at do you mane, you
villain?" exclaimed Prank, seizing the tongs, and attempting to strike
him: "do you dar to suspect that I had any hand in it."

"Wurrah dheelish, Frank," screamed the sisters, "are you goin' to murdher
Rody?"

"Murdher," he shouted, in a paroxysm of fury, "Why the curse o' God upon
you all, what puts murdher into your heads? Is it my own family that's
the first to charge me wid it?"

"Why, there's no one chargin' you wid it," replied Rody; "not one,
whatever makes you take it to yourself."

"An' what did you look at me for, thin, the way you did? What did you
look at me for, I say?"

"Is it any wondher," replied the servant coolly, "when you had sich a
dreadful story to tell?"

"Go off," replied Frank, now hoarse with passion--"go off! an' tell the
Reillaghans what happened; but, by all the books that ever was opened
or shut, if you breathe a word about murdher--about--if you do, you
villain, I'll be the death o' you!"

When Rody was gone on this melancholy errand, old M'Kenna first put the
tongs, and everything he feared might be used as a weapon by his frantic
son, out of his reach; he then took down the book on which he had the
night before sworn so rash and mysterious an oath, and desired his son
to look upon it.

"Frank," said he, solemnly, "you swore on that blessed book last night,
that Mike Reillaghan never would be the husband of Peggy Gartland--he's
a corpse to-day! Yes," he continued, "the good, the honest, the
industhrious boy is"--his sobs became so loud and thick that he appeared
almost suffocated. "Oh," said he, "may God pity us! As I hope to meet
my blessed Savior, who was born on this day, I would rather you wor the
corpse, an' not Mike Reillaghan!"

"I don't doubt that," said the son, fiercely; "you never showed me much
grah, (* affection) sure enough."

"Did you ever desarve it?" replied the father. "Heaven above me knows it
was too much kindness was showed you. When you ought to have been well
corrected, you got your will an' your way, an' now see the upshot."

"Well," said the son, "it's the last day ever I'll stay in the family;
thrate me as bad as you plase. I'll take the king's bounty, an' list, if
I live to see to-morrow."

"Oh, thin, in the name o' Goodness, do so," said the father; "an' so far
from previntin' you, we'll bless you when you're gone, for goin'."

"Arrah, Frank, aroon," said Mrs. M'Kenna, who was now recovered, "maybe,
afther all, it was only a