The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1915-02-10
copyrieht. 1913. by Doda. Mead C. Company

pages and turns what was a history of romance and drama into a comedy of youth.
 Peg-pure as a mountain lily, sweet as a fragrant rose, haunting as an old nlelody-Peg O Our Hearts comes into our story even as she entered her fa- ther's life, as the savior of these pages, even as she was the means of saving O'Cennell.
 And she did save her father.
 It was the presence and the thought of she little motherless baby that kept O'Connell's hand from destroying him self when his reason almost left him after his wffe's death. The memories of the days immediately following the passing of Angela are too painful to dwell upon.
 They are past. They are sacred in O'Connell's heart4 They will be to the historian.
 Thanks to some kindly Irishmen who heard of O'Connel1's plight he borrowed enough money to bury his dead wife and place a tablet to her memory.
 He sent a message to KingsnOrth telling him of his sisters death He neither expected nor did he receive an answer. As soon as it was possible
  self once again heart and soul into working for the ''eause" He realized his only hope of keeping his balance was to work. He went back to the little village he was born in, and it was Father Cahiil's hands that pour ed the baptismal waters on O'Con- neu's and Angela's baby, and it was Father Cahfll's voice that read the baptismal service
 She was christened Margaret.
 Angela, one night, when it was near ing her time, begged him if it were a girl to christen her Margaret, after her mother, since all the best in Angela came from her mother.
 O'ConneH would have liked much to name the mite Angela. But his dead wife's wishes were paramount. So Mar garet the baby was christened- If was too distinguished name and too i long for such a little bundle oE pink | and white humanity. It did not seem to fit her. So Peg she was named and Peg" she remained for the rest l of her life.
 Looming large in Pegs menories in after life was her father showing her 1 St. Kernan's hill ana pointing out the mount on which he stood and spoke 1 that day, while her mother, hidden by that dense mass of trees, saw every movement and heard every word. l Then somehow her childish thoughts I all seemed to run to home rule-to love of Ireland and hatred of England-to i thinking all that was good of Irish men and all that was bad of English men.
 ' .fwhy do ye hate the English so much, father2" she asked O'Connen once, looking up at him with a puzzled look in her big blue eyes and the most adorable brogue coming fresh from her tongue.
 s.why do ye hate them?g she re peated.
 sI've good cause to. Peg. me darIin','' he answered, and a deep frown gather ed on his brow
 -'sure wasn't me mother EngIiRh?' ?'' Peg asked.
 "She was.''
 'sThen why do ye hate the English ?" t'It 'ud take long time to tell ye 1 that, Peggy. Some day will There's many reason why the Irish hftte the English, and many a good reason too. But there's one why you and should hate them and hate them with au the bittherness that's in us.
 "And what is it?'' said Peg curiously | II DC1t ye. W fAGA y A41eAAS- +t--A+ l I were almost staarvin', and she Iyin on a bed of sickness, she wrote to an Englishman an asked him to assist her. An this is the reply she got: We've made yer bed. Lie in it. That was the answer she got the day be- fore you were born, and she died giv- in ye life. And by the same token the man that wrote that shameful message to a dyin' woman was her own brother.''
 .'Her own brother. yer tellin' me P asked Peg wrathfully.
 ''I am, Peg. Her own brother, I'm tell1n' ye."
 .'It's bad luck that man'u have all his lifeF' said Peg tiercely. ITO write me mother that-an' she dyin4 FaitL I'd like to see him some sday-jusi meet hi1n-an' tell him She stopped her little fingers clinched into a mfnia ture fist.
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