ing kindness, but one that'll be giving you much much
throuble and pain? Afther I'm dead and gone--long long after I'm in my
cold grave, will you do that for me, Martin?".

"Indeed I will, Anty," said Martin, rather astonished, but with a look
of solemn assurance; "anything that I can do, I will: you needn't dread
my not remembering, but I fear it isn't much that I can do for you."

"Will you always think and spake of Barry--will you always act to him
and by him, and for him, not as a man whom you know and dislike, but as
my brother--your own Anty's only brother?--Whatever he does, will you
thry to make him do betther? Whatever troubles he's in, will you lend
him your hand? Come what come may to him, will you be his frind? He has
no frind now. When I'm gone, will you be a frind to him?"

Martin was much confounded. "He won't let me be his frind," he said;
"he looks down on us and despises us; he thinks himself too high to be
befrinded by us. Besides, of all Dunmore he hates us most."

"He won't when he finds you haven't got the property from him: but
frindship doesn't depend on letting--rale frindship doesn't. I don't
want you to be dhrinking, and ating, and going about with him. God
forbid!--you're too good for that. But when you find he wants a frind,
come forward, and thry and make him do something for himself. You can't
but come together; you'll be the executhor in the will; won't you,
Martin? and then he'll meet you about the property; he can't help it,
and you must meet then as frinds. And keep that up. If he insults you,
forgive it or my sake; if he's fractious and annoying, put up with it
for my sake; for my sake thry to make him like you, and thry to make
others like him." Martin felt that this would be impossible, but he
didn't say so--"No one respects him now, but all respect you. I see it
in people's eyes and manners, without hearing what they say. Av you
spake well of him--at any rate kindly of him, people won't turn
themselves so against him. Will you do all this, for my sake?"

Martin solemnly promised that, as far as he could, he would do so;
that, at any rate as far as himself was concerned, he would never
quarrel with him.

"You'll have very, very much to forgive," continued Anty; "but then
it's so sweet to forgive; and he's had no fond mother like you; he has
not been taught any duties, any virtues, as you have. He has only been
taught that money is the thing to love, and that he should worship