An' while she was looking this way, an' thinking iv Leum-a-rinka--poor Bill iv the dance, that was sleepin' in his lonesome glory in the fields iv Spain--she began to sing the song he used to like so well in the ould times-- 'Shule, shule, shale a-roon;' an' when she ended the verse, what do you think but she heard a manly voice just at the other side iv the hedge, singing the last words over again! Well she knew it; her heart flutthered up like a little bird that id be wounded, and then dhropped still in her breast. It was himself. In a minute he was through the hedge and standing before her. 'Leum!' says she. 'Mavourneen cuishla machree!' says he; and without another word they were locked in one another's arms. Well, it id only be nansinse for me thryin' an' tell ye all the foolish things they said, and how they looked in one another's faces, an' laughed, an' cried, an' laughed again; and how, when they came to themselves, and she was able at last to believe it was raly Billy himself that was there, actially holdin' her hand, and lookin' in her eyes the same way as ever, barrin' he was browner and boulder, an' did not, maybe, look quite as merry in himself as he used to do in former times--an' fondher for all, an' more lovin' than ever--how he tould her all about the wars wid the Frinchmen--an' how he was wounded, and left for dead in the field iv battle, bein' shot through the breast, and how he was discharged, an' got a pinsion iv a full shillin' a day--and how he was come back to liv the rest iv his days in the sweet glen iv Lisnamoe, an' (if only SHE'D consint) to marry herself in spite iv them all. Well, ye may aisily think they had plinty to talk about, afther seven years without once seein' one another; and so signs on, the time flew by as swift an' as pleasant as a bird on the wing, an' the sun wint down, an' the moon shone sweet an' soft instead, an' they two never knew a ha'porth about it, but kept talkin' an' whisperin', an' whisperin' an' talkin'; for it's wondherful how often a tinder-hearted girl will bear to hear a purty boy tellin' her the same story constant over an' over; ontil at last, sure enough, they heerd the ould man himself comin' up the boreen, singin' the 'Colleen Rue'--a thing he never done barrin' whin he had a dhrop in; an' the misthress walkin' in front iv him, an' two illigant Kerry cows he just bought in the fair, an' the sarvint boys dhriving them behind. 'Oh, blessed hour!' says Molly, 'here's my father.' 'I'll spake to him this minute,' says Bill. 'Oh, not for the world,' says she; 'he's singin' the "Colleen Rue,"' says she, 'and no one dar raison with him,' says she. 'An' where 'll I go, thin?' says he, 'for they're into the haggard an top iv us,' says he, 'an' they'll see me iv I lep through the hedge,' says he. 'Thry the pig-sty,' says she, 'mavourneen,' says she, 'in the name iv God,' says she.