ows it but ourselves. The poor
childhre, for their own sakes, won't ever breathe it; so that it's
likely the sacret 'll be berrid wid us."

"I hope so, acushla. Does this coat sit asy atween the shouldhers? I
feel it catch me a little."

"The sorra nicer. There; it was only your waistcoat that was turned down
in the collar. Here--hould your arm. There now--it wanted to be pulled
down a little at the cuffs. Owen, it's a beauty; an' I think I have good
right to be proud of it, for it's every thread my own spinnin'."

"How do I look in it, Kathleen? Tell me thruth, now."

"Throth, you're twenty years younger; the never a day less."

"I think I needn't be ashamed to go afore my ould friends in it, any
way. Now bring me my staff, from undher the bed above; an', in the name
o' God, I'll set out."

"Which o' them, Owen? Is it the oak or the blackthorn?"

"The oak, acushla. Oh, no; not the blackthorn. It's it that I brought
to Dublin wid me, the unlucky thief, an' that I had while we wor a
shaughran. Divil a one o' me but 'ud blush in the face, if I brought
it even in my hand afore them. The oak, ahagur; the oak. You'll get it
atween the foot o' the bed an' the wall."

When Kathleen placed the staff in his hand, he took off his hat and
blessed himself, then put it on, looked at his wife, and said--"Now
darlin', in the name o' God, I'll go. Husht, avillish machree, don't be
cryin'; sure I'll be back to you in a week."

"Och! I can't help it, Owen. Sure this is the second time you wor ever
away from me more nor a day; an' I'm thinkin' of what happened both
to you an' me, the first time you wint. Owen, acushla, I feel that if
anything happened you, I'd break my heart."

"Arrah, what 'ud happen me, darlin', wid God to protect me? Now, God
be wid you, Kathleen dheelish, till I come back to you wid good news,
I hope. I'm not goin' in sickness an' misery, as I wint afore, to see a
man that wouldn't hear my appale to him; an' I'm lavin' you comfortable,
agrah, an' wantin' for nothin'. Sure it's only about five-an'-twenty
miles from this--a mere step. The good God bless an' take care of you,
my darlin' wife, till I come home to you!"

He kissed the tears that streamed from her eyes; and, hemming several
times, pressed her hand, his face rather averted, then grasped his
staff, and commenced his journey.

Scenes like this were important events to our humble couple. Life, when
untainted by the crimes and artificial manners wh