not
much now to crave after--happiness was theirs, and health; and, to make
the picture still more complete, prosperity, as the legitimate reward
of Art's industry and close attention to business, was beginning to dawn
upon them.

One morning, a few months after this time, as she sat with their lovely
babe in her arms, the little rogue playing with the tangles of her raven
hair, Art addressed her in the fulness of as affectionate a heart as
ever beat in a human bosom:--

"Well, Mag," said he, "are you sorry for not marryin' Mark Hanratty?"

She looked at him, and then at their beautiful babe, which was his
image, and her lip quivered for a moment; she then smiled, and kissing
the infant, left a tear upon its face.

He started, "My God, Margaret," said he, "what is this?"

"If that happy tear," she replied, "is a proof of it, I am."

Art stooped, and kissing her tenderly, said--"May God make me, and keep
me worthy of you, my darling wife!"

"Still, Art," she continued, "there is one slight drawback upon my
happiness, and that is, when it comes into my mind that in marryin' you,
I didn't get a parent's blessin'; it sometimes makes my mind sad, and I
can't help feelin' so."

"I could wish you had got it myself," replied her husband, "but you know
it can't be remedied now."

"At all events," she said, "let us live so as that we may desarve it; it
was my first and last offence towards my father and mother."

"And it's very few could say as much, Mag, dear; but don't think of it,
sure, may be, he may come about yet."

"I can hardly hope that," she replied, "after the priest failin'."

"Well, but," replied her husband, taking up the child in his arms, "who
knows what this little man may do for us--who knows, some day, but we'll
send a little messenger to his grandfather for a blessin' for his mammy
that he won't have the heart to refuse."

This opened a gleam of satisfaction in her mind. She and her husband
having once more kissed the little fellow, exchanged glances of
affection, and he withdrew to his workshop.

Every week and month henceforth added to their comfort. Art advanced in
life, in respectability, and independence; he was, indeed, a pattern
to all tradesmen who wish to maintain in the world such a character
as enforces esteem and praise; his industry was incessant, he was ever
engaged in something calculated to advance himself; up early and
down late was his constant practice--no man could exceed,