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"I'll be glad t' go along with ye," returned the other, "and if things 're as bad as they look t' be, then it's Patrick Mungovan that'll do a bit o' rakin'!" He settled the straw hat. "Just where d' y' live, young man?" asked the policeman.

"Mm-mm-mm-mm," mumbled the old lady; then showing a double line of gums in a smile, she plucked at his sleeve. "Father Mmmmm!" she said again. "Ah-ha? ah-ha? ah-ha?" With each ah-a, she backed a step invitingly, and nodded him to come with her. Father Mungovan! A shiver ran all down him. For instantly he knew why she had come.

"LAD DEAR, I was saying to myself the other day, 'Patrick Mungovan, when you go home to God, what will you be leaving you that haven't a red cent to your name to that mite of a boy, John? 'Well, Patrick Mungovan answered back, 'to be truthful, I've nothing to leave but the memory of a sweet friendship and, maybe, a letter. "So down I sat, and started this.

"Everything's going to be all right," she assured him when she told him good night, "now that we've got Father Mungovan." Or was it because she was engaged? In the days that followed Father Pat became a familiar figure in and about the area building. When he was not at Johnnie's, reading aloud out of the book on astronomy while Johnnie threaded beads, he might be found overhead in Mrs.

"I'm Father Patrick Mungovan, at yer service, ma'am," he said, bowing gravely. Mrs. Kukor first wiped both plump hands upon a black sateen apron. Then she extended one of them to the priest. "Glat to meet!" she declared heartily. "Und glat you wass come!" The Father shook hands warmly.