_Owen._ Why there’s no doubt but it’s hard, when the mother has reared the son, for him to quit her as soon as he can go alone; but it is what I was thinking: it is only the militia, you know, and I’d not be going out of the three kingdoms ever at all; and I could be sending money home to my mother, like Johnny Reel did to his. _Mabel._ Money is it? Then there’s no money you could send her--not the full of Lough Erne itself, in golden guineas, could make her amends for the loss of yourself, Owen, and you know that. _Mr. H._ And I am not the man that would entice you to list, or gang with me, in contradiction to your duty at home, or your interest abroad: so (_turning to_ MABEL) do not look on me as the tempter to evil, nor with distrust, as you do, kind sister as you are, and like my own Kate; but hear me coolly, and without prejudice, for it is his gude I wish. _Mabel._ I am listening then, and I ask your pardon if I looked a doubt. _Mr. H._ The gude mother must wish, above all things here below, the weal and _advancement_ and the honour of her bairns; and she would not let the son be tied to her apron-strings, for any use or profit to herself, but ever wish him to do the best in life for his sel’. Is not this truth, gude friends--plain truth? _Mabel._ It is then--I own that: truth and sense too. _Owen._ Now see there, Mabel. _Mr. H._ And better for him to do something abroad than digging at home; and in the army he might get on,--and here’s the bugle-boy’s pay. _Mabel._ Is it a bugle-boy you are thinking of making him? _Mr. H._ That’s the only thing I could make him. I wish I could offer better. _Mabel._ Then, I thank you, sir, and I wouldn’t doubt ye--and it would be very well for a common boy that could only dig; but my brother’s no common boy, sir. _Owen._ Oh, Mabel! _Mabel._ Hush, Owen! for it’s the truth I’m telling, and if to your face I can’t help it. You may hide the face, but I won’t hide the truth. _Mr. H._ Then speak on, my warm-hearted lassy, speak on. _Mabel._ Then, sir, he got an edication while ever my poor father lived, and no better scholar, they said, for the teaching he got:--but all was given over when the father died, and the troubles came, and Owen, as he ought, give himself up intirely for my mother, to help her, a widow. But it’s not digging and slaving he is to be always:--it’s with the head, as my father used to say, he’ll make more than the hands; and we hope to get a clerk’s place for him sometime, or there will be a schoolmaster wanting in this town, and that will be what he would be fit for; and not--but it’s not civil, before you, a soldier, sir, to say the rest. _Mr. H._ Fear not, you will not give offence. _Mabel._ And not to be spending his breath blowing through a horn all his days, for the sake of wearing a fine red coat. I beg your pardon again, sir, if I say too much--but it’s to save my brother and my mother. _Mr. H._ I like you the better for all you’ve said for both.