a dozen of them--all equally fit and
willing to become his wife, and all equally good-looking. There were
two, however, whom he thought a trifle above the rest; but so nicely
balanced were Biddy Corrigan and Sally Gorman, that for the life of
him he could not make up his mind to decide between them. Each of them
had won her kemp; and it was currently said by them who ought to know,
that neither of them could over-match the other. No two girls in the
parish were better respected, or deserved to be so; and the
consequence was, they had every one's good word and good wish. Now it
so happened that Shaun had been pulling a cord with each; and as he
knew not how to decide between, he thought he would allow them to do
that themselves if they could. He accordingly gave out to the
neighbours that he would hold a kemp on that day week, and he told
Biddy and Sally especially that he had made up his mind to marry
whichever of them won the kemp, for he knew right well, as did all
the parish, that one of them must. The girls agreed to this very
good-humouredly, Biddy telling Sally that she (Sally) would surely win
it; and Sally, not to be outdone in civility, telling the same thing
to her.

Well, the week was nearly past, there being but two days till that of
the kemp, when, about three o'clock, there walks into the house of old
Paddy Corrigan a little woman dressed in high-heeled shoes and a short
red cloak. There was no one in the house but Biddy at the time, who
rose up and placed a chair near the fire, and asked the little red
woman to sit down and rest herself. She accordingly did so, and in a
short time a lively chat commenced between them.

'So,' said the strange woman, 'there's to be a great kemp in Shaun
Buie M'Gaveran's?'

'Indeed there is that, good woman,' replied Biddy, smiling and
blushing to back of that again, because she knew her own fate
depended on it.

'And,' continued the little woman, 'whoever wins the kemp wins a
husband?'

'Ay, so it seems.'

'Well, whoever gets Shaun will be a happy woman, for he's the moral of
a good boy.'

'That's nothing but the truth, anyhow,' replied Biddy, sighing, for
fear, you may be sure, that she herself might lose him; and indeed a
young woman might sigh from many a worse reason. 'But,' said she,
changing the subject, 'you appear to be tired, honest woman, an' I
think you had better eat a bit, an' take a good drink of _buinnhe
ramwher_ (thick milk) to help you on your jo