“And there she is, on the top of the dresser, out of harm’s way. I was sorry for poor John,” he said, addressing himself to Katty; “you must miss him.” “In troth and I do, at every turn--a sore loss, both outside and in. Mary and me is not aqual to more than a couple of cows, and a few hens, and the potatoes.” “And who does the digging?” inquired the younger master, who stood with his back to the fire, for all the world as if he were at home--the dogs with manners lying near the door. “Well, to tell yer honour no lie, Patsie Maguire does the heavy part. When his work is over, he comes and puts in an hour.” “I know Patsie Maguire--a smart, likely-looking lad”--here he addressed himself to Mary, who stood leaning carelessly against the dresser. “And what does he dig for, Mary--love, or money?” “Oh, sir!” cried the girl, “now I declare to goodness ye make me laugh! For neither--but just his kindness.” “Mary is terribly clever with flowers,” put in her mother irrelevantly. “’Tis she has the lucky hand; and as for eggs, hasn’t the hens been laying the whole winter, and them mother naked, and not a feather on them. Winter does be awful lonesome for us now; not a living soul within half a mile. Sometimes, when I think of robbers and house-breakers, I am all of a tremble, and never close an eye.” “You ought to keep a dog,” suggested the visitor; “he’d be company.” “He would so,” agreed Mary. “I’d love to have one.” “Would you like this fellow?” asked Ulick, indicating a red terrier who had made his way to the fire; “he is only a pup, but he will grow!” “Oh, sir! oh, yer honour! sure we would not expect the likes of him,” protested Mrs. Foley. “Maybe Boland up at the Chapel has a pup he can spare.” “No, no, mother,” broke in Mary, “I just hate that breed of Boland’s--they are so long and black and deceiving, and, anyhow, are only good for poaching. They are quiet enough on a weekday, but all over the county of a Sunday. Oh----,” and she paused, “Oh faix, I was forgetting Mr. Ulick!” and she laughed, and coloured vividly. “I’m glad to hear you don’t like poachers, Mary. This little chap here”--and he held him up--“kills rats already, and will keep off tramps. He is a gentleman.” “Sure,” began Katty, with a wheezy laugh, “what would a gentleman be doing with the likes of us?” “He will like you, and I know you will like him. See, Pap”--and he led him over to Mary--“this is your new mistress; and here is another”; and he pulled him towards Katty, who, however, held back, saying-- “Oh, sir, it’s too great a condescension for us; entirely too much!” “What do you say to him, Mary?” turning to her.