“Why your kind master, of course, girl; isn’t that sufficient?  Whoever comes with my dear old Sam is welcome, to be sure.”

Her clear, cloudless face was now lit up with a multiplicity of kind and hospitable thoughts, for dear old Sam and his friend were not more than three or four perches from the house, and she could perceive that her husband was in an extraordinary state of good humor.

“I know, Molly, who the strange man is now,” she said.  “He’s an old friend of my husband’s, named Dunphy; he was once in the same regiment with him; and I know, besides, our own good man has heard some news that has delighted him very much.”

She had scarcely uttered the words when Sam and old Dunphy entered.

“Beck, my girl, here I am, safe and sound, and here’s an old friend come to see us, and you know how much we are both indebted to him; I felt, Beck, and so did you, old girl, that we must have something to love and provide for, and to keep the heart moving, but that’s natural, you know—­quite natural—­it’s all the heart of man.”

“Mr. Dunphy,” said Beck—­a curtailment of Rebecca—­“I am glad to see you; take a seat; how is the old woman?”

“As tough as ever, Mrs. Roberts.  ’Deed I had thought last winter that she might lave me a loose leg once more; but I don’t know how it is, she’s gatherin’ strength on my hands, an’ a young wife, I’m afraid, isn’t on the cards—­ha—­ha—­ha!  And how are you yourself, Mrs. Roberts?—­but, indeed, one may tell with half an eye—­fresh and well you look, thank God!”

“Doesn’t she, man?” exclaimed Sam, slapping him with delight on the shoulder; “a woman that travelled half the world, and improved in every climate.  Molly, attention!—­let us turn in to mess as soon as possible.  Good news, Beck—­good news, but not till after mess; double-quick, Molly.”

“Come, Molly, double-quick,” added her mistress; “the master and his friend must be hungry by this time.”

Owing to the expeditious habits to which Mrs. Roberts had disciplined Molly, a smoking Irish stew, hot and savory, was before them in a few minutes, which the two old fellows attacked with powers of demolition that would have shamed younger men.  There was for some time a very significant lull in the conversation, during which Molly, by a hint from her mistress, put down the kettle, an act which, on being observed by Dunphy, made his keen old eye sparkle with the expectation of what it suggested.  Shovelful after shovelful passed from dish to plate, until a very relaxed action on the part of each was evident.

“Dunphy,” said Sam, “I, believe our fire is beginning to slacken; but come, let us give the enemy another round, the citadel is nearly won—­is on the point of surrender.”

“Begad,” replied Dunphy, who was well acquainted with his friend’s phraseology, and had seen some service, as already intimated, in the same regiment, some fifty years before.  “I must lay down my arms for the present.”