“I 'd have courage to go to school to-morrow, Catty, and begin as a mere child to learn, if I knew that another was ready to take my place here. But who is to look after these poor people, who are accustomed now to see me amongst them, on the mountains, in the fields, at their firesides?--who gain new spirit for labor when I ride down in the midst of them, and look up, cheered, by seeing me, even from a sick-bed. Her Ladyship would say, Mr. Henderson could do all this far better than myself.” “Mr. Henderson, indeed!” exclaimed Catty, indignantly; “the smooth-tongued old rogue!” “And perhaps he might, in England,” resumed Mary; “but not here, Catty,--not here! We care less for benefits than the source from which they spring. We Irish cherish the love of motives as well as actions; and, above all, we cherish the links that bind the lowliest in the land with the highest, and make both better by the union.” She poured out these words with rapid impetuosity, rather talking to herself than addressing her companion; then, suddenly changing her tone, she added,-- “Besides, Catty, _they_ are used to me, and _I_ to _them_. A new face and a new voice would not bring the same comfort to them.” “Never, never,” muttered the old woman to herself. “And I 'll not desert them.” “That you won't, darling,” said the old woman, kissing her hand passionately, while tears swam in her eyes, and trickled down her cheeks. “There is but one thought, Catty, that makes me at all faint-hearted about this, and whenever it crosses me I do feel very low and depressed.” She paused, and then murmured the words, “My father!” “Your father, my darling! What about _him?_” “It is thinking, Catty, of his return; an event that ought to be--and would be, too--the very happiest of my life; a day for whose coming I never sleep without a prayer; and yet, even this bright prospect has its dark side, when I recall all my own deficiencies, and how different he will find his daughter from what he had expected her.” “May the blessed saints grant me patience!” cried Catty, breaking in. “Isn't it too bad to hear you talking this way? Sure, don't I know Master Barry well? Didn't I nurse him, and wasn't I all as one as his own mother to him, and don't I know that you are his own born image? 'Tis himself and no other ye are every minute of the day.”