dren dead in a year, one in America, one in Limerick, and in danger of losing three more for the want of food and drink. Most  shopkeepers shake their heads. Sorry for your troubles but you  could go to the St. Vincent de Paul Society or get the public assistance. Dad says he’s glad to see the spirit of Christ alive in Limerick and they tell him they don’t need the likes of him with his northern accent to be telling them about Christ and he should be ashamed of himself dragging  a  child  around  like  that  like  a  common  beggar, a  tinker, a knacker. A few shopkeepers give bread, potatoes, tins of  beans and Dad says, We’ll  go  home  now  and  you  boys  can  eat  something, but  we  meet Uncle Pa Keating and he tells Dad he’s very sorry for his troubles and would Dad like to have a pint in this pub here? There are men sitting in this pub with great glasses of black stuff before them. Uncle Pa Keating and Dad have the black stuff, too.They lift their glasses carefully and slowly drink.There is creamy white stuff on their lips, which they lick with little sighs. Uncle Pa gets me a bot- tle of lemonade and Dad gives me a piece of bread and I don’t feel hun- gry anymore. Still, I wonder how long we’ll sit here with Malachy and Eugene hungry at home,hours from the porridge,which Eugene didn’t eat anyway. Dad and Uncle Pa drink their glass of black stuff and have another. Uncle Pa says, Frankie, this is the pint.This is the staff of life.This is the best thing for nursing mothers and for those who are long weaned. He laughs and Dad smiles and I laugh because I think that’s what you’re supposed to do when Uncle Pa says something. He doesn’t laugh when he tells the other men about Oliver dying. The other men tip their hats to Dad. Sorry for your troubles, mister, and surely you’ll have a pint. Dad says yes to the pints and soon he’s singing Roddy McCorley and Kevin Barry and song after song I never heard before and crying over his lovely little girl, Margaret, that died in America and his little boy,Oliver,dead beyond in the City Home Hospital.It frightens me the way he yells and cries and sings and I wish I could be at home with my three brothers, no, my two brothers, and my mother. The man behind the bar says to Dad,I think now,mister,you’ve had enough.We’re sorry for your troubles but you have to take that child home to his mother that must be heartbroken by the fire. 75