“The luckiest accident ever _happened me_ before or since I came to America,” said Barny, “was being on board the same vessel with such a man as you. If you had not given me the first lift, I had been down for good and all, and trampled under foot, long and long ago. But after that first lift, all was as easy as life. My two sons here were not taken from me--God bless you; for I never can bless you enough for that. The lads were left to work for me and with me; and we never parted, hand or heart, but just kept working on together, and put all our earnings, as fast as we got them, into the hands of that good woman, and lived hard at first, as we were born and bred to do, thanks be to heaven! Then we swore against all sorts of drink entirely. And as I had occasionally served the masons when I lived a labouring man in the county of Dublin, and knew something of that business, why, whatever I knew, I made the most of, and a trowel felt noways strange to me, so I went to work, and had higher wages at first than I deserved. The same with the two boys; one was as much of a blacksmith as would shoe a horse, and the other a bit of a carpenter; so the one got plenty of work in the forges, and the other in the dockyards as a ship-carpenter. So, early and late, morning and evening, we were all at the work, and just went this way struggling on even for a twelvemonth, and found, with the high wages and constant employ we had met, that we were getting greatly better in the world. Besides, the wife was not idle. When a girl, she had seen baking, and had always a good notion of it, and just tried her hand upon it now, and found the loaves went down with the customers, who came faster and faster for them; and this was a great help. Then I turned master mason, and had my men under me, and took a house to build by the job, and that did; and then on to another; and after building many for the neighbours, ’twas fit and my turn, I thought, to build one for myself, which I did out of theirs, without wronging them of a penny. In short,” continued Barny, “if you were to question me how I have got on so well in the world, upon my conscience I should answer, we never made Saint Monday, and never put off till to-morrow what we could do to-day.” I believe I sighed deeply at this observation of Barny’s notwithstanding the comic phraseology in which it was expressed. “And would it be too much liberty to ask you,” said Barny, “to drink a cup of tea, and to taste a slice of my good woman’s bread and butter? And happy the day we see you eating it, and only wish we could serve you in any way whatsoever.”