ore
aither or both of us; for my part I'd stake my life that things will go
ashanghran one way or other, an' that you'll never call Una O'Brien your
wife."

"Bartle," replied the other, "I only want you to do my message, an' not
be prophesyin' ill--bad news comes to soon, without your tellin' us of
it aforehand. God knows, Bartle dear, I'm distressed enough as it is,
and want my spirits to be kept up rather than put down."

"No, Connor, but you want somethin' to divart your mind off this
business altogether, for a while; an' upon my saunies it 'ud be a
charity for some friend to give you a fresh piece of fun to think of--so
keep up your heart, how do you know but I may do that much for you
myself? But I want you to lend me the loan of a pair of shoes; divil
a tatther of these will be together soon, barrin' I get them mended in
time; you can't begrudge that, any how, an' me wearin' them on your own
business."

"Nonsense, man--to be sure I will; stop an' I'll bring them out to you
in half a shake."

He accordingly produced a pair of shoes, nearly new, and told Bartle
that if he had no objection to accept of them as a present, he might
consider them as his own.

This conversation took place in Fardorougha's barn, where Flanagan
always slept, and kept his small deal trunk.

He paused a moment when this good--natured offer was made to him; but
as it was dark no particular expression could be discovered on his
countenance,

"No!" said he vehemently; "may I go to perdition if I
ought!--Connor--Connor O' Donovan--you'd turn the div--"

"Halt, Bartle, don't be angry--whin I offered them, I didn't mane to
give you the slightest offence; it's enough for you to tell me you won't
have them without gettin' into a passion."

"Have what? what are you spakin' about?"

"Why--about the shoes; what else?"

"Yes, faith, sure enough--well, ay, the shoes!--don't think of it,
Connor--I'm hasty; too much so, indeed, an' that's my fault. I'm like
all good-natured people in that respect; however, I'll borry them for a
day or two, till I get my own patched up some way. But, death alive, why
did you get at this season o' the year three rows of sparables in the
soles o' them?"

"Bekase they last longer, of coorse; and now, Bartle, be off, and don't
let the grass grow under your feet till I see you again."

Connor's patience, or rather his impatience, that night, was severely
taxed. Hour after hour elapsed, and yet Bartle did not re