mind with a sense of such softness and beauty.

"I don't know," observed her companion, sighing and looking at her
affectionately, "how any step-mother could be harsh to you."

"Ha! ha! ha! don't you, indeed? Faix, then, if you had me, maybe you
wouldn't think so--I'm nothin' but a born divil when the fit's on me."

"Charley Hanlon," proceeded the strange woman, "bid me ax you for the
ould tobaccy-box you promised him last night."

"Well, but he promised me a handkerchy; have you got it?"

"I have," replied the other, producing it; "but, then, I'm not to give
it to you, unless you give me the box for it."

"But I haven't the box now," said Sarah, "how-and-ever, I'll get it for
him."

"Are you sure that you can an' will?" inquired the other.

"I had it in my hand yesterday," she said, "an' if it's to be had I'll
get it."

"Well, then," observed the other mildly, "as soon as you get him the
box, he'll give you this handkerchy, but not till then."

"Ha!" she exclaimed, kindling, "is that his bargain; does he think I'd
thrick him or cheat him?--hand it here."

"I can't," replied the other; "I'm only to give it to you when I get the
box."

"Hand it here, I say," returned Sarah, whose eyes flashed in a moment;
"it's Peggy Murray's rag, I suppose--hand it here, I bid you."

The woman shook her head and replied, "I can't--not till you get the
box."

Sarah replied not a word, but sprang at it, and in a minute had it in
her hands.

"I would tear it this minute into ribbons," she exclaimed, with eyes of
fire and glowing cheeks, "and tramp it undher my feet too; only that I
want it to show her, that I may have the advantage over her."

There was a sharp, fierce smile of triumph on her features as she spoke;
and altogether her face sparkled with singular animation and beauty.

"God bless me!" said the strange woman, looking at her with a wondering
yet serious expression of countenance; "I wanst knew a face like yours,
an' a temper the aiquil of it--at any rate, my good girl, you don't pay
much respect to a stranger. Is your stepmother at home?"

"She is not, but my father is; however, I don't think he'll see you now.
My stepmother's gone to Darby Skinadre, the meal-monger's."

"I'm goin' there."

"An' if you see her," replied the other, "you'll know her; a score on her
cheek--ha, ha, ha; an' when you see it, maybe you'll thank God that I am
not your step-daughter."

"Isn't there a family named Sullivan that