“Well, well,” said the other in a friendly tone, “that makes no maxims one way or the other, only dhrink this—­sure we’re not goin’ to quarrel about it, any how.”

“God forbid, Honora More! but sure it ud ill become me to hear my own corree—­no, no, avourneen,” she exclaimed, putting hack the glass; “I can’t take it this—­a—­way; it doesn’t agree wid me; you must put a grain o’ shugar an’ a dhrop o’ bilin’ wather to it.  It may do very well hard for the sarvints, but I’m not used to it.”

“I hird that myself afore,” observed Nogher, “that she never dhrinks hard whiskey.  Well, myself never tasted punch but wanst, an’ be goxty its great dhrink.  Death alive, Honora More,” he continued, in his most insinuating manner, “make us all a sup.  Sure, blood alive, this is not a common night, afther what God has sint us:  Fardorougha himself would allow you, if he was here; deed, be dad, he as good as promised me he would; an’ you know we have the young customer’s health to drink yet.”

“Throth, an’ you ought,” said the mid-wife; “the boy says nuttin’ but the thruth—­it’s not a common night; an’ if God has given Fardorougha substance, he shouldn’t begridge a little, if it was only to show a grateful heart.”

“Well, well,” said Honora More—­which means great Honora, in opposition to her daughter, Fardorougha’s wife; this being an epithet adopted for the purpose of contradistinguishing the members of a family when called by the same name—­“Well,” said she, “I suppose it’s as good.  My own heart, dear knows, is not in a thrifle, only I have my doubts about Fardorougha.  However, what’s done can’t be undone; so, once we mix it, he’ll be too late to spake if he comes in, any way.”

The punch was accordingly mixed, and they were in the act of sitting down to enjoy themselves with more comfort when Fardorougha entered.  As before, he was silent and disturbed, neither calm nor stern, but laboring, one would suppose, under strong feelings of a decidedly opposite character.  On seeing the punch made, his brow gathered into something like severity; he looked quickly at his mother-in-law, and was about to speak, but, pausing a moment, he sat down, and after a little time said in a kind voice—­

“It’s right, it’s right—­for his sake, an’ on his account, have it; but, Honora, let there be no waste.”

“Sure we had to make it for Mrs. Moan whether or not,” said his mother-in-law, “she can’t drink it hard, poor woman.”

Mrs. Moan, who had gone to see her patient, having heard his voice again, made her appearance with the child in her arms, and with all the importance which such a burden usually bestows upon persons of her calling.