Haley's statements could seldom be relied on, but his untruth fulness was never a matter of self-interest, but rather of amiability. He desired to tell you whatever you desired to know, and to tell it as you would like to hear it, even if facts were so perverse as to be contrary. One day I wanted to do an errand in the village, and called for the horse and carriage. Haley brought them to the door. As I took the reins I remembered that it was noon and the horse's dinner-time: "Did the horse have his dinner, Haley?" "I just gave it to him, ma'am; and an ilegint dinner he had." "Why did you feed him just when I was about to drive him?" "Oh, well, it's not much he got." "He should have had nothing." "Faith, me lady, I ownly showed it to him." There were no more respectable people in The Lane than John Godfrey and his family. His pretty little wife with an anxious face tenderly watched over an ever-increasing family of daughters, till on one most providential occasion the expected girl turned out to be a boy, and I went with my sisters to congratulate the happy mother. "What will you name the little fellow, Mrs. Godfrey?" I asked, sympathetically. The poor woman looked up with a smile, saying weakly, "John Pathrick, miss--John afther the father, an' Pathrick afther the saint." The following year the same unexpected luck brought another boy, and again we young girls, being much at leisure, carried our congratulations: "What will be the name of this little boy, Mrs. Godfrey?" "Pathrick John, miss--Pathrick afther the saint, an' John afther the father." A confused sense of having heard that sentence before came over me. "Why, Mrs. Godfrey," I said, "was not that the name of your last child?" "To be shure, miss. Why would I be trating one betther than the other?" A member of this same family, upon receiving a blow with a stone in the eye, left her somewhat overcrowded paternal home for the quieter protection of her widowed aunt, Mrs. King, and one day my sister and myself knocked at Mrs. King's door to inquire about the state of the injured organ. "Troth, miss, it's very bad," said Mrs. King. "What do you do for it, Mrs. King?" "Do?" said Mrs. King, suddenly applying the corner of her apron to her overflowing eyes--"Do?" she continued in a broken voice. "I've been crying these three days." "But what do you do to make it better?"