vil a more so. Here am I, sittin', or running out an' in,
these two hours, when I ought to be at the dance in Kilnahushogue,
before I go to Barny Gormly's wake; for I promised to be at both. Why
didn't you come home in time?"

"Bekaise, achora, it wasn't agreeable to me to do so. I'm beginnin' to
got ould an' stiff, an' its time for me to take care of myself."

"Stiffer may you be, then, soon, an' oulder may you never be, an' that's
the best I wish you!"

"Aren't you afeard to talk to me in that way?" said the elder of the
two.

"No--not a bit. You won't flake me now as you used to do. I am able an'
willin' to give blow for blow at last, thank goodness; an' will, too, if
ever you thry that thrick."

The old woman gazed at her angrily, and appeared for a moment to
meditate an assault. After a pause, however, during which the brief but
vehement expression of rising fury passed from her countenance, and her
face assumed an expression more of compassion than of anger, she simply
said, in a calm tone of voice--

"I don't know that I ought to blame you so much for your temper, Sarah.
The darkness of your father's sowl is upon yours; his wicked spirit is
in you, an' may Heaven above grant that you'll never carry about with
you, through this unhappy life, the black an' heavy burden that weighs
down his heart! If God hasn't said it, you have his coorse, or something
nearly as bad, before you. Oh! go to the wake as soon as you like,
an' to the dance, too. Find some one that'll take you off of my hands;
that'll put a house over your head--give you a bit to ait, an' a rag to
put on you; an' may God pity him that's doomed to get you! If the woeful
state of the country, an' the hunger an' sickness that's abroad, an'
that's comin' harder an' faster on us every day, can't tame you or keep
you down, I dunna what will. I'm sure the black an' terrible summer
we've had ought to make you think of how we'll get over all that's
before us! God pity you, I say again, an' whatever poor man is to be
cursed wid you!"

"Keep your pity for them that wants it," replied the other, "an' that's
not me. As for God's pity, it isn't yours to give, and even if it was,
you stand in need of it yourself more than I do. You're beginning
to praich to us now that you're not able to bait us; but for your
praichments an' your baitins, may the divil pay you for all alike!--as
he will--an' that's my prayer."

A momentary gush of the step-mother's habitual p