“Why I grant you, Brian, that he looks better on horseback than on foot, and when mounted on ‘Handsome Harry,’ with top-boots and spurs, it’s not on every highway you could meet his equal.”

“Devil a lie in that, Val—­nor a boy better made to ride or shoot round a corner you could not meet in Europe—­but never mind; go on, Val—­go on, my friend; no, faith, on hill or in hollow, it would not be easy to match him.”

“He’d make an excellent good husband.”

“He would not be your son if he did not—­well?”

“Well, as to that, if the truth was known, I know where the blame would lie—­your daughter will not be the shrew and scold to him that my blister was to me—­upon my credit she won’t.”

“Devil, a lie in that either, Val—­well, well—­oh!  I’ll take my oath she won’t.”

“I don’t see why he and she might not be very happy together—­you are able to do handsomely for her, as report goes.”

“And willing, Val, and a bad father I’d be, if I were not.”

“Well then, Brian, so far all looks fair, and devilish glad I am that I broached the thing at once.  I have been thinking of it ever since I came to the neighborhood—­upon my credit I have.”.

“Faith, and so am I glad of it—­but what’s to be done next, Val darling?”

“Why the less time that’s lost upon it the better—­we must bring the youngsters together till they get acquainted—­then we can have another meeting, and settle the match out of hand.  Did you ever see Phil on ‘Handsome Harry?’”

“Didn’t I?—­to be sure I did—­and upon my word, Val, he’s a credit to the horse he rides, as the horse is to him—­a comely couple they are in truth.  But, Val, or neighbor Val, as I now may call you, don’t you think it would be better to wind up this business now that our hand’s in for it?  Let us hear what you’ll do, and I’ll follow you on my part, for there’s no use in losing time about it—­upon my credit there’s not.”

“What would you think, then, of the farm we’re in now—­that is, the O’Hagan property, as you call it?  Suppose I gave him that, what will you come down with for the girl?  I know it can’t be under three hundred—­come, say three hundred, and it’s a match.”

“Three hundred!  Oh!  Val, you’re too soft—­too moderate—­too mild—­indeed you are—­why three hundred would be nothing against the O’Hagan property, as you call it—­and, indeed, I don’t intend to put my daughter off under five hundred, and that’s nearly double what three is—­eh, Val, what do you say, upon your credit now?”

“Faith, I’ll not quarrel with you if you make it six or eight.”