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with her own best recollections of The Twelve Swans, The Piper and the Puca, and of course The Stolen Child. Wide eyes and neck bobbing were a standing ovation. One of the children, looking her up and down and up and down unsure of himself, finally got the courage, "Misses?" "Yes, honey?" "You got presidents on your titties?" His mother was both hysterical with the remark and at the same time embarrassed, sweeping him up into her arms, "Clarence! You don't go round askin' ladies 'bout their personals." She was kissing him while shaking her head. Shannon had the best laugh in days over that one. She knew the origins of that question and told the little fellow that she was not that particular woman. Just about when it seemed that the issue had been cleared up he blurted from under his mamma's hug, "Then what do you got on'em?" "Clar-ence! Come-on. Let's go find daddy." Little Clarence was still asserting his case as he flew away on the chariot called mama. The other children were rolling on their backs gasping for air and punching the grass, unable to contain themselves as Shannon O'Brien just sheepishly answered, "Nothing." Having nothing there was just as funny as having politicians. When the kids finally caught their breaths, winding down in eeeew's and hooo ha's, she slaughtered them by remarking that although there was nothing there, there was just enough room to tattoo A Few Good Men. Even the adults lost composure at that. One of the older gentlemen raised his cane and extended rhetorically, "Ahh. But which few?" She smiled him a wink then pondered it. That was a good question. Frank Sumner sensed the unspoken ethic of the crowd and so contributed to story