"Hurry, Michael," Aileen called to her dawdling brother.
The boy trotted up to his sister's side, balancing the open book he'd gotten in his arms. The bookseller was cleaning out his shop and since the book had gone untouched for years, he'd given it to the boy as he walked by.
Michael couldn't read, but he'd been staring at the pictures all the way home.
"What's this?" he asked, pointing to a drawing of an old city.
"Let's see," Aileen said, reading as well as she could the caption beneath, "It's 'Am-st-er-dam.' Oh, Amsterdam is a city."
Michael stared at the picture for a little while longer before turning the page.
"Come on, Michael," Aileen reminded him, "Papa will be wondering where we are."
A rock hit the street beside them, startling them so much the boy dropped his book.
"Go back where you came from, you filthy Irish urchins," a voice cried.
A swarm of food and rocks sailed toward them from a source Aileen didn't stop to see.
"Run, Michael! Run home!" she cried.
Before she escaped herself, she scooped up the boy's book and ran with it.
She reached the safety of old brewery to find her brother crying in the arms of their father.
"What happened?" Father asked.
"Natives," Aileen explained.
Priest didn't react, but patted the boy's back to comfort him.
"Michael," Aileen said, approaching him.
He looked up, his eyes still wet.
Aileen held up his book. "Yeh dropped this."
Michael laughed and took the book, wiping his eyes.
"What's this then?" Vallon asked.
"The bookseller gave it to him," Aileen said.
"Ah. Well what do you say to your sister then, eh?" Priest asked the boy.
"Thank you, Aileen," Michael said.
Aileen kissed the boy's head and lifted the cloth from her basket to show her father the bread they'd bought.
Priest gazed at his daughter with a smile. "You get to be more and more like your mother every day."
Aileen smiled back and sat down beside her brother, reading as well as she could anything he asked.