n her and fractured the hip-bone. It
was said, too, that she had been engaged to be married at the time, but
that her lover, shocked by the disfigurement, had broken off the match,
and thus made this calamity the sorrow of a life long.

"Where's Kate?" said the father, as he cast a glance around the chamber.

Ellen drew near, and whispered a few words in his ear.

"Not in this dreadful weather; surely, Ellen, you didn't let her go out
in such a night as this?"

"Hush!" murmured she, "Frank will hear you; and remember, father, it is
his last night with us."

"Could n't old Andy have found the place?" asked Daiton; and as he
spoke, he turned his eyes to a corner of the kitchen, where a little
old man sat in a straw chair peeling turnips, while he croned a ditty to
himself in a low singsong tone; his thin, wizened features, browned
by years and smoke, his small scratch wig, and the remains of an old
scarlet hunting-coat that he wore, giving him the strongest resemblance
to one of the monkeys one sees in a street exhibition.

"Poor Andy!" cried Ellen, "he'd have lost his way twenty times before he
got to the bridge."

"Faith, then, he must be greatly altered," said Dalton, "for I 've seen
him track a fox for twenty miles of ground, when not a dog of the pack
could come on the trace. Eh, Andy!" cried he, aloud, and stooping
down so as to be heard by the old man, "do you remember the cover at
Corralin?"

"Don't ask him, father," said Ellen, eagerly; "he cannot sleep for the
whole night after his old memories have been awakened."

The spell, however, had begun to work; and the old man, letting fall
both knife and turnip, placed his hands on his knees, and in a weak,
reedy treble began a strange, monotonous kind of air, as if to remind
himself of the words, which, after a minute or two, he remembered thus.

"There was old Tom Whaley,
And Anthony Baillie,
And Fitzgerald, the Knight of Glynn,
And Father Clare,
On his big brown mare,
That moruin' at Corralin!"

"Well done, Andy! well done!" exclaimed Dalton. "You 're as fresh as a
four-year-old."

"Iss!" said Andy, and went on with his song.

"And Miles O'Shea,
On his cropped tail bay,
Was soon seen ridin' in.
He was vexed and crossed
At the light hoar frost,
That mornin' at Corralin."

"Go on, Andy! go on, my boy!" exclaimed Dalton, in a rapture at the
words that reminded him of many a day in the f