Mam and Bridey sit so close to the fire their shins turn red and purple and blue.They talk for hours and they whisper and laugh over secret  things. We’re  not  supposed  to  hear  the  secret  things  so  we’re told  go  out  and  play.  I  often  sit  on  the  seventh  step  listening  and they  have  no  notion  I’m  there.  It  might  be  lashing  rain  out  but Mam  says, Rain or no, out you go, and she’ll tell us, If you see your father  coming,  run  in  and  tell  me.  Mam  says  to  Bridey,  Did  you ever  hear  that  poem  that  someone  must  have  made  up  about  me and him? What poem,Angela? ’Tis called “The Man from the North.” I got this poem from Min- nie MacAdorey in America. I never heard that poem. Say it for me. Mam says the poem but she laughs all through it and I don’t know why, He came from the North so his words were few But his voice was kind and his heart was true. And I knew by his eyes that no guile had he, So I married my man from the North Country. Oh, Garryowen may be more gay Than this quiet man from beside Lough Neagh And I know that the sun shines softly down On the river that runs through my native town. But there’s not—and I say it with joy and with pride A better man in all Munster wide And Limerick town has no happier hearth Than mine has been with my man from the North. I wish that in Limerick they only knew The kind kind neighbors I came unto. Small hate or scorn would there ever be Between the South and the North Country. She always repeats the third verse and laughs so hard she’s crying and I don’t know why. She goes into hysterics when she says, 134