“Saints above!—­the Lord forgive me for bringin’ down their names upon a Christmas Eve, but it’s beside himself the man is! an’ him knows that the phaties wor boiled an’ made up into balls for them airly this mornin’!”

In the meantime, the wife’s good-natured attack upon her husband produced considerable mirth in the family.  In consequence of what she said, he hesitated:  but ultimately was proceeding towards the door, when the daughter returned, her brow flushed, and her eye sparkling with mirth and delight.

“Ha!” said the father, with a complacent smile, “all’s right, Peggy, you seen him, alanna.  The music’s in your eye, acushla; an’ the’ feet of you can’t keep themselves off o’ the ground; an’ all bekase you seen Barny Dhal (* blind Barney) pokin’ acrass the fields, wid his head up, an’ his skirt stickn’ out behind him wid Granua Waile.” (* The name of his fiddle)

The father had conjectured properly, for the joy which animated the girl’s countenance could not be misunderstood.

“Barny’s comin’,” she exclaimed, clapping her hands with great glee, “an’ our Frank wid him; they’re at the river, and Frank has him on his back, and Granua Waile undhor his arm!  Come out, come out!  You’ll die for good, lookin’ at them staggerin’ acrass.  I knew he’d come!  I knew it! and be good to thim that invinted Christmas; it’s a brave time, faix!”

In a moment the inmates were grouped before the door, all anxious to catch a glimpse of Barny and Granua Waile.

“Faix ay!  Sure enough..  Sarra doubt if it!  Wethen, I’d never mistrust Barny!” might be heard in distinct exclamations from each.

“Faith he’s a Trojan,” said the farithee, an’ must get lashins of the best we have.  Come in, childher, an’ red the hob for him.

     “’Och, Christmas comes but wanst a year,
     An’ Christmas comes but wanst a year;
     An’ the divil a mouth
     Shall be friends wid drouth,
     While I have whiskey, ale, or beer.

     Och, Christmas comes but wanst a year,
     An’ Christmas comes but waust a year;
     Wid han’ in han’,
     An’ can to can,
     Then Hi for the whiskey, ale, and beer.

     Och, Christmas comes but wanst a year,
     An’ Christmas comes but wanst a year;
     Then the high and the low
     Shall shake their toe,
     When primed wid whiskey, ale, an’ beer.’

For all that, the sorra fig I care for either ale or beer, barrin’ in regard of mere drouth; give me the whiskey, Eh, Alley—­won’t we have a jorum any how?”

“Why, thin,” replied the wife, “the devil be from me (the crass about us for namin’ him) but you’re a greater Brinoge than some of your childher!  I suppose its your capers Frank has in him.  Will you behave yourself, you old slingpoke?  Behave, I say, an let me go.  Childher, will you help me to flake this man out o’ the place?  Look at him, here, caperin’ an’ crackin’ his fingers afore me, an’ pullin’ me out to dance!”