name is Hannah Geaughey, Jimmy Geaughey's my
husband, sur; he, poor man, wrought in the board-yard till he was _sun
sthruck_, by manes of falling from a cuart, sur."

"Well, ma'am, that will do, I'm sorry for your husband--one dollar,
there it is; you wouldn't suit me at all; good morning, ma'am. Banquo,
show the good woman to the door."

"But, sur, I want the place!"

"I don't want _you_--good morning."

"Dis way, ma'am," said Banquo, marshalling the woman to the hall.

"Stand away, ye nager; it's your masther I'm spakin' wid."

"Go along, go along, woman, go, go, _go!_" roared the old gent.

"But, as I was saying, Mr. Mullony said--says he--who the divil you
push'n, you black nager?" said the woman, grabbing Banquo's woolly
top-knot.

"Dis way, ma'am," persevered Banquo, quartering towards the door.

"Mr. Mullony was sayin', sur--"

"Dis way, ma'am," continued the darkey, crowding Mrs. Geaughey, while
his master was gesticulating furiously to keep on _crowding_ her.
Finally, Banquo vanquished the Irish woman, and received orders from his
master to admit no more applicants--the place was filled.

That afternoon, old Captain Winepipes--a retired merchant and
ship-master, an old bachelor, too, who was in the habit of exchanging
visits with Job Carson, sipping brandy and water, talking over old times
and playing chess--came to finish a litigated game, and Job and he
discussed the matter of taking care of the widow and children of the
dead ship-builder. At length, it was settled that, if the second
interview with the widow, and an exhibition of her children, proved
satisfactory to Job Carson, he should take them in; if found more than
Job could attend to--

"Why a--I'll go you halves, Job," said Captain Winepipes.

Next day, Widow Glenn and her pretty children appeared at the door of
Carson's mansion; and Banquo, full of pleasant anticipations, ushered
them into the retired merchant's presence.

It was evident, at the first glance the old gentleman gave the group,
that the battle was more than half won.

"Fine boy, that; come here, sir--eleven years of age, eh? Your name's
Martin--Martin Glenn, eh? Well, Martin, my lad, you've got a big world
before you--a fussing, fuming world, not worth finding out, not worth
the powder that would blow it up. You've got to take your position in
the ranks, too, mean and contemptible as they are; but you may make a
good man; if the world don't benefit you, why a--you can