uch a rap
as a man might do, who badly wanted a glass of hot drink after
travelling the whole night.

The servants had good or hardy consciences, for they slept soundly; but
the widow Kelly, in her little bed-room behind the shop, well knew the
sound of that knocker, and, hurrying on her slippers and her gown, she
got to the door, and asked who was there.

"Is that Sally, ma'am?" said Biddy, well knowing the widow's voice.

"No, it's not. What is it you're wanting?"

"Is it Kate thin, ma'am?"

"No, it's not Kate. Who are you, I say; and what d'you want?"

"I'm Biddy, plaze ma'am--from Lynch's, and I'm wanting to spake to
yerself, ma'am--about Miss Anty. She's very bad intirely, ma'am."

"What ails her;--and why d'you come here? Why don't you go to Doctor
Colligan, av' she's ill; and not come knocking here?"

"It ain't bad that way, Miss Anty is, ma'am. Av' you'd just be good
enough to open the door, I'd tell you in no time."

It would, I am sure, be doing injustice to Mrs Kelly to say that her
curiosity was stronger than her charity; they both, however, no doubt
had their effect, and the door was speedily opened.

"Oh, ma'am!" commenced Biddy, "sich terrible doings up at the house!
Miss Anty's almost kilt!"

"Come out of the cowld, girl, in to the kitchen fire," said the widow,
who didn't like the February blast, to which Biddy, in her anxiety, had
been quite indifferent; and the careful widow again bolted the door,
and followed the woman into certainly the warmest place in Dunmore, for
the turf fire in the inn kitchen was burning day and night. "And now,
tell me what is it ails Miss Anty? She war well enough yesterday, I
think, and I heard more of her then than I wished."

Biddy now pulled her cloak from off her head, settled it over her
shoulders, and prepared for telling a good substantial story.

"Oh, Misthress Kelly, ma'am, there's been disperate doings last night
up at the house. We were all hearing, in the morn yesterday, as how
Miss Anty and Mr Martin, God bless him!--were to make a match of
it,--as why wouldn't they, ma'am? for wouldn't Mr Martin make her a
tidy, dacent, good husband?"

"Well, well, Biddy--don't mind Mr Martin; he'll be betther without a
wife for one while, and he needn't be quarrelling for one when he wants
her. What ails Miss Anty?"

"Shure I'm telling you, ma'am; howsomever, whether its thrue or no
about Mr Martin, we were all hearing it yestherday; and the masther,
he war