unmingled with
somewhat of regret, if not sorrow. Bartle fixed his eye upon the fine
face of his companion, with a look in which there was a character of
compassion. His countenance, however, while he gazed on him, maintained
his natural color--it was not pale.

"I am sorry, Connor," said he slowly, "I am sorry that I hired with your
father."

"An' I'm glad of it," replied the other; "why should you be sorry?"

Bartle made no answer for some time, but looked into the ground, as if
he had not heard him.

"Why should you be sorry, Bartle?"

Nearly a minute elapsed before his abstraction was broken. "What's
that?" said he at length. "What were you asking me?"

"You said you were sorry."

"Oh, ay!" returned the other, interrupting him; "but I didn' mind what I
was sayin': 'twas thinkin' o' somethin' else I was--of home, Bartle, an'
what we're brought to; but the best way's to dhrop all discoorse about
that forever."

"You'll be my friend if you do," said Connor.

"I will, then," replied Bartle; "we'll change it. Connor, were you ever
in love?"

O'Donovan turned quickly about, and, with a keen glance at Bartle,
replied,

"Why, I don't know; I believe I might, once or so."

"I _am_," said Flanagan, bitterly; "I _am_ Connor."

"An' who's the happy crature, will you tell us?"

"No," returned the other; "but if there's a wish that I'd make against
my worst enemy, 'twould be, that he might love a girl above his means;
or if he was her aquil, or even near her aquil, that he might be
brought"----he paused, but immediately proceeded, "Well, no matter, I
am, indeed, Connor."

"An' is the girl fond o' you?"

"I don't know; my mind was made up to tell her but it's past that now; I
know she's wealthy and proud both, and so is all her family."

"How do you know she's proud when you never put the subject to her?"

"I'm not sayin' she's proud, in one sinse; wid respect to herself, I
believe; she's humble enough; I mane, she doesn't give herself many
airs, but her people's as proud as the very sarra, an' never match below
them; still, if I'd opportunities of bain' often in her company, I'd not
fear to trust to a sweet tongue for comin' round her."

"Never despair, Bartle," said Connor; "you know the ould proverb,'a
faintheart;' however, settin' the purty crature aside, whoever she is,
I think if we divided ourselves--you to that side, an' me to this--we'd
get this hay lapped in half the time; or do you take which si