ouble to every wan. I wisht the Lord 'ud take us out of it
altogether," she added dismally; "I'd sooner be in the old gully-hole
at wanst nor be goin' to the poorhouse, and, dear knows, that's where
we'll have to go."

"Not wan bit, then," cried Pat resolutely, "not wan fut will ye iver
put in the poorhouse, woman, nor me neither. We'll be back in the ould
place here yit, see if we aren't. Nobody 'ud go in it on'y ourselves,
an' it'll be there waitin' for us till the poor boy comes out an' puts
us back in it."

The neighbours glanced from one to the other, and by common accord
decided to humour the old man.

"To be sure ye will, Misther Clancy. The two of yez will be back there
before we can turn round, an' Mike will be apt to be gettin' your bits
o' things back for yez too. Sure the old rogue up there will have no
call to keep them wanst the boy has paid up the bit yez owe him."

"Troth, it'll be no time at all before you're back, Pat, an' ye had a
right to lave talkin' that way about the poorhouse, ma'am. There isn't
a wan of us that 'ud ever let yez go there, bad luck to it! No,
indeed, ma'am."

"Aye, we'll be back yet in the ould little place," repeated Pat with
conviction, "we will so; come on out o' that, Mary, an' make up your
mind where it is we're goin' this night. Sure the craturs here is
fightin' for the honour of havin' us. Stop turnin' your head round
now; the place won't run away on ye till we're back in it."

All the neighbours were indeed vying with each other in their anxiety
to entertain and comfort the helpless old pair, and prove at once
their sympathy with them in their trouble and their indignation with
Peter Rorke.

"He done it just out of spite, mind ye," they said one to the other.
"Wasn't he afther promisin' Mike to let him work out the thrifle o'
rent they were owin?"

"Aye! he is the outrageousest ould villain that ever stepped," was the
general verdict. Nevertheless, as in all communities there is
generally one ill-conditioned person, even in the little village of
Donoughmor there was to be found a time-server who, wishing for
reasons of his own to ingratiate himself with Peter Rorke, was base
enough to report to him old Pat Clancy's hasty words.

"He's saying he wished Mike had burnt ye in your bed, an' more by
token," added Peter's informant, "he's tellin' every wan that it'll be
no time at all before he's back in his own place again the same as
ever he was, an' that you may do