little bouchaleens an' colleens that were runnin' about my feet whin
I was here afore? Well, to be sure! How they do shoot up! An' is this
Atty?"

"No: but this is Atty, Owen; faix, Brian outgrew him; an' here's Mary,
an' this is Bridget Oge."

"Well!--well! But where did these two; young shoots come from? this boy
an' the colleen here? They worn't to the fore, in my time, Bridget."

"This is Owen, called afther yourself,--an' this is Kathleen. I needn't
tell you who she was called afther."

"_Gutsho, alanna? thurm pogue?_--come here, child, and kiss me," said
Owen to his little namesake; "an' sure I can't forget the little woman
here; _gutsho, a colleen_, and kiss: me too."

Owen took her on his knee, and kissed her twice.

"Och, but poor Kathleen," said he, "will be the proud woman of this,
when she hears it; in throth she will be that."

"Arrah! what's comin' over me!" said Mrs. Farrell. "Brian, run up to
Micky Lowrie's for your father, An' see, Brian, don't say who's wantin'
him, till we give him a start. Mary, come here, acushla," she added to
her eldest daughter in a whisper--"take these two bottles an' fly up
to Peggy Finigan's for the full o' them o' whiskey. Now be back before
you're there, or if you don't, that I mightn't, but you'll see what
you'll get. Fly, aroon, an' don't let the grass grow undher your feet.
An' Owen, darlin'--but first sit over to the fire:--here get over to
this side, it's the snuggest;--arrah, Owen--an' sure I dunna what to ax
you first. You're all well? all to the fore?"

"All well, Bridget, an' thanks be to heaven, all to the fore."

"Glory be to God! Throth it warms my heart to hear it. An' the childre's
all up finely, boys an' girls?"

"Throth, they are, Bridget, as good-lookin' a family o' childre as
you'd wish to see. An' what is betther, they're as good as they're
good-lookin'."

"Throth, they couldn't but be that, if they tuck at all afther their
father an' mother. Bridget, aroon, rub the pan betther--an' lay the
knife down, I'll cut the bacon myself, but go an' get a dozen o' the
freshest eggs;--an' Kathleen, Owen, how does poor Kathleen look? Does
she stand it as well as yourself?"

"As young as ever you seen her. God help her!--a thousand degrees
betther nor whin you seen her last."

"An' well to do, Owen?--now tell the truth? Och, musha, I forget who I'm
spakin' to, or I wouldn't disremimber the ould sayin' that's abroad this
many a year:--'who ever knew a M'