very seriously, for
the woman's allusion to Owen Fitzgerald had driven a cloud across
his brow. "Your child is very ill, and therefore I will give you
something to help you," and he gave her a shilling and two sixpences.

"May the God in heaven bless you thin, and make you happy, whoever
wins the bright darling by your side; and may the good days come back
to yer house and all that belongs to it. May yer wife clave to you
all her days, and be a good mother to your childher." And she would
have gone on further with her blessing had not he interrupted her.

"Go on now, my good woman," said he, "and take your children where
they may be warm. If you will be advised by me, you will go to the
Union at Kanturk." And so the woman passed on still blessing them.
Very shortly after this none of them required pressing to go to the
workhouse. Every building that could be arranged for the purpose was
filled to overflowing as soon as it was ready. But the worst of the
famine had not come upon them as yet. And then Herbert rode back to
Castle Richmond.

CHAPTER XVII.

FATHER BARNEY.

Mick O'Dwyer's public-house at Kanturk was by no means so pretentious
an establishment as that kept by his brother in South Main Street,
Cork, but it was on the whole much less nasty. It was a drinking-shop
and a public car office, and such places in Ireland are seldom very
nice; but there was no attempt at hotel grandeur, and the little
room in which the family lived behind the bar was never invaded by
customers.

On one evening just at this time--at the time, that is, with which we
have been lately concerned--three persons were sitting in this room
over a cup of tea. There was a gentleman, middle-aged, but none the
worse on that account, who has already been introduced in these pages
as Father Bernard M'Carthy. He was the parish priest of Drumbarrow;
and as his parish comprised a portion of the town of Kanturk, he
lived, not exactly in the town, but within a mile of it. His sister
had married Mr. O'Dwyer of South Main Street, and therefore he was
quite at home in the little back parlour of Mick O'Dwyer's house in
Kanturk. Indeed Father Bernard was a man who made himself at home in
the houses of most of his parishioners,--and of some who were not his
parishioners.

His companions on the present occasion were two ladies who seemed to
be emulous in supplying his wants. The younger and more attractive
of the two was also an old friend of ou