"Larry said no more, but, laying down the child he had in his hands,
upon the flure, makes at him; the lad, however, had the door of him, and
was off beyant his reach like a shot. He then turned into the house,
and meeting Dick, felled him with a blow of his fist at the dresser.
'Tundher-an-ages, Larry,' says Art, 'what has come over you at all at
all? to knock down the gorsoon with such a blow! couldn't you take a rod
or a switch to him?--_Dher manhim_, (* By my soul!) man, but I bleeve
you've killed him outright,' says he, lifting the boy, and striving to
bring him to life. Just at this minit Sally came in.

"'Arrah, sweet bad-luck to you, you lazy vagabond you,' says Larry,
'what kept you away till this hour?'

"'The devil send you news, you nager you,' says Sally, 'what kept
me--could I make the people churn sooner than they wished or were
ready?'

"'Ho, by my song, I'll flake you as soon as the dacent young man leaves
the house,' says Larry to her, aside.

"'You'll flake me, is it?' says Sally, speaking out loud--'in troth,
that's no new thing for you to do, any how.'

"'Spake asy, you had betther.'

"'No, in troth, won't I spake asy; I've spoken asy too long, Larry,
but the devil a taste of me will bear what I've suffered from you any
longer, you mane-spirited blackguard you; for he is nothing else that
would rise his hand to a woman, especially to one in my condition, and
she put her gown tail to her eyes. When she came in, Art turned his back
to her, for fraid she'd see the state the gorsoon was in--but now she
noticed it--

"'Oh, murdher, murdher,' says she, clapping her hands, and running over
to him, 'what has happened my child? oh! murdher, murdher, this is your
work, murdherer!' says she to Larry. 'Oh, you villain, are you bent on
murdhering all of us--are you bent on destroying us out o' the face! Oh,
wurrah sthrew! wurrah sthrew! what'll become of us! Dick, agra,' says
she, crying, 'Dick, acushla machree, don't you hear, me spaiking to
you!--don't you hear your poor broken-hearted mother spaking to you? Oh!
wurrah! wurrah! amn't I the heart-brokenest crathur that's alive this
day, to see the likes of such doings! but I knew it would come to
this! My sowl to glory, but my child's murdhered by that man standing
there!--by his own father--his own father! Which of us will you murther
next, you villain!'

"'For heaven's sake, Sally,' says Art, 'don't exaggerate him more nor
he is--the boy is only st