an' but it was the unlucky day that ever the divil druv you acrass
me!"

"Dick," said the father, "as soon as you go into the office, write a
discharge, as bad a one, for that old vagabond, as the English language
can enable you to do--for by the light of heaven, he shan't sleep
another night under this roof."

"Shan't I?--we'll see that, though. To the divil I pitch yourself an'
your discharge--an' now mark my words: I'll be no longer throubled
wid you; you've been all my life a torment and a heart-break to me--a
blister of French flies was swan's down, compared to you, but by the
book, I'll end it at last--ay, will I--I give you up--I surrendher you
as a bad bargain--I wash my hands of you--This is Tuesday mornin', God
bless the day and the weather--an' woeful weather it is--but sure it's
betther than you desarve, an' I don't doubt but it's you and the likes
o' you that brings it on us! Ay, this is Tuesday mornin', an' I now give
you warnin' that on Saturday next, you'll see the last o' me--an' don't
think that this warnin' is like the rest, or that I'll relint again,
as I was foolish enough to do often before. No--my mind's made up--an'
indeed--" here his voice sank to a great calmness and philosophy, like a
man who was above all human passion, and who could consequently talk in
a voice of cool and quiet determination;--"An' indeed," he added, "my
conscience was urgin' me to this for some time past--so that I'm glad
things has taken this turn."

"I hope you'll keep your word, then," said his master, "but before you
go, listen to me."

"Listen to you--to be sure I will; God forbid I wouldn't; let there be
nothing at any rate, but civility between us while we're together. What
is it?"

"You asked me last night to let widow Leary's cow out o' pound?"

"Ay, did I!"

"And I swore I wouldn't."

"I know you did. Who would doubt that, at any rate?"

"Well, before you leave us, be off now, and let the animal out o' the
pound."

"Is that it? Oh, God help you! what'll you do when you'll be left to
yourself, as you will be on Saturday next? Let her out, says you. Troth,
the poor woman had her cow safe and sound at home wid her before she
went to bed last night, and her poor childre had her milk to kitchen
their praties, the craythurs. Do you think I'd let her stay in till the
maggot bit you? Oh, ay, indeed! In the mane time, as soon as you are
done breakfast, I want you in the study, to put the bindage on that
oul