“I’ll live no more at home, But I’ll follow with the drum, And I’ll be the captain’s lady, oh!” _Christy._ Florry! Florry! mind you would not fall between two stools, and nobody to pity you. _Enter BIDDY._ _Miss G._ Well, what is it? _Biddy._ The bed. I was seeing was the room empty, that I might make it; for it’s only turned up it is, when I was called off to send in dinner. So I believe I’d best make it now, for the room will be wanting for the tea-drinking, and what not. _Miss G._ Ay, make the bed do, sure it’s asy, and no more about it;--you’ve talked enough about it to make twinty beds, one harder nor the other,--if talk would do. (_BIDDY goes to make the bed._) And I’m sure there’s not a girl in the parish does less in the day, for all the talk you keep. Now I’ll just tell all you didn’t do, that you ought this day, Biddy. [_While Miss GALLAGHER is speaking to BIDDY, Mr. GALLAGHER opens a press, pours out, and swallows a dram._ _Christy._ Oh, that would be too long telling, Florry, and that’ll keep cool. Lave her now, and you may take your scould out another time. I want to spake to you. What’s this I wanted to say? My memory’s confusing itself. Oh, this was it--I didn’t till you how I got this promise of the inn: I did it nately--I got it for a song. _Miss G._ You’re joking,--and I believe, sir, you’re not over and above sober. There’s a terrible strong smell of the whiskey. _Christy._ No, the whiskey’s not strong, dear, at-all-at-all!--You may keep smelling what way you plase, but I’m as sober as a judge, still,--and, drunk or sober, always knows and knewed on which side my bread was buttered:--got it for a song, I tell you--a bit of a complimentary, adulatory scroll, that the young lady fancied--and she, slap-dash, Lord love her, and keep her always so! writes at the bottom, _granted the poet’s petition_. _Miss G._ And where on earth, then, did you get that song? _Christy._ Where but in my brains should I get it? I could do that much any way, I suppose, though it was not my luck to be edicated at Ferrinafad. [_Miss GALLAGHER looks back, and sees BIDDY behind her.--Miss GALLAGHER gives her a box on the ear._ _Miss G._ Manners! that’s to teach ye. _Biddy._ Manners!--Where would I larn them--when I was only waiting the right time to ax you what I’d do for a clane pillow-case? _Miss G._ Why, turn that you have inside out, and no more about it. _Christy._ And turn yourself out of this, if you plase. (_He turns BIDDY out by the shoulders._) Let me hear you singing _Baltiorum_ in the kitchen, for security that you’re not hearing my sacrets. There, she’s singing it now, and we’re snug;--tell me when she stops, and I’ll stop myself. _Miss G._ Then there’s the girl has ceased singing. There’s somebody’s come in, into the kitchen; may be it’s the drum-major. I’ll go and see. [_Exit Miss GALLAGHER._ _CHRISTY, solus._