to the
Foundling; although, dear knows, it's hardly worth her while now--it
won't give her salt to her kale, poor girl."

"Why, are the times mendin'?" asked Darby, who spoke in a moral point of
view.

"Mendin'!" exclaimed Poll, "oh, ay indeed--Troth they're not fit to be
named in the one day with what they used to be. But indeed, of late
I'm happy to say that they are improvin' a bit," said she, speaking
professionally. "M'Clutchy's givin' them a lift, for I've ever an'
always remarked, that distress, and poverty, and neglect o' the poor,
and hardship, and persecution, an' oppression, and anything that way,
was sure to have my very heart broke wid business."

"And tell me, Poll, did you ever happen to get a job from a sartin pious
gentleman, o' the name of M'Slime?--now tell the truth."

"It's a question," replied Poll, "you have no right to axe--you must
know, Darby O'Drive, that I've had my private business, as well as
my public business, an' that I'd suffer that right hand to be cut off
sooner than betray trust. Honor bright, or what's the world good for!"

They now reached a spot where the road branched into two, but Poll still
kept to that which led to M'Clutchy's. "Are you for the Cottage too,"
asked Darby.

"I am," replied Poll, "I've been sent for; but what he wants wid me, I
know no more than the man in the moon."

Just then the tramp of a horse's feet was heard behind' them, and in a
minute or two, Solomon M'Slime, who was also on his way to the Cottage,
rode up to them.

"A kind good morning to you Darby, my friend! I trust you did not
neglect to avail yourself of the--Ah!" said he complacently on catching
a glimpse of Poll's face, "I think I ought to recollect your features,
my good woman--but, no--I can't say I do--No, I must mistake them for
those of another--but, indeed, the best of us is liable to mistake and
error--all frail--flesh is grass."

"You might often see my face," returned Poll, "but I don't think ever we
spoke before. I know you to look at you, sir, that's all--an' it's thrue
what you say too, sir, there's nothing but frailty in the world--divil a
much else--howsomever, be that as is may, honor bright's my motive."

"And a good motto it is, my excellent woman--is that interesting young
man your son?"

"He is, sir; but he's a poor innocent that, hasn't the full complement
of wit, sir, God help him!"

"Well, my good woman," continued Solomon, "as he appears to be without
shoes