'? oh, no, he would rather cut his arm off than rise it to
you, Atty dear; and it's well that you are so good a boy as you are--for
I'm afeard, Atty, that even if you deserved to be corrected, he wouldn't
do it."

"But what 'ud we all do widout my father, mammy? If anything happened to
him I think I'd die. I'd like to die if he was to go."

"Why, darlin'?"

"Bekase, you know, he'd go to heaven, and I'd like to be wid him; sure
he'd miss me--his own Atty--wherever he'd be."

"And so you'd lave me and your sisters, Atty, and go to heaven with your
father!"

The boy seemed perplexed; he looked affectionately at his mother, and
said--

"No, mammy, I wouldn't wish to lave you, for then you'd have no son at
all; no, I wouldn't lave you--I don't know what I'd do--I'd like to stay
wid you, and I'd like to go wid him, I'd--"

"Well, darlin', you won't be put to that trial this many a long day, I
hope."

Just then voices were heard at the door, which both recognized as those
of Art and Mat Mulrennan the apprentice.

"Now, darlin'," said the mother, who observed that the child was pale
and drowsy-looking, "you may go to bed, I see you are sleepy, Atty, not
bein' accustomed to sit up so late; kiss me, an' good-night." He then
kissed her, and sought the room where he slept.

Margaret, after the boy had gone, listened a moment, and became deadly
pale, but she uttered no exclamation; on the contrary, she set her
teeth, and compressed her lips closely together, put her hand on the
upper part of her forehead, and rose to go to the door. She was not yet
certain, but a dreadful terror was over her--Could it be possible that
he was drunk?--she opened it, and the next moment her husband, in a
state of wild intoxication, different from any in which she had ever
seen him, come in. He was furious, but his fury appeared to have been
directed against the apprentice, in consequence of having returned home
so late.

On witnessing with her own eyes the condition in which he returned, all
her presentiments flashed on her, and her heart sank down into a state
of instant hopelessness and misery.

"Savior of the world!" she exclaimed, "I and my childre are lost; now,
indeed, are we hopeless--oh, never till now, never till now!" She wept
bitterly.

"What are you cryin' for now?" said he; "what are you cryin' for, I
say?" he repeated, stamping his feet madly as he spoke; "stop at wanst,
I'll have no cry--cryin' what--at--somever."

Sh