not worth
your feedin'! Come over, honest man." Owen and his family were placed
near the fire; the poor man's heart was full, and he sighed heavily.

"May He that is plased to thry us," he exclaimed, "reward you for this!
We are," he continued, "a poor an' a sufferin' family; but it's the
will of God that we should be so; an' sure we can't complain widout
committin' sin. All we ax now, is, that it may be plasin' to him that
brought us low, to enable us to bear up undher our thrials. We would
take it to our choice to beg an' be honest, sooner, nor to be wealthy,
an' wicked! We have our failings, an' our sins, God help us; but still
there's nothin' dark or heavy on our consciences. Glory be to the name
o' God for it!"

"Throth, I believe you," replied the farmer's wife; "there's thruth an'
honesty in your face; one may easily see the remains of dacency about
you all. Musha, throw your little things aside, an' stay where ye are
today: you can't bring out the childre under the teem of rain an' sleet
that's in it. Wurrah dheelish, but it's the bitther day all out! Faix,
Paddy will get a dhrookin, so he will, at that weary fair wid the
stirks, poor bouchal--a son of ours that's gone to Bally-boulteen to
sell some cattle, an' he'll not be worth three hapuns afore he comes
back. I hope he'll have sinse to go into some house, when he's done,
an' dhry himself well, anyhow, besides takin' somethin' to keep out the
could. Put by your things, an' don't, think of goin' out sich a day."

"We thank you," replied Owen. "Indeed we're glad to stay undher your
roof; for poor things, they're badly able to thravel sich a day--these
childre."

"Musha, ye ate no breakfast, maybe?" Owen and his family were silent.
The children looked wistfully at their parents, anxious that they should
confirm what the good woman surmised; the father looked again at his
famished brood and his sinking wife, and nature overcame him.

"Food did not crass our lips this day," replied Owen; "an' I may say
hardly anything yestherday."

"Oh, blessed mother! Here, Katty Murray, drop scrubbin' that dresser,
an' put down, the midlin' pot for stirabout. Be livin' _manim an
diouol_, woman alive, handle yourself; you might a had it boilin' by
this. God presarve us!--to be two days widout atin! Be the crass, Katty,
if you're not alive, I'll give you a douse o' the churnstaff that'll
bring the fire to your eyes! Do you hear me?"

"I do hear you, an' did often feel you