nvolved in the cares of both.

"They say young Coppinger fell in the river, and he's broken his
wrist," said the Doctor rapidly, stamping into his wife's room,
bringing the wind of the hills with him. "I'll bring him here as soon
as I can get hold of him."

"The creature!" replied Mrs. Mangan, sympathetically.

"Well, don't be waiting to pity him now!" said her husband, stuffing
bandages into his pocket, "but hurry and put hot jars into the
bed--and clean sheets. Don't forget now, Annie!"

He lumbered in his long boots and spurs, down to the surgery, still
issuing directions.

"Tishy'll be back directly--she'll give you a hand--and Annie! tell
Hannah to have some hot soup ready. Now, hurry, for God's sake!"

The front door into the Mall, Cluhir's most fashionable quarter,
banged.

"Well, well!" said Mrs. Mangan, still sympathetic, while she removed
the curling-pins from her bison fringe; "wasn't it the will of God
that I had a headache this morning and couldn't go to Mass! I'll have
something to say to Father Greer now if he draws it up to me that I
was backward in my duty!"

Much fortified by this reflection, Mrs. Mangan hurriedly proceeded
with her toilette, squalling meanwhile to her bench-woman in the
kitchen a summary of the Doctor's orders. She had no more than
achieved what she called her "Sunday dress," a complimentary effort to
be equally divided between Saint Stephen and young Mr. Coppinger, when
the back-door into the yard from the house slammed, and her daughter's
voice announced her return.

"Come up, Tishy, till I talk to you!" shouted Mrs. Mangan, slinging a
long gold watch-chain over her head and festooning it upon her ample
bosom: "Did you meet Pappy?" she continued, as her daughter's steps
drew near.

"I did to be sure," returned Miss Letitia, coming into her mother's
room and flinging herself into an armchair, "when I was crossing the
bridge it was. He roared to me to hurry you and Hannah. Holy Mary
Joseph! How stiff I am! That old horn on the saddle has the right leg
cut off me!"

"Well, never mind your legs now," replied Mrs. Mangan, peremptorily,
"what I want to know is what sort is this young man that Pappy's
bringing in on top of us? In God's name, why couldn't he be let go
home to his own?"

"'Young man' is it!" retorted Tishy; "he's nothing but a boy at
school, and a cross boy too! Such beating of his pony as he had when
he wouldn't jump for him! Didn't I try and make poor Zoe