to Dublin.  She is tidily and even, for a woman of her age, tastefully dressed, but still with a sober decency that showed her good sense.  Her cap is as white as snow, with which a well-fitting brown stuff gown, that gave her a highly respectable appearance, admirably contrasted.  She wore an apron of somewhat coarse muslin, that seemed, as it always did, fresh from the iron, and her hands were covered with a pair of thread mittens that only came half-way down the fingers.  Hanging at one side was a three-cornered pincushion of green silk, a proof at once of a character remarkable for thrift, neatness, and industry.  Whilst thus employed, she looks from time to time through a window that commanded a prospect of the road, and seems affected by that complacent expression of uneasiness which, whilst it overshadows the features, never disturbs their benignity.  At length, a good-looking, neat girl, their servant, enters the cottage with a can of new milk, for she had been to the fields a-milking; her name is Molly Byrne.

“Molly,” said her mistress, “I wonder the master has not come yet.  I am getting uneasy.  The coach has gone past, and I see no appearance of him.”

“I suppose, then, he didn’t come by the coach, ma’am.”

“Yes, but he said he would.”

“Well, ma’am, something must ’a prevented him.”

“Molly,” said her mistress, smiling, “you are a good hand at telling us John Thompson’s news; that is, any thing we know ourselves.”

“Well, ma’am, but you know many a time he goes to Dublin, an’ doesn’t come home by the coach.”

“Yes, whenever he visits Rilmainham Hospital, and gets into conversation with some of his old comrades; however, that’s natural, and I hope he’s safe.”

“Well, ma’am,” replied Molly, looking out, “I have betther news for you than Jenny Thompson’s now.”

“Attention, Molly; John Thompson’s the word,” said her mistress, with the slightest conceivable air of professional form; for if she had a foible at all, it was that she gave all her orders and exacted all obedience from her servant in a spirit of military discipline, which she, had unconsciously borrowed from her husband, whom she imitated as far as she could.  “Where, Molly?  Fall back, I say, till I get a peep at dear old Sam.”

“There he is, ma’am,” continued Molly, at the same time obeying her orders, “and some other person along with him.”

“Yes, sure enough; thank God, thank God!” she exclaimed.  “But who can the other person be, do you think?”

“I don’t know, ma’am,” replied Molly.  “I only got a glimpse of them, but I knew the master at once.  I would know him round a corner.”

“Advance, then, girl; take another look; reconnoitre, Molly, as Sam says, and see if you can make out who it is.”

“I see him now well enough, ma’am,” replied the girl, “but I don’t know him; he’s a stranger.  What can bring a stranger here, ma’am, do you think?” she inquired.