“Oh! a good morra,” returned Mister Costigan very coldly and with looks still colder, “an’ I wondher above all things what is it that takes Miss Kavanagh out of her bed so early?” “Just what ought to rouse many more ov us, Misther Costigan,” replied Kate spiritedly--“to help a naibur, an’ I am come to offer ye all the ’sistance in my power to-day, aither as binder or raiper, whichever ye may want worst.” “I want neither,” returned the farmer gruffly, and turning on his heel; “an’, besides, I could not possibly think of puttin’ sitch delicate white hands to sitch coorse work!” “The belle o’ the barony” coloured high at the affront couched in this speech, and she hastily answered that “her hands, sitch as they war, could earn her bread for her when she required it; an’ if _she_ didn’t find them too tendher for work, Misther Costigan needn’t find fault with them. But,” added she more kindly, “you have a rough manner but a kind heart, Dennis Costigan, an’ I won’t mind what you say to me. Moreover, I’ll stay with ye to-day, whether you be willin’ or not, aither as binder or raiper.” Dennis Costigan, “kind as his heart” was, would have given a sovereign of “bright goold” that Kate Kavanagh and her bright eyes were a few miles off at the moment; but as he saw that she carried all before her, he thought it better not to give her any further offence, and accordingly, but with a very bad grace, he accepted her services. “Where be’s Jem and Ned Costigan this mornin’?” whispered Kate to the counsellor, who was flourishing away gallantly at her side. The man of eloquence flung himself into an attitude, laid his hand upon his heart, and looked languishingly, as he “assured her that her charms were railly too potently enfluential over the hearts ov her admirers, as she not only deprived thim ov the needful refreshment of nathur, oblivious slumber, but she also hendhered them from doin’ their daily manual imploymints. For instance,” said he, “you see _Saul_, the orb ov day, is high up in his meraydian hemisphare, an’ those inamoured swains are still pressin’ their beds, or rather cooches, in the arms ov Murphy, mainin’ sleep or Somnus----” “An’ what have I to do with that?” said Kate, laughing heartily. “Do ye think I gave thim a sleepy potion?”