“Ha!” said the father, with a complacent smile, “all's right, Peggy, you seen him, alanna. The music's in your eye, acushla; an' the' feet of you can't keep themselves off o' the ground; an' all bekase you seen Barny Dhal (* blind Barney) pokin' acrass the fields, wid his head up, an' his skirt stickn' out behind him wid Granua Waile.” (* The name of his fiddle) The father had conjectured properly, for the joy which animated the girl's countenance could not be misunderstood. “Barny's comin',” she exclaimed, clapping her hands with great glee, “an' our Frank wid him; they're at the river, and Frank has him on his back, and Granua Waile undhor his arm! Come out, come out! You'll die for good, lookin' at them staggerin' acrass. I knew he'd come! I knew it! and be good to thim that invinted Christmas; it's a brave time, faix!” In a moment the inmates were grouped before the door, all anxious to catch a glimpse of Barny and Granua Waile. “Faix ay! Sure enough.. Sarra doubt if it! Wethen, I'd never mistrust Barny!” might be heard in distinct exclamations from each. “Faith he's a Trojan,” said the _farithee_, an' must get lashins of the best we have. Come in, childher, an' red the hob for him. “'Och, Christmas comes but wanst a year, An' Christmas comes but wanst a year; An' the divil a mouth Shall be friends wid drouth, While I have whiskey, ale, or beer. Och, Christmas comes but wanst a year, An' Christmas comes but waust a year; Wid han' in han', An' can to can, Then Hi for the whiskey, ale, and beer. Och, Christmas comes but wanst a year, An' Christmas comes but wanst a year; Then the high and the low Shall shake their toe, When primed wid whiskey, ale, an' beer.' For all that, the sorra fig I care for either ale or beer, barrin' in regard of mere drouth; give me the whiskey, Eh, Alley--won't we have a jorum any how?” “Why, thin,” replied the wife, “the devil be from me (the crass about us for namin' him) but you're a greater _Brinoge_ than some of your childher! I suppose its your capers Frank has in him. Will you behave yourself, you old slingpoke? Behave, I say, an let me go. Childher, will you help me to flake this man out o' the place? Look at him, here, caperin' an' crackin' his fingers afore me, an' pullin' me out to dance!” “Och, och, murdher alive,” exclaimed the good man out of breath, “I seen the day, any way! An', maybe, could show a step or two yet, if I was well fixed. You can't forget ould times, Alley? Eh, you thief?” “Musha, have sinse, man alive,” replied the wife, in a tone of placid gravity, which only betrayed the pleasure she herself felt in his happiness. “Have sinse, an' the strange man comin' in, an' don't let him see you in such figaries.” The observation of the good woman produced a loud laugh among them. “Arrah what are yez laughing at?” she inquired.