d you never think, Fardorougha, what 'ud become of you, or what
you'd do or how you'd live, if anything happened him? which the Almighty
forbid this night and forever! Could you live widout him?"

The old man gazed upon her like one who felt displeasure at having a
contingency so painful forced upon his consideration. Without making
any reply, however, he looked thoughtfully into the fire for some time,
after which he rose up, and, with a querulous and impatient voice, said,

"What's the use of thinkin' about sich things? Lose him! why would I
lose him? I couldn't lose him--I'd as soon lose my own life--I'd rather
be dead at wanst than lose him."

"God knows your love for him is a quare love, Fardorougha," rejoined the
wife; "you wouldn't give him a guinea if it 'ud save his life, or allow
him even a few shillings now an' then, for pocket-money, that he might
be aquil to other young boys like him."

"No use, no use in that, except to bring him into drink an' other bad
habits; a bad way, Honora, of showin' one's love for him. If you had
your will you'd spoil him; I'm keepin' whatsomever little shillin's
we've scraped together to settle him dacently in life; but, indeed,
that's time enough yet; he's too young to marry for some years to come,
barrin' he got a fortune."

"Well, one thing, Fardorougha, if ever two people were blessed in a good
son, praise be God we are that!"

"We are, Honor, we are; there's not his aquil in the parish--_achora
machree_ that he is. When I'm gone he'll know what I've done for him."

"Whin you're gone; why, Saver of arth, sure you wouldn't keep him out
of his---- husth!----here he is, God be thanked! poor boy he's safe. Oh,
thin, _vich no Hoiah_, Connor jewel, were you out undher this terrible
night?"

"Connor, _avich machree_," added the father, "you're lost! My hand to
you, if he's worth three hapuns; sthrip an' throw my Cothamore about
you, an' draw in to the fire; you're fairly lost."

"I'm worth two lost people yet," said Connor, smiling; "mother, did you
ever see a pleasanter night?"

"Pleasant, Connor, darlin'! Oh thin it's you may say so, I'm sure!"

"Father, you're a worthy--only your Cothamore's too scimpt for me.
Faith, mother, although you think I'm jokin', the devil a one o' me is;
a pleasanter night--a happier night I never spent. Father, you ought to
be proud o' me, an' stretch out a bit with the cash; faith, I'm nothin'
else than a fine handsome young fellow."

"B