ones.

"Isn't it a whole year I've been waiting for my rint?" replied the man,
coarsely. "Didn't ye keep promisin' to pay me for a twelvemonth, and
niver a cint I got yet?"

"I would pay you if I could, Mr. O'Shane."

"If ye could! What call have I to wait any longer for me money?"

"My husband has gone to the war, and I haven't heard a word from him
for a year; but I'm sure he will send me some money soon--I know he
will."

"What call had he to go to the war? Why didn't he stay at home and take
care of his childer? Go 'way wid ye! Give me up me house!"

Mr. O'Shane broke away from her, and, rushing into the house, presently
returned bearing a dilapidated table in his hands.

"Have mercy, Mr. O'Shane. Pity me!" pleaded the woman, when he
appeared.

"I do pity ye; 'pon me sowl, I do, thin; but what can a poor man like
me do?" replied the landlord. "I live in a worse house nor this, and
work like a mule, and I can't make enough, for the high prices, to take
care of me family. Didn't I wait month after month for me rint, and
sorra a cint I iver got? Sure it isn't Mike O'Shane that would do the
likes of this if he could help it."

"But I will pay you all I owe, Mr. O'Shane."

"That's what ye been sayin' this twelvemonth; and I can't wait any
longer. Why don't ye stir yoursilf, and go among the rich folks?"

"I can't beg, Mr. O'Shane."

"But ye better beg than chate me out of me honest dues. Go 'way wid ye!
Pay me the rint, or give me the house; and sorra one of me cares which
you do."

"I would move if I could. You know that my poor child is very sick. For
her sake don't turn me out of the house to-day," added the woman, in
the most beseeching tones.

"Didn't I wait six months for the child to die, and she didn't die? She
won't die. Sure, don't she sit in the chair all day? and what harm
would it do to move her?"

"I have no place to move her to."

"That's what's the matter! Now go 'way wid your blarney, and don't be
talking to me. It's Mike O'Shane that has a soft spot in his heart, but
he can't do no more for ye. That's the truth, and ye must move to-day."

The landlord went into the house again, for more of the furniture. As
he had represented, it was, doubtless, a hard case for him; but it was
infinitely harder for the poor woman, and Fanny was too deeply
interested now to leave the spot. What she had known of human misery
was as nothing compared with the suffering of this poor mother.

"What's t