On uttering the last words he stood, and looking around him became so much affected that his eyes filled with tears.  “Ay,” said he, “thank God that we have our place to come to, an’ that we will still have it to come to, and blessed be His name for all things!  Come, Peety,” he added, after a pause, “let us see how they all are inside; I’m longin’ to see them, especially poor, dear Dora; an’—­God bless me! here she is!—­no, she ran back to tell them—­but ay—­oh, ay! here she is again, my darlin’ girl, comin’ to meet me.”

He had scarcely uttered the words when an interesting, slender girl, about eighteen, blushing, and laughing, and crying, all at once, came flying towards him, and throwing her white arms about his neck, fell upon his bosom, kissed him, and wept with delight at his return.

“An’ so, father dear, you’re back to us!  My gracious, we thought you’d never come home!  Sure you worn’t sick?  We thought maybe that you took ill, or that—­that—­something happened you; and we wanted to send Bryan after you—­but nothing happened you?—­nor you worn’t sick?”

“You affectionate, foolish darlin’, no, I wasn’t sick; nor nothing ill happened me, Dora.”

“Oh, thank God!  Look at them,” she proceeded, directing his attention to the house, “look at them all crowdin’ to the door—­and here’s Shibby, too, and Bryan himself—­an’ see my mother ready to lep out of herself wid pure joy—­the Lord be praised that you’re safe back!”

At this moment his second daughter ran to him, and a repetition of welcome similar to that which he received from Dora took place.  His son Bryan grasped his hand, and said, whilst a tear stood even in his eye, that he was glad to see him safe home.  The old man, in return, grasped his hand with an expression of deep feeling, and after having inquired if they had been all well in his absence, he proceeded with them to the house.  Here the scene was still more interesting.  Mrs. M’Mahon stood smiling at the door, but as he came near, she was obliged once or twice to wipe away the tears with the corner of her handkerchief.  We have often observed how much fervid piety is mingled with the affections of the Irish people when in a state of excitement; and this meeting between the old man and his wife presented an additional proof of it.

“Blessed be God!” exclaimed his wife, tenderly embracing* him, “blessed be God, Tom darlin’, that you’re safe back to us!  An’ how are you, avourueen? an’ wor you well ever since? an’ there was nothin—­musha, go out o’ this, Ranger, you thief—­oh, God forgive me! what am I sayin’? sure the poor dog is as glad as the best of us—­arrah, thin, look at the affectionate crathur, a’most beside himself!  Dora, avillish, give him the could stirabout that’s in the skillet, jist for his affection, the crathur.  Here, Ranger—­Ranger, I say—­oh no, sorra one’s in the house now but yourself, Tom.  Well, an’ there was nothing wrong wid you?”