowd of Irish children you ever saw, and the little cabin at Fernsea was much too small to hold either the crowd or the noise. But the laughing and shouting were so much louder than usual, that if you had been there you would surely have asked what it was all about.

No one need to stay in doubt long upon any matter in Fernsea, for news traveled quickly in the little village. It was simply this: the Killikellys were going to America.

Poor little Patsey was happier than all the rest put together, and when you say that you say a good deal, for hardly anybody except the babies slept a wink that night for joy. But Patsey had reason to be glad, for as he was a cripple who had never been able to go far from home, even in a jaunting car, the prospect of being carried more than two thousand miles. in a big steamer was more than delightful.

Patsey had read more than the rest about that wonderful land, and all that he had heard and studied about it only whetted his curiosity and increased his joy. Why," Meriky" was where they had Indians, and gave away land to poor people, and had paper for money. (They have only silver, gold and copper money there, in Ireland, you know.) He knew about this because Jimmie Mack's sister, who was out at service in America, wrote long letters to Jimmie, and told him all about these jolly things.

They were to sail in about a week, and the little Killikellys were busy enough. They bade all their schoolmates good-by; helped to carry the lighter articles of furniture to the neighbors who had bought them; gave away their toys (they were not so much to look at, but they were very dear to them), so that their playmates would have something to remember them by. So they started over the field to the railway station one bright morning, a lark high up in the sky singing them a cheery farewell song as they tramped away together. Patsey carried in one hand a little leather satchel which knocked against his crutch as he hobbled along. Little Mike offered to carry it for him, asking, with wonder in his big blue eyes:

"Phwat's in it, any way?" "Oh! somethin' foine.

Oi can take it all roight."

yez'll be sure to lose it, Mickey, if I lets yez carry it.

what it held, nor allow it out of his sight one instant.

would neither tell them
Even when the
Even when the pangs of

sea-sickness overtook him, on the third day out from Liverpool, the satchel lay beneath his pillow.

All the Killikelleys declared they had never seen Patsey so happy. He hobbled around the deck, and talked with the sailors, who all had a cheery word for the little lad. He amused the children, and had a kindly word for all he met.

It was because of his very kindness and good nature that his misfortune overtook him. His mother was ill nearly all the time, and so Patsey undertook the care of the baby, a blue-eyed midget of a boy about two years old. He was sitting with the baby on his lap, and as the child threatened to cry, had given him the precious satchel to play with. As he turned to answer a question of one of the younger children, Baby took the opportunity to throw the little black bag over the rail; and Patsey's frightened eyes just caught a glimpse of it before

it disappeared. He made no outcry at first. He was too stunned and miserable. But when he did commence to weep, he cried as if his heart would break.

Then he had to tell them all about it: how he had planned that they should all be rich in America; how he had cut up all his precious books and picture cards, and packed them in that bag, so that they should have plenty of paper money in the strange land they were going to. They consoled him, sailors and all, as best they might, and then left him, for he refused to be comforted. Meanwhile Baby toddled about, and laughed at the crying boy.

By and by the story got all round the ship; and while some smiled a little at first, that a child should be so " simple," when they knew that it was little crippled Patsey who was so disconsolate, their pity took a very helpful form.

They told the cabin passengers about it, too, and everybody tried to give something. There were crisp paper five-dollar and ten-dollar bills, and even the silver and coppers given by the steerage passengers were changed into bills, so that Patsey should still have paper money. It was all packed in another little black satchel that one of the ladies gave, and then they all followed the captain when he went to find the poor boy.

He was sitting upon a coil of ropes, looking steadily over the water when they approached. His cheeks were wet with recent tears. The captain didn't make a speech or anything of that sort. He only told Patsey how sorry they were for him; how careless babies were, because they didn't know any better,

5.13.13

"HE HAD GIVEN THE BABY THE SATCHEL."

and that perhaps it didn't matter, after all, about the satchel falling overboard, because the paper had to be stamped in a certain way, as postage stamps were in Ireland, before it could make anybody rich. He said that they had found some of that right kind of stamped money among the passengers of the ship, and had packed it in a satchel like his, which they wanted him to keep with their best wishes.

When he opened the bag with trembling fingers, and saw all the curious green and brown money, he couldn't say one word; but although they told him not to mind about thanks, his eyes said "Thank you," much plainer than words could ever have done. So he was rich, after all, and when they got to New York there was enough money to set Patsey up in business; and now, over a little store, in a big thoroughfare, you may read the sign of "Patrick Killikelly, Newspapers and Confectionery."

Dobry his name-in all the land

No worthier servant had the king,
With noble heart and open hand,
God-fearing, just in everything.

The children's grandsire, years before,
Had from its nest a raven brought,
Tamed it, and set it free once more.
But every year the raven sought

The shelter of the cottage still

When winter locked the land in snow,

Found food and warmth when winds were shrill,
And comfort in the fireside's glow.

Misfortunes fell on Dobry's head,

Most undeserved and hard to bear;
He heard his children cry for bread,
And sorrow faced him everywhere.

At last, in winter's bitterest cold,
Fell suddenly a cruel blow;
His humble home was to be sold,

His children thrust out in the snow.