_Mr. H._ Hold! my gude girl, let me do that for you; mine is a strong haund. _Biddy._ I thank your honour,--it’s too much trouble entirely for a jantleman like you; but it’s always the best jantleman has the _laste_ pride.--Then them Kellys is a good race, ould and young, and I love ‘em, root and branch. Besides Mabel the daughter, there’s Owen the son, and as good a son he is--no better! He got an edication in the beginning, till the troubles came across his family, and the boy, the child, for it’s bare fifteen he is this minute, give up all his hopes and prospects, the cratur! to come home and slave for his mother. _Mr. H._ Ah, that’s weel--that’s weel! I luve the lad that makes a gude son.--And is the father _deed_? _Biddy._ Ay, dead and deceased he is, long since, and was buried just upon that time that ould Sir Cormac, father of the young heiress that is now at the castle above, the former landlord that was over us, died, see!--Then there was new times and new _takes_, and the widow was turned out of the inn, and these Gallaghers got it, and all wint wrong and to rack; for Mrs. Gallagher, that was, drank herself into her grave unknownst, for it was by herself in private she took it; and Christy Gallagher, the present man, is doing the same, only publicly, and running through all, and the house is tumbling over our ears: but he hopes to get the new inn; and if he does, why, he’ll be lucky--and that’s all I know, for the dinner is done now, and I’m going in with it--and won’t your honour walk up to the room now? _Mr. H._ (_going to the ladder_) Up here? _Biddy._ Oh, it’s not _up_ at all, your honour, sure! but down here--through this ways. _Mr. H._ One word more, my gude lassy. As soon as we shall have all dined, and you shall have ta’en your ane dinner, I shall beg of you, if you be not then too much tired, to show me the way to that bush of Bannow, whereat this Widow Larken’s cottage is. _Biddy._ With all the pleasure in life, if I had not a fut to stand upon. [_Exit Mr. HOPE.--BIDDY follows with a dish smoking hot._ _Biddy._ And I hope you’ll find it an iligant Scotch hash, and there’s innions plinty--sure the best I had I’d give you; for I’m confident now he’s the true thing--and tho’ he is Scotch, he desarves to be Irish, every inch of him. [_Exit BIDDY DOYLE._ ACT II. SCENE I. _An Irish Cabin.--The Kitchen._ _Widow LARKEN. On one side of her, MABEL at needle-work; on the other side, OWEN her son enters, bringing in a spinning-wheel, which he places before his mother._ _Owen._ There, mother, is your wheel mended for you. _Mabel._ Oh, as good as new, Owen has made it for you. _Widow._ Well, whatever troubles come upon me in this world, have not I a right to be thankful, that has such good childer left me?--Still it grieves me, and goes to the quick of my heart, Mabel, dear, that your brother here should be slaving for me, a boy that is qualified for better.