the crathur, what's to become of him streelin' about
this freezin' night? The snow's as dhry as mail-dust. Perished he'll be.
Och, he's the terrible man to go do such a thing on us. What way did he
quit? It's me ould father, sir, that's over eighty years of age."

"And is he after strayin' away on you?" said old O'Beirne.

"Follyin' him since yisterday mornin' I am," said the other, "when it's
in me bed I should be be rights, for I'm that distroyed wid the could
on me chest I've scare a bit of breath in me body. But sure what matter
if I can come be the crathur agin. Is it that a-way he went, did you
notice?"

"You're bound to wait till the flurry of the win's gone by," said old
O'Beirne, for his visitor pointed out into a shrieking whirl, shrilling
higher and fiercer. "Sorra a minyit you'll lose, for you couldn't stir a
step in that or see a stim. Sit you down a while. What was it set him
rovin'?"

"Did he say anythin' agin us? Anythin' of bein' thrated bad?"

"Well, I wouldn't say he seemed altogether satisfied in himself," said
old O'Beirne, remembering his suspicions. "Somethin' he said of bein'
made a fool of, and tould lies to----"

"And gettin' boys' wages," said Dan.

"Ay, ay, wirrasthrew, that was the very notion he had, goodness help us.
What will we do at all wid him? You see, sir, me father's a won'erful
proud-minded man; he is that. And a great big man, and as strong as ten
he was, ontil he got rael ould entirely. So it's cruel bad he thinks of
not bein' able for everythin' the way he used to be; and he won't let on
but he is, be no manner of manes he won't. 'Deed no, he sez he's as good
a man as ever he was in his life."

"Belike now he's of the opinion the sun doesn't dhrop down out of the
sky of an evenin'," said little old Mrs. O'Beirne, with sarcasm. "What
does the ould body expec'?"

"I dunno, ma'am, I dunno. Sure it's agin nathur and raison. There's
meself gettin' as grey as a badger, and noways that supple as I was. But
me father's a terrible cliver man. You'd niver get the better of an
argufyment wid him, for he wouldn't listen to a word you'd be sayin'. So
you see the way of it was, the two of us is workin' this great while on
Mr. Blake's lan', that's a dacint man enough; and it might be three year
ago, he sez to me one Saturday night--for be good luck 'twas me and not
me father he'd mostly be payin'--sez he to me, 'Look it here, Ned, it's
the last time I'll be givin' man's wages to you