ion that "Miss Anastasia Lynch's compliments
to Mr Barry Lynch, and she didn't find herself strong enough to move to
Dunmore House at present," would answer all purposes, and be, on the
whole, the safest course. While Martin pronounced that "if Anty would
be led by him, she'd just pitch the letter behind the fire an' take no
notice of it, good, bad, or indifferent."

None of these plans pleased Anty, for, as she remarked, "After all,
Barry was her brother, and blood was thickher than wather." So, after
much consultation, pen, ink, and paper were procured, and the following
letter was concocted between them, all the soft bits having been great
stumbling-blocks, in which, however, Anty's quiet perseverance carried
the point, in opposition to the wishes of all the Kellys. The words put
in brackets were those peculiarly objected to.

Dunmore Inn. February, 1844.

DEAR BARRY,

I (am very sorry I) can't come back to the house, at any rate just
at present. I am not very sthrong in health, and there are kind
female friends about me here, which you know there couldn't be up at
the house.

Anty herself, in the original draft inserted "ladies," but the widow's
good sense repudiated the term, and insisted on the word "females":
Jane suggested that "females" did not sound quite respectful alone, and
Martin thought that Anty might call them "female friends," which was
consequently done.

--Besides, there are reasons why I'm quieter here, till things are a
little more settled. I will forgive (and forget) all that happened
up at the house between us--

"Why, you can't forget it," said Meg. "Oh, I could, av' he was kind to
me. I'd forget it all in a week av' he was kind to me," answered Anty--

(and I will do nothing particular without first letting you know).

They were all loud against this paragraph, but they could not carry
their point.

I must tell you, dear Barry, that you are very much mistaken about
the people of this house: they are dear, kind friends to me, and,
wherever I am, I must love them to the last day of my life--but
indeed I am, and hope you believe so,

Your affectionate sister,

ANASTASIA LYNCH.

When the last paragraph was read over Anty's shoulder, Meg declared she
was a dear, dear creature: Jane gave her a big kiss, and began crying;
even the widow put the corner of her apron to her eye, and Martin,
trying to look manly and unconcern