“There's an odd whisper here an' there about another robber,” continued Bryan; “but I don't believe a word about it. No, no;--he's wild, and not scrupulous in many things, but I always thought him generous, an' indeed rather careless about money.” “You mane the sportheen?” said his brother Art. “The Hogans,” said the old man, recurring to the subject, as associated with them, “would rob anybody barrin' the Cavanaghs; but I won't listen to it, Bryan, that Hycy Burke, or the son of any honest man that ever had an opportunity of hearin' the Word o' God, or livin' in a Christian counthry, could ever think of robbin' his own father--his own father! I won't listen to that.” “No, nor I, grandfather,” said Bryan, “putting everything else out of the question, its too unnatural an act. What makes you shake your head, Art?” “I never liked a bone in his body, somehow,” replied Art. “Ay, but my goodness, Art,” said Dora, “sure nobody would think of robbin' their own father?” “He has been doin' little else these three years, Dora, by all accounts,” replied Art. “Ay, but his father,” continued the innocent girl; “to break into the house at night an' rob him like a robber!” “Well, I say, it's reported that he has been robbin' him these three years in one shape or other,” continued Art; “but here's Shibby, let's hear what she'll say. What do you think, shibby?” “About what, Art?” “That Hycy Burke would rob his father!” “Hut, tut! Art, what puts that into your head? Oh, no, Art--not at all--to rob his father, an' him has been so indulgent to him!” “Indeed, I agree with you, Shibby,” said Bryan; “for although my opinion of Hycy is changed very much for the worse of late, still I can't and won't give in to that.” “An what has changed it for the worse?” asked his mother. “You an' he wor very thick together always--eh? What has changed it, Bryan?” Bryan began to rub his hand down the sleeve of his coat, as if freeing it from dust, or perhaps admiring its fabric, but made no reply. “Eh, Bryan,” she continued, “what has changed your opinion of him?” “Oh, nothing of much consequence, mother,” replied her son; “but sometimes a feather will toll one how the wind blows.”