ay, out of principle.' 'Is your honour in a hurry to get home?
Then I'll be thinking they'll not be in such a hurry to see you.' 'And
who told you that my name was O'Brien, you baste?--and do you dare to
say that my friends won't be glad to see me?' 'Plase your honour, it's
all an idea of mine--so say no more about it. Only this I know: Father
M'Grath, who gives me absolution, tould me the other day that I ought to
pay him, and not run in debt, and then run away like Terence O'Brien,
who went to say without paying for his shirts, and his shoes, and his
stockings, nor anything else, and who would live to be hanged as sure as
St Patrick swam over the Liffey with his head under his arm.' 'Bad luck
to that Father McGrath,' cried I; 'devil burn me, but I'll be revenged
upon him!'

"By that time we had arrived at the door of my father's house. I paid
the rapparee, and in I popped. There was my father and mother, and all
my brothers and sisters (bating Tim, who was in bed sure enough, and
died next day), and that baste Father McGrath to boot. When my mother
saw me she ran to me and hugged me as she wept on my neck, and then she
wiped her eyes and sat down again; but nobody else said 'How d'ye do?'
or opened their mouths to me. I said to myself, 'Sure there's some
trifling mistake here,' but I held my tongue. At last they all opened
their mouths with a vengeance. My father commenced--'Ar'n't you ashamed
on yourself, Terence O'Brien?' 'Ar'n't you ashamed on yourself, Terence
O'Brien?' cried Father M'Grath. 'Ar'n't you ashamed on yourself?' cried
out all my brothers and sisters in full chorus, whilst my poor mother
put her apron to her eyes and said nothing. 'The devil a bit for myself,
but very much ashamed for you all,' replied I, 'to treat me in this
manner. What's the meaning of all this?' 'Haven't they seized my two
cows to pay for your toggery, you spalpeen?' cried my father. 'Haven't
they taken the hay to pay for your shoes and stockings?' cried Father
M'Grath. 'Haven't they taken the pig to pay for that ugly hat of yours?'
cried my eldest sister. 'And haven't they taken my hens to pay for that
dirk of yours?' cried another. 'And all our best furniture to pay for
your white shirts and black cravats?' cried Murdock, my brother. 'And
haven't we been starved to death ever since?' cried they all. 'Och
hone!' said my mother. 'The devil they have!' said I, when they'd all
done. 'Sure I'm sorry enough, but it's no fault of mine. F