“Ah, but it’s that far off,” argued another.  “Look at the length of time it ‘ud take them to be gettin’ there, an’ the two of them so wake on their legs, God help them!  No, but it’ll be betther for them step down to my little place that’s handy.  An’ it ud’ take them no time at all to get there.”

“Good gracious, woman, where would ye put them in that little shebeen—­sure there isn’t room in it for your own childer.  God bless them! the fine childer they are too—­but where in the world would you find a corner for Misther and Mrs. Clancy?”

“Troth, I’ll find a corner aisy enough; and it wouldn’t do a ha’porth of harm to the two little fellows if they were to sleep for a few nights undher the turf stack outside.  It’s grand warm weather we are havin’, Glory be to Goodness, an’ they’d sleep as sound as a bell by the side of it.”

“Oh, not at all, ma’am,” put in Mrs. Clancy, “we wouldn’t dhrame to be puttin’ ye about that much; the poor little fellows might be gettin’ their deaths o’ cold on ye.  Indeed it doesn’t matther where we go; we are a throuble to every wan.  I wisht the Lord ’ud take us out of it altogether,” she added dismally; “I’d sooner be in the old gully-hole at wanst nor be goin’ to the poorhouse, and, dear knows, that’s where we’ll have to go.”

“Not wan bit, then,” cried Pat resolutely, “not wan fut will ye iver put in the poorhouse, woman, nor me neither.  We’ll be back in the ould place here yit, see if we aren’t.  Nobody ’ud go in it on’y ourselves, an’ it’ll be there waitin’ for us till the poor boy comes out an’ puts us back in it.”

The neighbours glanced from one to the other, and by common accord decided to humour the old man.

“To be sure ye will, Misther Clancy.  The two of yez will be back there before we can turn round, an’ Mike will be apt to be gettin’ your bits o’ things back for yez too.  Sure the old rogue up there will have no call to keep them wanst the boy has paid up the bit yez owe him.”

“Troth, it’ll be no time at all before you’re back, Pat, an’ ye had a right to lave talkin’ that way about the poorhouse, ma’am.  There isn’t a wan of us that ’ud ever let yez go there, bad luck to it!  No, indeed, ma’am.”

“Aye, we’ll be back yet in the ould little place,” repeated Pat with conviction, “we will so; come on out o’ that, Mary, an’ make up your mind where it is we’re goin’ this night.  Sure the craturs here is fightin’ for the honour of havin’ us.  Stop turnin’ your head round now; the place won’t run away on ye till we’re back in it.”

All the neighbours were indeed vying with each other in their anxiety to entertain and comfort the helpless old pair, and prove at once their sympathy with them in their trouble and their indignation with Peter Rorke.

“He done it just out of spite, mind ye,” they said one to the other.  “Wasn’t he afther promisin’ Mike to let him work out the thrifle o’ rent they were owin?”