yer good, and Jack's too, poor bhoy!"

Tim continued: "Ye're both uv ye makin' a therrible big misthake that'll
ruin ye in time an' etarnity. Here's Jack, a sheer lump uv misary, wid
no heart for wark nor play, an' here's yerself a frettin' an' a pinin'
yer life away; an' yer poor childer's like to thread in yer stheps. An'
here's mesilf an' me wife, no betther an' no wurse off in the matther uv
brass nor ye, as happy an' comforthable as ye'd wish, an' all bekase uv
that same big misthake ye're makin'."

"What do you mean, Tim?" inquired Mrs. Jarvis, wiping her eyes.

"Jack 'ud know what I mane, for he's had the lingth uv me tongue many's
the time on that same subjact; but I'll till ye, an' maybe ye'll lay it
to heart betther nor he. Mrs. Jarvis, if ye'll belave me, it's the
dhrink that's at the botthom uv yer misary."

"I won't hear you say such dreadful things, Tim. My Jack's no drinker,
nor me neither. We're both of us moderate, and never--never--" but here
Mrs. Jarvis faltered; and, eyeing her steadily, Tim went on:

"Ye niver, niver take a dhrop too much 'cept on holiday times, an' sich
like; an' thin, what wid the boddher uv the childer, an' the sayte
seein', an' the heat, maybe ye git a little overcome wid what ye take to
quanch yer thirst."

"I dare say you're right, Tim," said Mrs. Jarvis, very much ashamed;
"but I mean to say that my Jack and me don't do what some folks do in
the way of drinking. He doesn't spend his evenings in the public, except
now and then; and, as for me, I only take what will keep body and soul
together, though I confess you're pretty near the truth as to taking
more than is good on holidays."

"Well, we won't say anythin' about sich times. But supposin' it's
to-day, ye'll kape about till the childer's home from school, an' the
first thing'll be: 'Here, Sammie, fetch me a pint of bitther,'--it's
bitther, I suppose?"

"Yes, I can't drink swill, there's no strength in it," said Mrs. Jarvis.

"Then you'll feel spry for a bit; but it don't last, an' ye want to sit
down an' take a nap afore the fire; an' whin ye git up ye feel out uv
sorts, an' the babby's a burdhen, an' yer toddlin' Jim's a plague; an'
by the time that afthernoon school's done ye want windin' up agin, an'
ye must have half a pint afore ye touch yer tay; an' whin Jack fetches
the supper beer, ye're more than riddy to take yer share. Thin ye slape
heavy like, an' if the babby wants seein' to ye can scarce wake; an' y