e nobody would think of
robbin' their own father?"

"He has been doin' little else these three years, Dora, by all
accounts," replied Art.

"Ay, but his father," continued the innocent girl; "to break into the
house at night an' rob him like a robber!"

"Well, I say, it's reported that he has been robbin' him these three
years in one shape or other," continued Art; "but here's Shibby, let's
hear what she'll say. What do you think, shibby?"

"About what, Art?"

"That Hycy Burke would rob his father!"

"Hut, tut! Art, what puts that into your head? Oh, no, Art--not at
all--to rob his father, an' him has been so indulgent to him!"

"Indeed, I agree with you, Shibby," said Bryan; "for although my opinion
of Hycy is changed very much for the worse of late, still I can't and
won't give in to that."

"An what has changed it for the worse?" asked his mother. "You an' he
wor very thick together always--eh? What has changed it, Bryan?"

Bryan began to rub his hand down the sleeve of his coat, as if freeing
it from dust, or perhaps admiring its fabric, but made no reply.

"Eh, Bryan," she continued, "what has changed your opinion of him?"

"Oh, nothing of much consequence, mother," replied her son; "but
sometimes a feather will toll one how the wind blows."

As he spoke, it might have been observed that he looked around upon the
family with an appearance of awakened consciousness that was very nearly
allied to shame. He recovered his composure, however, on perceiving
that none among them gave, either by look or manner, any indication of
understanding what he felt. This relieved him: but he soon found that
the sense of relief experienced from it was not permitted to last long.
Dora, his favorite sister, glided over to his side and gently taking
his hand in hers began to play with his fingers, whilst a roguish
laugh, that spoke a full consciousness of his secret, broke her pale but
beautiful features into that mingled expression of smiles and blushes
which, in one of her years, gives a look of almost angelic purity
and grace. After about a minute or two, during which she paused, and
laughed, and blushed, and commenced to whisper, and again stopped,
she at last put her lips to his ear and whispered:--"Bryan, I know the
reason you don't like Hycy."

"You do?" he said, laughing, but yet evidently confused in his
turn;--"well--an'--ha!--ha!--no, you fool, you don't."

"May I never stir if I don't!"

"Well, an' what is