I won't describe what big Jack Dax,--who was there,--said on seeing his nephew again; I'll rather take up your time by telling you what a better man, and that's Father Killala, did:--though Misther Dax is a good soul, and much liked; but, of course, not to be mentioned with the Priest. And the truth is, big Jack Dax didn't waste much time in words but, with little or no ceremony, hoisted his poor worn-out little nephew on his own broad shoulders, and so hoiked him off home to The Beg. It was himself--I mane the Priest,--that took the child out of James Dingle's arms, and when he'd seen it was alive and well, he motioned all the people about him to be silent: then, turning to young Dingle, he said, in a tone that those who heard it won't soon forget, “James Dingle, you're the father of this child!” Every soul stood amazed, and nobody spoke but Dingle himself. “What makes you say so, sir?” said he. “What?” exclaimed Father Killala: “what but that we've all witnessed to-day?--Your humanity made you offer money to any one that would scale the crag, when you merely knew that a child had been carried off by the eagle; but as soon as you heard the child was Norah Cavanagh's, you prepared to go yourself. None but the father of this babe would have ventured as much for it as you have to-day;--you are that father, James Dingle. In the face of Heaven above us,--before your countrymen,--in the sight of that lost young woman,--and with this unhappy being on your bosom,”--and he placed the child in young Dingle's arms as he spoke,--“with this in your bosom, you cannot--dare not deny it!” “I don't deny it, Father Killala,” replied James Dingle. It's said the Priest himself looked a little surprised at this; but he wint on:--“Then, Mr. Dingle, as you're a man, I trust it's your intention to follow up this great day's work, by doing right to her that you've wronged.” “He never wronged me, Father Killala,--blessings on him!” said Norah Cavanagh. Well! how all this would end, no soul could guess. The good Priest looked more astonished than before, and not a little angry at Norah. “And are you so lost to shame,” said he to her--“has vice made you so abandoned--” “She never was lost to shame, and don't know vice;” interrupted James Dingle, rather warmly: “I'll uphould her to be as pure and virtuous as any here.” James Dingle's aunt, who had stood mute with amazement all this time, now broke silence. “What's all this I hear?” exclaimed she:--“Why, he'll say next she's an honest man's wife, and himself her husband.” “That's just how it is, aunt,” replied James.