n he ran to his mother's
cabin, to escape from the fangs of Dick Dawson, there was no one
within: his mother being digging a few potatoes for supper from the
little ridge behind her house, and Oonah Riley, her niece--an orphan
girl who lived with her--being up to Squire Egan's to sell some eggs;
for round the poorest cabins in Ireland you scarcely ever fail to see
some ragged hens, whose eggs are never consumed by their proprietors,
except, perhaps, on Easter Sunday, but sold to the neighbouring gentry
at a trifling price.

Andy cared not who was out, or who was in, provided he could only
escape from Dick; so without asking any questions, he crawled under the
wretched bed in the dark corner, where his mother and Oonah slept, and
where the latter, through the blessed influence of health, youth, and
an innocent heart, had brighter dreams than attended many a couch whose
downy pillows and silken hangings would more than purchase the
fee-simple of any cabin in Ireland. There Andy, in a state of utter
exhaustion from his fears, his race, and his thrashing, soon fell
asleep, and the terrors of Dick the Devil gave place to the blessing of
the profoundest slumber.

Quite unconscious of the presence of her darling Andy was the widow
Rooney, as she returned from the potato ridge into her cabin; depositing
a _skeough_ of the newly dug esculent at the door, and replacing the
spade in its own corner of the cabin. At the same moment Oonah
returned, after disposing of her eggs, and handed the three pence she
had received for them to her aunt, who dropped them into the deep
pocket of blue striped tick which hung at her side.

"Take the pail, Oonah, _ma chree_, and run to the well for some wather
to wash the pratees, while I get the pot ready for bilin' them; it
wants scourin', for the pig was atin' his dinner out iv it, the
craythur!"

Off went Oonah with her pail, which she soon filled from the clear
spring; and placing the vessel on her head, walked back to the cabin
with that beautiful erect form, free step, and graceful swaying of the
figure, so peculiar to the women of Ireland and the East, from their
habit of carrying weights upon the head. The potatoes were soon washed;
and as they got their last dash of water in the _skeough_, whose open
wicker-work let the moisture drain from them, up came Larry Hogan, who,
being what is called a "civil-spoken man," addressed Mrs. Rooney in the
following agreeable manner:--

"Them's pur