We use Optical Character Recognition (OCR) during our scanning and processing workflow to make the content of each page searchable. You can view the automatically generated text below as well as copy and paste individual pieces of text to quote in your own work.
Text recognition is never 100% accurate. Many parts of the scanned page may not be reflected in the OCR text output, including: images, page layout, certain fonts or handwriting.
MICHAEL AND JERRY START
Peggy, fiercely. "Yez shall see that Peggy O'Malley has got a moind av her own."
Late the next morning, young Jerry looked up from his anvil, to see old Michael afore him, wild of eye and speech. "She's gone!" sobbed the poor man, when his breath had caught up with him. ' ' Me daughther 's gone ! The Saints pity me f'r a lone ould man!"
"Peggy?" cried Jerry, gripping his sledge and looking as white as his soot would let him. "Dont be tellin' me 'tis she "
"Aye,. Peggy's gone," said old Michael, helpless-like. "She sint wan av thim tallygrims, sayin' she was goin' t' Ameriky. Jerry, me lad, we'll niver see her agin."
Jerry Donovan drew a long breath and slowly shook his red head. " Ameriky 's far off," he said, his words roughened between a menace and a sob — ' ' aye, plaguey far, but 'tis this side av Hivin, an' as long as Peggy is in th' wurrld, I'll foind her an' bring her home."
OUT IN SEARCH OF PEGGY
'Twas a mighty humble colleen that sidled down the gangplank at Ellis Island ten days later. 'Tis one thing to be bold when one is angry, and another thing to be bold when one is homesick. The tallness of the buildings terrified her; the awesome cars that roared across the sky or under the street; the sharp-voiced women who stared at her as she shivered on the bench in the employment office and asked her prying questions that brought the honest Irish wrath to her cheeks. But a tempestous week swept her finally into a haven, all gilded chairs and velvet carpets and whispering servants that laughed at her good Killarney clothes. Peggy had a position.
"Shure, darlint, dont yez fret — " The brogue was like salve to Peggy's sore heart, but the smart little lady's maid, in her stiff apron and cap, did not match her tongue. " 'Tis mesilf who was afther comin' across ownly lasht year. Ye '11 soon feel at home here, an' 'tis an illigant lady Mrs. Mortimer is, t' be shure. A parlor