aside, whilst the portly farmer tripped himself up by his
own impetuosity, and fell upon the threshold. Mrs Prothero and Netta
screamed, and Shanno took hold of the beggar's arm, to prevent his
escape. But the beggar had pulled Mr Prothero up, and was beginning to
sympathise with him in broad brogue, when that valiant anti-Irishman got
hold of his stick again, and began to belabour the unoffending party's
back most manfully.

'Enough's as good as a faist, yer honour,' cried the stranger, skipping
from side to side, and evading the blows very skilfully; 'pon my sowl,
yer honour 'ud do for a fair or a wake. 'Tis madam as has the heart an'
the conscience for the poor Irish, an' miss, too, asthore!'

The impudent fellow ran round to where Netta stood, who, in terror, went
into the house, followed by the man, and after him, the rest in full hue
and cry.

'Tin thousand pardons, miss,' said the man, taking off his hat and
confronting Netta.

'Owen! Owen!' screamed Netta. 'For shame upon you, you naughty boy,' and
therewith Netta and the unexpected guest were hugging one another, most
lovingly.

''Tis the mother will give the poor Irisher a lodgin' and a drop o' the
cratur,' cried that mother's well-beloved eldest born almost catching
her up in his arms, and smothering her with kisses. 'And the masther
isn't so hard-hearted as he looks,' he added, shaking the astonished
farmer by the hand.

'Owen! oughtn't you to be ashamed of yourself?' cried the farmer,
laughing aloud, and rubbing his right leg.

'Not kilt intirely, yer honour! didn't I take you all in, that's all!'

'Where did you come from? How did you come? When did you leave your
ship?' were the questions reiterated on all sides of the welcome guest.

'I'll tell you all that to-morrow. At present I am dying of cowld and
hunger, and haven't broke me fast since morning. Let me show you how the
locker stands.'

Owen emptied his pockets, and from a corner of one of them turned out a
solitary halfpenny.

'I shouldn't have had that if old Nanny Cwmgwyn hadn't given it to me
just now. But I'll tell you my story to-morrow in character.'

'Not an improved one anyhow,' said Mr Prothero with a gathering frown.

'Don't lecture to-night, Datta, bach; you shall have an hour on purpose
to-morrow, when I promise to listen to edification. 'Pon my word it is
pleasant to be at home again. How I long to sleep in my comfortable bed
once more.'

Poor Mrs Prothero's countenan