But Dylan and Brendan were still wide awake, the two of them perched on the end of their bed, listening raptly as their father, Seamus Quinn, spun another tale. It was well past eleven and the boys should have been asleep. While his father was away, Conor made sure bedtime was strictly adhered to on school nights. But Seamus, a swordfisherman by profession, stayed in port only a week or two before heading out to sea for months at a time. And with winter coming, his father and the crew of The Mighty Quinn would be heading farther south, following the swordfish into the warmer waters of the Caribbean.

“This is a story of your long-ago ancestor, Eamon Quinn. Eamon was a clever laddie, so clever he could build a nest in your ear.”

Conor listened with half an ear to Seamus’s colorful tale, wondering whether he’d ever find a proper time to bring up Dylan’s failures in math class, or Brendan’s habit of pinching candy from the local market, or the immunizations that Brian and Sean still needed for school. But one subject had to be discussed, a problem his father refused to acknowledge.

Mrs. Smalley, their neighbor and regular baby-sitter, was up to a quart of vodka a day. Concerned for the safety of his three youngest brothers, Conor had been anxious to find another person to watch the little ones while he and Dylan and Brendan were at school. Social Services had already paid a surprise visit and he’d managed to hustle them off with an elaborate excuse about Mrs. Smalley’s allergies. But if the social workers realized he cared for his five brothers almost entirely on his own, they’d declare neglect and send them all to an orphanage.

“One fine day, Eamon was fishing off the Isle of Shadows. As he passed by a rocky shore, he saw a beautiful lass standing near the water’s edge, her long hair blowing in the breeze. His heart swelled and his face shone, for Eamon had never seen a more lovely creature.”