“Shure he will: he’ll be dhrunk always, now he’s once begun,” replied Meg, who, of all the family was the most anxious to push her brother’s suit; and who, though really fond of her friend, thought the present opportunity a great deal too good to be thrown away, and could not bear the idea of Anty’s even thinking of being reconciled to her brother. “Won’t he be always dhrunk now?” she continued; “and ain’t we all frinds here? and why shouldn’t you let me tell Martin all? Afther all’s said and done, isn’t he the best frind you’ve got?”—Here Anty blushed very red, and to tell the truth, so did Martin too—“well so he is, and unless you tell him what’s happened, how’s he to know what to advise; and, to tell the truth, wouldn’t you sooner do what he says than any one else?” “I’m sure I’m very much obliged to Mr Martin”—it had been plain Martin before Meg’s appeal; “but your mother knows what’s best for me, and I’ll do whatever she says. Av’ it hadn’t been for her, I don’t know where I’d be now.” “But you needn’t quarrel with Martin because you’re frinds with mother,” answered Meg. “Nonsense, Meg,” said Jane, “Anty’s not going to quarrel with him. You hurry her too much.” Martin looked rather stupid all this time, but he plucked up courage and said, “Who’s going to quarrel? I’m shure, Anty, you and I won’t; but, whatever it is Barry did to you, I hope you won’t go back there again, now you’re once here. But did he railly sthrike you in arnest?” “He did, and knocked her down,” said Jane. “But won’t you get your brother his dinner?” said Anty; “he must be very hungry, afther his ride—and won’t you see your mother afther your journey, Mr Martin? I’m shure she’s expecting you.” This, for the present, put an end to the conversation; the girls went to get something for their brother to eat, and he descended into the lower regions to pay his filial respects to his mother.