"Maeve, whisht your cod and get up," he exclaimed, telling me to stop my nonsense and haul myself out of bed. Groggily I stumbled down and stretched, the air crisp in the bunk room.

"I’m up," I said, as Patrick pulled a patched sweater over his head and threw an old coat at me.

"Whisht, allanah! Simon's already waiting for us!" Pat quickly laced his boots, and I did the same. Simon, our older brother, always had us up before the rest of the boys were up. I was the only girl, and regretted the fact that I couldn't sleep in like the others. Jack snored softly.

"What, neither me brother nor me sister can get up in time?" Simon said as way of greeting as we clobbered down the steps. My brown hair was hastily pulled into a thick braid which I let hang over my shoulders. Simon was older than Pat and I by four years- and was the ultimate business man. He always had us up early, and thrust papers into our arms.

Pat followed behind Simon, and walked with me. I rubbed my eyes to get the grit out of them. On our way to our selling spot, a stout woman stopped me for a paper. I handed it over, thanking her with a thick Irish accent. She looked at me with sympathy, probably thinking what poor thich children we Irish were. I resented her as I thrust the precious penny into my pocket.

Pat waited for me to catch up. "Maeve, don't look so resentful," he cautioned. "Simon'll hang ye." I smiled at him. At least Pat understood. He always did, my dear twin Pat. He had the same curly brown hair and dark eyes. Well, I had one dark eye and one odd bluie one, but we looked pretty much the same. Mammy had called my eye a mark of an angel. He knew that I detested the way Mammy and Dadda had shipped us here to the U.S. of A., even though it gave us a better opportunity at life. The potato famine had wiped out our dear homeland, and life on the farm was hard. That had happened half a century ago, but Ireland was still trying to get back on it's feet. The detestable English had taken everything we ever had.

Pat and I hurried after Simon, and came to our selling spot. We worked together, politely pushing people to buy papers. All money was handed over to Simon, who stood with his sharp black eyes and black hair, watching everything and keeping finances running well. We trusted him, and he'd done a good job, but he'd always been kind of aloof, never really getting close to my brother or I. I guess he had to keep away, so that he could think out our lives for us. When we arrived in America he was 16 and the two of us were only twelve. Now, three years later, I guess he still saw us as little kids.

And so the routine day dragged on, selling papers and Pat and Simon tipping their hats, me just smiling at those who gave up their pennies in return for the news.

"Tell me another," I asked Pat sleepily. I was laying curled in my blankets, and he was above me in his bunk.

"All I know be the ones you've heard," he said. I knew he would say this, but protested.

"Tell me of Ter na N'Og," I said. My favorite story had always been the one of the Land of Eternal Youth, hidden deep in the mountains.

Pat sighed, mulling over the story once again. "Once, long ago when the men of Ireland were giants and strong and young, there was the son of a giant chieftain, whose name be Oisin. He traveled to the land of Ter na N'Og, where he met the wonderful ruler of the land, Niamh, who was beautiful with golden hair and a glorious smile. Oisin lived for a long time in the lang of Ter na N'Og with her, relishing in the freshness of everything. He liked the way that trees were laden with fruit of all kinds all year, and how it only rained when people wanted the colors to become brighter. The wind only blew when everyone was safe in their warm homes, listening happily to the wind rattling the windows. Everyone was happy, and they were weightless, because of the Youth.

"But, one day he grew homesick for the land which he had come from. The giants of his land had carved Ireland into being with their footsteps, and the pebbles dropped out of their pockets became the mountains. He asked Niamh if he could go home to visit, and she said yes. She gave him her magnificent horse, and told him that he must not step off his horse or touch the ground, or he could never come back to the land of Youth.

"Oisisn left, and saw the land which he had come from. Surprisingly, it looked smaller, shrunken. The people had shrunk too, no longer noble giants but little people who lived in little houses. He went along a path and came along a field, in which 20 men were trying to move a stone. 20 for a job which one man could have done, last time he was here! They stared at him, taken aback by his strength and Niamh's horse. He felt sorry for the poor men, and so leaned over to help them. Of course, Ter na N'Og made everyone weightless, and although he and the horse were, the stone was all too real. The girth broke, and he fell to the ground. As soon as his feet touched the ground, he became a wrinkled old man.

"So he couldn't go back to Niamh or Ter na N'Og, and was taken to St. Patrick by the people, who he told of Niamh and Youth and Terna N'Og and of how Ireland used to be."

I sleepily smiled, somehow thinking that Ireland was still like that. Pat rolled over in his bunk and it creaked under him. I looked around din the dark, seeing Simon on the bunk across from me, and the other boys, who had been living as newsies for many years. They were strange, with different habits and ways of speaking and such, but likable. Among the newsies were the few people who didn't resent immigrants. I yawned, and fell asleep to dream of Ter na N'Og and a marvelous horse who carried an Oisin over to rescue me.

Jack sought me out the following afternoon, as Simon was out and Pat was secluded with his fiddle in the corner. "Hey Maeve, what's going on?" he asked, flipping his hair out of his eyes.

"Nothin udder den de usual," I replied, keeping my eyes on the drum in my hands. It was mine, a traditional Irish one, made of a wooden frame and leather head. The double-headed mallet was at my side. It picked it up and struck the drum once, to check.

"Hmmm." Jack watched for a second as I tightened the head some more to heighten the pitch to be in tune with Simon's tin whistle and Pat's violin. I glanced at Jack, who sat biting his lip.

"Well, I don't bite, ye know," I said. "Simon might, but I won't."

He smiled and patted my head. I got all ruffled at this. I was only a few years younger than he! I concentrated on my drum again.

"Look here Maeve, I was wonderin if you all would come wid us ta dinner tonight. A bunch of the guys are goin, since sales have been good we got the money. Wanna join us?" I considered for a moment.

"All right. Where at?"

He snorted. "We'll all leave together. Maybe sixish, and we'll just go to Tibby's."

He went off, and I ran a hand over the leather, striking the head once more. I was satisfied, and went over to Pat. "Patrick, do you think Simon would let us go?" I asked, explaining.

He scrunched his brows for a moment. "I don't rightly know. Mebbe. Well, come ta tink o' it, he ought to. We deserve a break, right?"

I grinned. "Right." Pat returned the smile and drew his bow across his violin. A long rich note emerged, filling the room. I grinned again at the sound of it. "Sounds good, hum?" he asked.

" 'Course it do. You know ye play well," I said, fidgeting with the end of my braid. I drug a chair over to sit next to Pat. "Pat, what would ye do if ye liked someone, a lot, and they think o' you as a friend?"

He looked up questioningly. "Well, I dunno. I 'aven't thought before on somethin lak dat." My twin sat and thought for a moment. Then his shoulders went up in a shrug. "Mebbe ya better ask a gurl."

"Thank you, my dear St. Pat," I told him, kissing him on the cheek and flying across the room to put my drum away and get my coat. I knew just who to talk to.

"Thanks fer everything, Sarah," I said as I walked out the door of their house. David and Les were out, so I got a chance to talk to Sarah alone. She was really so sweet, and gave me all the moral guidance I ever wanted.

Sarah laughed. " I never knew that a few years more experience counted as anything! Besides, I really like being able to help you." She handed me a canvas shopping bag. "Here you go. Just remember, don't be fake."

I threw my arms around her, giving her a hug. "Sarah, yer like a sister. Thank ye!"

As I left, she called out after me. "Have fun!"

About half past five I snuck downstairs, taking the bag with me. I slipped into Kloppman's office, and crept into the bathroom adjacent to it. He had always told me to use it, since I was the only girl. Pulling a cord from the ceiling, I turned on the bare lightbulb and pulled the door shut. Setting the bag on a chair, I dug into it, ecstatic.

I pulled out a dress, not new, but it looked wonderful to me. Sarah had given it to me to borrow---it was one of the few she had that was small enough to fit me. It was dark green, with a plain bodice and a long skirt. There wasn't anything extraordinary about it, except that it had a very elegant and simple look. I'd never really had dresses, except for church.

I took off my comfortable and colorfully patched clothes, slipping into the dress. There was a pair of knitted stockings also, and I put them on. My brown boots had to suffice, but the skirt was long enough it didn't matter. Feeling very proud of myself, I brushed and braided my hair again.

I heard feet thundering down the stairs as the newsies left. The footsteps of one person lingered, coming towards the door. A knock came. "Maeve, come on!" It was Patrick. I opened the door and came out.

"See Pat? Isn't it pretty?" I asked. He approved of it as we left the house to Tibby's.

I yawned rather openly, and Pat jabbed me in the ribs. The conversation had been dragging on for over an hour, and all it was reminiscing of the newsies. They had talked about territory wars, so-and-so's first selling spot, girls they had met on the job, and everything else. There was a lull in the conversation, and everyone reflected on what they had said. I just reflected on how nice Jack looked in his nice clean shirt.

"Hey," Race said, breaking the silence, "Let's see what our out-of-towners can do. Let's get some girls over and have our little Irish band here do some music or sometin."

I perked up at the thought of some music. I looked at Pat, and he nodded. Simon considered for a moment, then consented. "All right, nine o'clock back at the House."

I leapt up out of my seat, then jerked up Pat. "Come on, Pat. We have to get our stuff!"

Back at the Lodging House I pecked the leather head as Pat plucked his strings. Simon, who could play any wind instrument, was polishing a tin whistle, the ones that sound bright and cheerful without being super expensive. All the bunks had been moved to the sides of the room, and a few of the cots were shoved into the washroom. Three chairs sat on the far side of the room, which is where we sat now. Pat signaled us over for a huddle, and we discussed which songs to play.

"I like 'Miss Patterson'," Pat said, naming an Irish reel.

"I dunno. 'Boys of the Lough' is good too," Simon interjected.

They looked at me. "Well, we don't have a dulcimer," was all I could say. We decided on Patterson's reel.

Simon nodded, and I thumped out the time for a second before they came in. It took a second for it to fall into place, but then all the music just made sense and the rhythm was catching. Jack whirled Sarah, who was laughing, around the room, avoiding Blink and his partner. Others came in, and I watched them a bit before paying more attention to the music. Some of the rolls were harder to do on a double-headed mallet, but it all seemed so natural.

We went from piece to piece, getting all the traditional tunes and melodies. Finally we had to stop, all tired from an hour of playing nonstop.

"Come on," Blink said. "Can one of ya sing?"

Pat and Simon both pointed at me as I blushed furiously. "A bit," I stammered.

"Ok, let's hear it."

I took a deep breath, thinking of everything Mammy had sung to us. One song stuck out in my mind, one sad piece, longing for the Ireland of Oisin and Tar na N'Og, a land of mystical things. Blocking everything, I gave it my best shot.

The words weren't in English, they were in traditional Gaelic, the language of ancient parts of Europe. It wasn't hard to guess what the words were about though, the whole song sounded like a sad bird, free to do as it likes but always returning home. I finished, the last note lingering, and then there was silence.

Clapping erupted. I blushed and smiled, my eyes catching David's. I lowered my eyes, wishing he would come over to talk to me. I saw him drift my way and nervousness welled up.

"That was really nice, Maeve. You have a wonderful voice," he said, coming to stand in front of me. My heart pounded in my ears and I couldn't decide whether I liked talking to him or not.

"Thank ye," I mumbled. I looked up at his face and saw his adorable smile.

"Would you like to dance or something? I'm sure your brothers could do without you for a song or two." He held his hand out with the offer.

"Well, all right," I said, slipping my hand into his and standing. I felt my face turn as red as a poppy.

Behind us, Simon and Pat started a waltz, and as we went along to the three- beat measures David kept conversation going. "I was talking to Sarah today, and she said that she had lent you this dress."

I hoped very hard that she hadn't told him that it was her brother I liked.

"I think it looks better on you than it looked on her," David said, laughing. I grinned happily.

"I'm glad ye like it. I think it's very pretty. I like yer shirt . . . it makes ye look very handsome," I said, trying out a compliment.

He grinned this time. "Thanks."

I sat in comfortable silence with David, out on the fire escape. It was a common refuge for anyone who wished for a bit of privacy. He finally piped up, pointing into the sky.

"See that? That one is Orion. He's probably the most famous constellation besides the Big Dipper. He was supposed to be a hunter, way back when, and that's his belt with his sword hanging down." I looked up into the clear sky. I thought to myself that Orion's silhouette looked like Oisin's, strong and bold.

As I was looking I felt David's gaze on my face. I blushed a bit under his eyes, but finally turned to look at him.

"You're really pretty sitting there in the moonlight," he said softly. I smiled. "You're a great person, Maeve. You don't deserve the stereotyping of immigrants. I mean, you are smart and thoughtful and I don't see a speck of dim-wittedness about you." He looked down and took my hand gently.

"Tha-Thank you, David," I stammered. I looked down at my hand in his, bubbling like a brook inside.

"He's fine," I answered, having just gotten back from his house. Sarah had invited me over for dinner, and I hadn't seen much of David. He was studying, but had a secretive and smug look on his face all the time. "He's kind of stressing out about da college entrance exams he's taking this week, but I think I got him to relax a bit."

I sat on my bunk where Pat was reading. "Why aren't you on your bunk?" I asked.

"Because." He grinned mischievously. "I was told by a certain person to guard something that's under your pillow."

"Not the tooth fairy, I hope," I said, trying to move Pat. He wouldn't budge from the pillow. "Come on! It must be fer me if it's under me pillow!"

"Yes, but what's the secret word?"

I stood and grappled for the pillow on his bed, slugging him playfully with it. "Get off!"

He laughed and moved over. I dug my hand under my pillow, my hand striking a box. I pulled it out--it was plain and brown, like something from a grocer. I hoped it was from the cloth store up the road a ways-- I had ordered a few yards of new material to make a dress. "Good. I'd like ta hav de dress made by next week . . ." I broke off as I opened the box. A small clay pot was in it, filled half way with rich soil, and little green shoots were coming up. It looked very strange to get a pot, but as I lifted it I saw what was under it. And envelope waited, and I set down the pot to read it.

"Dear Maeve,
Not exactly Irish soil, but as close as I could get, that is, from as close to the shore as possible! Water it well, and you'll love the plants-- your favorite. Small hint-- green and lucky. Pluck me a four leafed one, as I might need it on all these entrance exams! I'll see you soon.
I love you more than ever,
David"

I'm sure me eyes lit up when I read the note, because I felt so warm and loved. I moved the plant to a window sill and ran a finger over the little sprouts of life. "He does love me!" I whispered softly, rejoicing.

"Hullo. Is David here?"

"Wait a second. Come in and you can wait in the living room if you want."

I waited, shifting from one foot to another. David finally came in, looking tired and worn out. He smiled though, as I raced to him.

I flung my arms around him in a gigantic hug. He returned it, and as we stood I was happier than I'd been in a long time.

"Thank you," I said softly. "For bringing me everything I wanted . . . even something that was thousands of miles away . . . .back to me."

Conclusion:

Well, I won't say we lived happily ever after, because we had our fights. Currently, now that I am 18, we are engaged. I love the thought of spending my life with him, because he's really someone I think is near perfect. As for the rest of our troop-- Pat got a job working as replacement second violin at the local orchestra, who gave him s scholarship to the university to study fine arts. Simon hasn't changed much. He's still a hard worker, and currently holds a position writing for the newspapers, fighting for equality among newsies. He's still as gruff as a bear, but in his hard-love way he still kindly refers to all of us a "eejits".