“Yis, I’m lookin’ at ye; I’m observin’ ye, Misther Longman. That’s so! That’s a fact there’s no denyin’,” replied Mike, without removing his gaze, which was becoming embarrassing, if not offensive, to the good-natured hunter. “But why? What’s the matter?” demanded Longman, shifting his position so as to get out of the range of Mike’s eyes’ fire. “What is the matther? Och! he ax what is the matther! Haven’t ye just telled us how ye ran away fram yer poor withowed mither in her throuble, an’ nivir wint back to ax how she windded through it? An’ ye ax me what’s the matther?” exclaimed Mike with much excitement. “But, Mike, she turned me out of doors.” “No, she didn’t, Misther Longman. Not aven on your own showin’, which was like to be in your own favor. She upbreeded you for idleness an’ neglect av dooty. An’ she was right! An’ she told yer if ye couldn’t worruk on the farrm ye’d betther go and worruk somewheres else. An’ she was right again, so she was.” “Well, she was right; and I took her at her word and left to work somewhere else.” “Yis; an’ ye were the vagabond av the worruld for doin’ that same, Misther Longman. Sure ye knew she nivir meant it, an’ yez leaving must ha’ broke her heart, and yez her onliest one in the worruld.” “What would you have had me to do, Mike?” inquired Longman very patiently. “What wad I hev had ye to do, is it? Why, to hev gone to worruk on the farm and mindded yer ways from that hour, and hed the rint reddy on pay day. That’s what I wud hev had ye to do, Misther Longman. I nivir hed a mither; me and me twin swishter, Judy, was orphint childer—born so—and nivir knowed a mither. But if I hed hed a mither, and she had got mad at me and put me out av the front door, I’d ’a’ kem in at the back one. I wud nivir hev deserted me own mither—nivir! But I nivir hed a mither, and thim as has blessings nivir vally thim. I’m spaking me mind, Misther Longman, and ye may dooble me oop and fling me over the bank and brek me neck at the bottom of the gulch if ye like, for ye’re twice as big and strong as meself, but I’m bound to spake me mind!” exclaimed the Irish boy excitedly, digging his hands in his trousers pockets and straightening himself up. “Give me your hand, Mike. You are a brave, true young fellow, and all that you say is right. Now, then, I must tell you that I have not neglected my mother. I wrote to her before I sailed from London, telling her where I was going. I also wrote to her from ’Frisco. I have written to her from every available point where I have taken up my abode. But I have never had an answer to any letter. She must have discarded me, and perhaps married again, for she was a comely woman, only thirty-eight years old, when I left her.” “Did it nivir occur till ye that the letthers might be lost in a wild, onsartin part uv the worruld like this?” inquired Mike.