be the death o' me.' Poor fellow! he was
for pacifyin' them, for a wondher, but instead o' that he got pacified
himself."

"An' how is young Con doin', Frank?"

"Hut, divil a much time he has to do aither well or ill, yit. There was
four tenants on Tubber Derg since you left it, an' he's the fifth. It's
hard to say how he'll do; but I believe he's the best o' thim, for so
far. That may be owin' to the landlord. The rent's let down to him; an'
I think he'll be able to take bread, an' good bread too, out of it."

"God send, poor man!"

"Now, Owen, would you like to go back to it?"

"I can't say that. I love the place, but I suffered too much in it. No;
but I'll tell you, Frank, if there was e'er a snug farm near it that I
could get rasonable, I'd take it."

Frank slapped his knee exultingly. "Ma chuirp!--do you say so, Owen?"

"Indeed, I do."

"Thin upon my song, thats the luckiest thing I ever knew. There's, this
blessed minute, a farm o' sixteen acres, that the Lacys is lavin'--goin'
to America--an' it's to be set. They'll go the week afther next, an'
the house needn't be cowld, for you can come to it the very day afther
they Live it."

"Well," said Owen, "I'm glad of that. Will you come wid me to-morrow,
an' we'll see about it?"

"To be sure I will; an' what's betther, too; the Agint is a son of ould
Misther Rogerson's, a man that knows you, an' the history o' them you
came from, well. An', another thing, Owen! I tell you, whin it's abroad
that you want to take the farm, there's not a man in the parish will bid
agin you. You may know that yourself."

"I think, indeed, they would rather sarve me than otherwise," replied
Owen; "an', in the name o' God, we'll see what can be done. Misther
Rogerson, himself, 'ud spake to his son for me; so that I'll be sure of
his intherest. Arrah, Frank, how is an ould friend o' mine, that I have
a great regard for--poor Widow Murray?"

"Widow Murray. Poor woman, she's happy."

"You don't mane she's dead?"

"She's dead, Owen, and happy, I trust, in the Saviour. She died last
spring was a two years."

"God be good to her sowl! An' are the childhre in her place still? It's
she that was the dacent woman."

"Throth, they are; an' sorrow a betther doin' family in the parish than
they are. It's they that'll be glad to see you, Owen. Many a time I seen
their poor mother, heavens be her bed, lettin' down the tears, whin
she used to be spakin' of you, or mintion how often you