Dunn arose impatiently, observing that the night was growing chilly, and it were better to return to the house. “I mean to sup with you,” said he, gayly, “if you have anything to give me.” “A rasher and eggs, and a bladebone of cold mutton is all I have,” muttered the old man, gloomily. “I would not let them buy a chicken this week, when I saw the shares falling. Give me your arm, Davy, I've a slight weakness in the knees; it always took me at this season since I was a boy.” And mumbling how strange it was that one did not throw off childish ailments as one grew older, he crept slowly along towards the house. As they entered the kitchen, Dunn remarked with astonishment how little there remained of the abundance and plenty which had so characterized it of old. No hams, no flitches hung from the rafters; no sturdy barrels of butter stood against the walls; the chicken-coop was empty; and even to the good fire that graced the hearth there was a change, for a few half-sodden turf-sods were all that lingered in the place. Several baskets and hampers, carefully corded and sealed, were ranged beside the dresser, in which Dunn recognized presents of wine, choice cordials and liqueurs, that he had himself addressed to the old man. “Why, father, how is this?” asked he, half angrily. “I had hoped for better treatment at your hands. You have apparently not so much as tasted any of the things I sent you.” “There they are, indeed, Davy, Just as they came for 'Matthew Dunn, Esq., with care,' written on them, and not a string cut!” “And why should this be so, sir, may I ask?” “Well, the truth is, Davy,” said he, with a sigh, “I often longed to open them, and uncork a bottle of ale, or brandy, or, maybe, sherry, and sore tempted I felt to do it when I was drinking my buttermilk of a night; but then I 'd say to myself, 'Ain't you well and hearty? keep cordials for the time when you are old, and feeble, and need support; don't be giving yourself bad habits, that maybe some fifteen or twenty years hence you'll be sorry for.' There's the reason, now, and I see by your face you don't agree with me.” Dunn made no answer, but taking up a knife he speedily cut the cordage of a large hamper, and as speedily covered a table with a variety of bottles. “We 'll drink this to the Queen's health, father,” said he, holding up a flask of rare hock; “and this to the 'House of Lords,' for which estimable body I mean to return thanks; and then, father, I 'll give 'Prosperity to the landed interest and the gentry of Ireland,' for which you shall speak.” Dunn went gayly along in this jesting fashion while he emptied the hamper of its contents, displaying along the dresser a goodly line of bottles, whose shape and corkage guaranteed their excellence. Meanwhile an old servant-woman had prepared the table, and was busily engaged with the materials of the meal.