rdians won't give her no relief, let her go in.'
But she got hold on me one day, and she says, 'Sally, darling' (that's
t' ould lass's way, is calling ye Darling. It sounds soft, but she is
but an old Irish woman, as one may say), 'if ever,' she says, 'you hear
tell of their coming to fetch me, GOD bless ye,' she says, 'just give me
a look out of your eye, and I'm gone. I'll be no more trouble to any
one,' she says, 'and maybe I'll make it worth your while too.'"

At this point in her narrative the woman looked mysterious, nodded her
head, craned over the banisters to see that no one was near, slapped the
children and shook up the baby as a sort of mechanical protest against
the noise they were making (as to effects they only howled the louder),
and drawing nearer to us, spoke in lower tones:

"T' old lass has money, it's my belief, though she gives me nowt for her
lodging, and she spends nowt on herself. She's many a time fair clemmed,
I'll assure ye, till I can't abear to see it, and I give her the bit and
sup I might have had myself, for I'm not going to rob t' children
neither for her nor nobody. Ye see it's her son that's preying on her
mind. He wrote her a letter awhile ago, saying times was bad out yonder,
and he was fair heart-broke to be so far away from her, and she's been
queer ever since. She's wanted for everything herself, slaving and
saving to get enough to fetch him home. Where she hides it I know no
more nor you, but she wears a sight of old rags, one atop of another,
and pockets in all of 'em for aught I know--hold your din, ye unrewly
children!--there's folks coming. I'll let ye in. I lock t' old lass up
when I go out, for she might be wandering, and there's them hereabouts
that would reckon nought of putting her out of t' way and taking what
she's got, if they heard tell on't."

At last the door was unlocked, and we went in. And sitting on a low box,
dressed as before, even to the old coat and the spotted kerchief over
her bonnet, sat Biddy Macartney.

When she lifted her face, I saw that it was much wasted, and that her
fine eyes had got a restless uneasy look in them. Suddenly this ceased,
and they lit up with the old intelligence. For half an instant I
thought it was at the sight of me, but she did not even see me. It was
on Dennis O'Moore that her eyes were bent, and they never moved as she
struggled to her feet, and gazed anxiously at his face, his cap, and his
seafaring clothes, whilst, for