“Glory be to God! no, avourneen machree. Och, och! but it 'ud be the black sight, an' the black day, that 'ud see my brave, boy, the staff of our support, an' the bread of our mouth, taken away from us!--No, no, Kathleen dear, it's not that bad wid me yet. I hope we'll never live to see his manly head laid down before us. 'Twas his own manliness, indeed, brought it an him--backin' the sack when he was bringin' home our last _meldhre_ * from the mill; for you see he should do it, the crathur, to show his strinth, an' the sack, when he got it an was too heavy for him, an' hurted the small of his back; for his bones, you see, are too young, an' hadn't time to fill up yet. No, avourneen. Glory be to God! he's gettin' betther wid me!” and the poor creature's eyes glistened with delight through her tears and the darkness of her affliction. Without saying a word, Owen, when she finished the eulogium on her son, rose, and taking her forcibly by the shoulder, set her down at the table, on which a large potful of potatoes had been spread out, with a circle in the middle for a dish of rashers and eggs, into which dish every right hand of those about it was thrust, with a quickness that clearly illustrated the principle of competition as a stimulus to action. “Spare your breath,” said Owen, placing her rather roughly upon the seat, “an' take share of what's goin': when all's cleared off we'll hear you, but the sorra word till then.” “Musha, Owen,” said the poor woman, “you're the same man still; sure we all know your ways; I'll strive, avourneen, to ate--I'll strive, asthore--to plase you, an' the Lord bless you an' yours, an' may you never be as I an' my fatherless childhre are this sorrowful day!” and she accompanied her words by a flood of tears. * Meldhre--whatever quantity of grain is brought to the mill to be ground on one occasion. Owen, without evincing the slightest sympathy, withdrew himself from the table. Not a muscle of his face was moved; but as the cat came about his feet at the time, he put his foot under her, and flung her as easily as possible to the lower end of the kitchen. “Arrah, what harm did the crathur do,” asked his wife, “that you'd kick her for, that way? an' why but you ate out your dinner?” “I'm done,” he replied, “but that's no rason that Rosha, an' you, an' thim boys that has the work afore them, shouldn't finish your male's mate.” Poor Rosha thought that by his withdrawing he had already suspected the object of her visit, and of course concluded that her chance of succeeding was very slender. The wife, who guessed what she wanted, as well as the nature of her suspicion, being herself as affectionate and obliging as Owen, reverted to the subject, in order to give her an opportunity of proceeding.