"Well, Misther Gout went marching up the hill at a fine rate, an' when he come to the rich man's house, who should he see, by the greatest good luck, but the masther himself, standin' on the steps o' the hall door, sayin' good-bye to the company. He lay quiet till the last of the illigant carr'ages had drove off, an' the master stepped inside again. "'I think I'll have a smoke,' says he--here Pat assumed an aristocratic air and spoke in refined and mincing tones--'before I go to bed. William,' says he to one of the futmen, 'bring me me slippers.' Well, the gentleman sat down in a grand soft armchair, an' the futman brought his slippers--an' if the Gout didn't take the opportunity an' pop into his big toe!" Roseen jumped up from her stool with a chuckle of anticipation. Pat proceeded to give utterance to a series of hollow and extraordinary groans, and to writhe in a manner intended to convey the extreme agony of the rich man. Roseen fairly danced about, imitating Pat's moanings to the best of her ability. "Ou-ou-ou-ough! Ugh!" "'By this an' by that,' says the gentleman, 'tare an' ages!' says he, 'thunder an' turf!' he says, 'what in the world is the matter wid me big toe?' "Well, the misthress comes runnin' down in a great state. 'My dear,' she says (here Pat affected an extremely _Englified_ falsetto), 'I am afeard you are very sick,' says she; 'ye'd best have a sup of port wine,' says she. "'Ou-ou-ough!' says the masther, 'maybe it would do me good. Fetch it there, quick,' he says to the sarvants, 'or I'll be the death o' some of yez!' "Well, they brought him port wine, an' they brought him whisky, an' they brought a beautiful velvet cushion an' put it under the gentleman's fut; an' the Gout winks to himself, an' says he, 'Troth, I'll not be in a hurry to quit out o' this. Sure it's in clover altogether I am,' he says. "Well, there ye have the story now, alanna, an' here's herself comin' down the hill an' Mike afther her." But Roseen was too much excited to heed the last announcement. "Was it this way, the way the rich man was groanin'?" she asked, once more imitating Pat's extraordinary utterances. The old man nodded, and Roseen stood still meditatively scratching one little brown leg with the curved-in toes of the other. "I wisht," she observed presently, in a pensive tone, "that a Gout 'ud get into me gran'father's big toe; it 'ud sarve him right!" Pat was rubbing his hands and chuckling to himself over this remark when his wife entered, hot and weary after her peregrinations over the ruins. "Sixpence is all they're afther givin' me," she observed plaintively. "Dear knows, it's hard set we are to live these times at all." "Is it sixpence, woman alive!" cried Pat; "I wonder they had the face to offer it to ye. Well, well, I was looking for a shillin' now, or maybe two. Here, cut the child a bit o' griddle cake; she's been keepin' me company this long while, haven't ye, Roseen? An' it's starvin' she is out-an'-out."