_Pat._ Mistake? ay, mistake on purpose. So he never spoke! so he lied!--my master that was praching me! And oh, the dirty lie he tould me! Now I can’t put up with that, when I was almost perjuring myself for him at the time. Oh, if I don’t fit him for this! And he got the place given to another!--then I’ll git him as well sarved, and out of this place too--seen-if-I-don’t! He is cunning enough, but I’m cuter nor he--I have him in my power, so I have! and I’ll give the shupervizor a scent of the malt in the turf-stack--and a hint of the spirits in the tan-pit--and it’s I that will like to stand by innocent, and see how shrunk O’Blaney’s double face will look forenent the shupervizor, when all’s found out, and not a word left to say, but to pay--ruined hand and foot! Then that shall be, and before nightfall. Oh! one good turn desarves another--in revenge, prompt payment while you live! [_Exit._] SCENE II. _McBRIDE’S Cottage._ _MATTHEW McBRIDE and HONOR. (MATTHEW with a little table before him, at dinner._) _Old McB._ (_pushing his plate from him_) I’ll take no more--I’m done. [_He sighs._] _Honor._ Then you made but a poor dinner, father, after being at the fair, and up early, and all!--Take this bit from my hands, father dear. _Old McB._ (_turning away sullenly_) I’ll take nothing from you, Honor, but what I got already enough--and too much of--and that’s ungratitude. _Honor._ Ungratitude, father! then you don’t see my heart. _Old McB._ I lave that to whoever has it, Honor: ‘tis enough for me, I see what you do--and that’s what I go by. _Honor._ Oh, me! and what did I do to displase you, father? (_He is obstinately silent; after waiting in vain for an answer, she continues_) I that was thinking to make all happy, (_aside_) but myself, (_aloud_) by settling to keep out of the way of--all that could vex you--and to go to sarvice, to Mrs. Carver’s. I thought that would plase you, father. _Old McB._ Is it to lave me, Honor? Is it _that_ you thought would plase me, Honor?--To lave your father alone in his ould age, after all the slaving he got and was willing to undergo, whilst ever he had strength, early and late, to make a little portion for you, Honor,--you, that I reckoned upon for the prop and pride of my ould age--and you expect you’d plase me by laving me. _Honor._ Hear me just if, pray then, father. _Old McB._ (_shaking her off as she tries to caress him_) Go, then; go where you will, and demane yourself going into sarvice, rather than stay with me--go. _Honor._ No, I’ll not go. I’ll stay then with you, father dear,--say that will plase you. _Old McB._ (_going on without listening to her_) And all for the love of this Randal Rooney! Ay, you may well put your two hands before your face; if you’d any touch of natural affection at all, _that_ young man would have been the last of all others you’d ever have thought of loving or liking any way. _Honor._ Oh! if I could help it!