Young Pegeen, one of the good friends Francie made on his trip around the Emerald Isle, has just lost her Grannie. When she is told that she can't stay on alone in the small mountain cottage, Pegeen remembers Francie's promise to come for her someday. With Fr. Kelly's help she writes to the O'Sullivans, to be welcomed temporarily into their household. No one, except perhaps Francie, is quite prepared for Pegeen's knack of turning the world up on end. Her spirit is a perfect match for his, but two such personalities in one small cottage on Bantry Bay have startling consequences. Ireland, 1930's RL4.9 Of read-aloud interest ages 5-up Hilda van Stockum (1908-2006), wife of E.R. Marlin and mother of six children, wrote and illustrated nearly 20 books for children between the years 1934 and 1976. Born in Holland of Dutch and Irish heritage she met her American husband in Ireland at the outset of her portrait painting career. After her marriage she put her training in art to very good use in her books for children. Her works reflect the various countries and cultures of which she has been a part. For instance, her book The Winged Watchman remains a stirring tribute to the courage of her countrymen during World War II. A LATE sunbeam struck the little whitewashed cabin that lay snuggled against the mountainside, and picked out the red flash of a girl’s petticoat. She was sitting on the doorstep, her chin cupped in both hands, wide eyes raised to the smoldering sky. Blue shadows stole up around her, hiding the shining playthings of the day; a sound of lamenting and weeping came from the cottage, where candles burned around a still, white figure. The little girl’s thoughts had followed her eyes into far worlds. Grannie had gone. What was left was not Grannie any more. Pegeen had fled the unfamiliar presence, fled the kitchen, where bulky neighbors rocked and keened, waiting for the funeral. Pegeen would rather sit here and watch the sky change behind the mountain tops. Up there, somewhere, God sat on His throne with His angels around Him and star-crowned Mary, the Mother of God. Somewhere, there, behind those fading clouds, shone the Glory of Heaven from which the sun borrowed its light. How Grannie always did bless the sun when it warmed up her old bones for her! But Grannie had gone now; Grannie, who had been all the parent Pegeen had ever known, for her father and mother had died before she was old enough to remember. Grannie, whose knotted fingers had smoothed away Pegeen’s first pains, whose wrinkled lips had taught her her first prayers. Dearest, darling Grannie, she was up with God now, sitting in His golden light with His holy saints and angels. If only Pegeen could be quite sure that she was happy now. But Grannie had been so fond of her old gray shawl and her cup of black tea, and she had so loved telling stories. Pegeen couldn’t help wondering how she’d get on in Heaven, standing up all the time in the strong glare of Blessedness and shouting: “Hallelujah!” If only there were a quiet little corner with a rocking-chair and a turf fire, to keep Grannie in comfort. The more Pegeen thought about it, the more she doubted it. Och, it was a pity, it was indeed, that Grannie couldn’t have taken her shawl and slippers with her. She’d be lonesome in one of those thin white dresses they do be wearing up in Heaven, and she wouldn’t look right in it, either. And she wouldn’t find anyone to listen to her tales, for once you came to Heaven you knew everything naturally, like the angels, Father Kelly said, so the others’d be knowing the end before she had begun, and what was the fun of that! Oh, if only Pegeen could die too! She’d take care of Grannie all right, all right. She’d torment old Saint Peter till he gave Grannie all she wanted. But perhaps he wouldn’t let her in even if she did die, because of all the wickedness with which she had been filling her days. No, she had better bide awhile and learn to be good first, so she could be with Grannie later. It would be easy to be good now, for there’d be no one to forbid her anything. She could manage very well by herself, so she could. Hadn’t Grannie often praised the tea she made? And wasn’t she able to cook stirabout and mind the pig, that contrary creature? Och, it wouldn’t be any trouble at all, at all. . . . But in the kitchen of the little white cabin the neighbors were planning other things for Pegeen. “Who’s going to look after the child?” one of the women asked, when the quietness in the room had grown too heavy. “She has got relations in America, hasn’t she?” said Mr. Coyle, between two puffs from his pipe. “Maybe she has, but the news won’t reach them for a long while, and they may not be wanting her at all.” “Sure, old Mrs. Murphy was a poor hand at raising childer, God have mercy on her soul,” said the widow Magee, shaking her head. “They all up an’ left her, except the one that died, an’ he small use to her.” “They say her son Dan has been making a