who you wor married to, the extortin' ould
vagabone--to one of the great Fermanagh Maguires, an' he' not fit to
wipe their shoes. The curse o' heaven upon you an' him, wherever he is!
It was an unlucky day to me I ever seen the face of one of you--here,
Atty, I've some money; some strange fellow at the inn below stood to me
for the price of a naggin, an' that blasted Barney Scaddhan wouldn't let
me in, bekase, he said, I was a disgrace to his house, the scoundrel."

"The same house was a black sight to you, Art."

"Here, Atty, go off and, get me a naggin."

"Wouldn't it be better for you to get something to eat, than to drink
it, Art."

"None of your prate, I say, go off an' bring me a naggin o' whiskey, an'
don't let the grass grow under your feet."

The children, whenever he came home, were awed into silence, but
although they durst not speak, there was an impatient voracity visible
in their poor features, and now wolfish little eyes, that was a terrible
thing to witness. Art took the money, and went away to bring his father
the whiskey.

"What's the reason," said he, kindling into sudden fury, "that you
didn't provide something for me to eat? Eh? What's the reason?" and
he approached her in a menacing attitude. "You're a lazy, worthless
vagabone. Why didn't you get me something to ait, I say? I can't stand
this--I'm famished."

"I sent to my sister's," she replied, laying-down the child; for she
feared that if he struck her and knocked her down, with the child in
her arms, it might be injured, probably killed, by the fall; "when the
messenger comes back from my sister's----"

"D--n yourself and your sister," he replied, striking her a blow at
the same time upon the temple. She fell, and in an instant her face was
deluged with blood.

"Ay, lie there," he continued, "the loss of the blood will cool you.
Hould your tongues, you devils, or I'll throw yez out of the house," he
exclaimed to the children, who burst into an uproar of grief on seeing
their "mammy," as they called her, lying bleeding and insensible.
"That's to taich her not to have something for me to ait. Ay," he
proceeded, with a hideous laugh--"ha, ha, ha! I'm a fine fellow--amn't
I? There she lies now, and yet she was wanst Margaret Murray!--my own
Margaret--that left them all for myself; but sure if she did, wasn't I
one of the great Maguires of Fermanagh?--Get up, Margaret; here, I'll
help you up, if the divil was in you!"

He raised her as