“Come sit down,” said the good-natured Connor, “eat an egg, and Mary shall put a bit of bacon on the gridiron that we bought the other day.” “No, no,” replied Lacy, “keep it for your dinner to-morrow, you will have but a poor meal at best.” Mary understood what he meant: she hung down her head for a minute; but then looking cheerful again, she said, “If you have not got the money, my dear, we must do the best we can—while God sends us health, and thankful hearts, we need not complain at the want of a meal’s meat.” “You are a good woman, Mrs. Connor,” said Lacy; “my Susan will give me no such comfort.” “Perhaps,” said Mary, “you do not encourage her to do so.” “Encourage,” replied Lacy; “I don’t know what you mean by that—I work hard all the week, never spending a farthing at the public house on Saturdays, and on Sundays we have a snug, piping hot dinner, and a glass of punch into the bargain.” “And how do you pass the evening?” asked Connor. “Oh, very well,” says Lacy; “Susan, perhaps, puts on her cloak, and goes to Nancy Dillon, while her good man and I smoke a pipe quietly together.” “Do you never go to prayers?” said Mary. “To be sure I do, now and then,” replied Lacy, “and Susan goes whenever she gets a new riband to her old hat, to make her look decent. Indeed she went twice, to my certain knowledge, the day that his Honour’s housekeeper gave her the new stuff gown.” Mary shook her head, and Lacy was displeased. “May be,” said he, “you think we are not religious, as you call it; but I’ll be bound we’re as good Christians as those that make such a fuss about it. I learned the ten commandments when I was a boy, and remember them well enough to keep them now.” “And do you think keeping the commandments in the sort of way you talk of, will bring you to heaven?” said Connor. “Indeed I do,” replied Lacy, “what else should bring me there?” “And are you sure,” said Connor, “that you keep the commandments, and never break one of them?” “It’s myself that thinks so,” said Lacy, “and I defy you, or any one else, to say to the contrary.” “I will show you presently,” said Connor, taking down a neat Bible. “No thank you,” said Lacy, “I could have enough of that if I liked it; but I am not fond of preaching: it’s poor feeding for those who want bread.” “Isn’t the Bible said to be the bread of life?” cried Mary. “It may be so,” said he, “but I can’t live on a book.” “Ah, neighbour, if you would but learn to look up to God!” said Mary. “Pho!” replied Lacy, rising, and throwing his spade over his shoulder, “Connor, with all your talk, you are worse off than me—how will you feed those four hungry little ones to-morrow?” “We don’t fret ourselves much about that,” said Mary, for “He that feedeth the young ravens, has promised that he will not suffer the children of his servants to cry for food in vain.”