than Friday night last, argued down
Bartle Meegan's throath, that you and Biddy Martin wor the two portliest
weemen that comes into the chapel. God forgive myself, I was near
quarrelin' wid Bartle on the head of it, bekase I tuck my modher's part,
as I had a good right to do."

"Thrath, I'm thankful to you both, Condy, for your kindness."

"Oh, the sarra taste o' kindness was in it at all, Ellish, 'twas only
the truth; an' as long as I live, I'll stand up for that."

"Arrah, how is your aunt down at Carntall?"

"Indeed, thin, but middlin', not gettin' her health: she'll soon give
the crow a puddin', any way; thin, Ellish, you thief, I'm in for the
yallow boys. Do you know thim that came in wid me?"

"Why, thin, I can't say I do. Who are they, Condy?"

"Why one o' them's a bachelor to my sisther Norah, a very dacent boy,
indeed--him wid the frieze jock upon him, an' the buckskin breeches.
The other three's from Teernabraighera beyant. They're related to my
brother-in-law, Mick Dillon, by his first wife's brother-in-law's uncle.
They're come to this neighborhood till the 'Sizes, bad luck to them,
goes over; for you see, they're in a little throuble."

"The Lord grant them safe out of it, poor boys!"

"I brought them up here to treat them, poor fellows; an', Ellish,
avourneen, you must credit me for whatsomever we may have. The thruth
is, you see, that when we left home, none of us had any notion of
drinkin' or I'd a put somethin' in my pocket, so that I'm taken at an
average.--Bud-an'-age! how is little Dan? Sowl, Ellish, that goorsoon,
when he grows up, will be a credit to you. I don't think there's a finer
child in Europe of his age, so there isn't."

"Indeed, he's a good child, Condy. But Condy, avick, about givin'
credit:--by thim five crasses, if I could give score to any boy in the
parish, it 'ud be to yourself. It was only last night that I made a
promise against doin' such a thing for man or mortual. We're a'most
broken an' harrish'd out o' house an' home by it; an' what's more,
Condy, we intend to give up the business. The landlord's at us every day
for his rint, an' we owe for the two last kegs we got, but hasn't a
rap to meet aither o' thim; an' enough due to us if we could get
it together: an' whisper, Condy, atween ourselves, that's what ails
Pettier, although he doesn't wish to let an to any one about it."

"Well, but you know I'm safe, Ellish?"

"I know you are, avourneen, as the bank itself; a