Frank M’Kenna and his wife reached home about two o’clock; the dance was comparatively thin, though still kept up with considerable spirit.  Having solemnized himself by the grace of so sacred a rite, Frank thought proper to close the amusement, and recommend those whom he found in the barn to return to their respective dwellings.

“You have had a merry night, childher,” said he; “but too much o’ one thing’s good for nothin’; so don’t make a toil of a pleasure, but go all home dacently an’ soberly, in the name o’ God.”

This advice was accordingly followed.  The youngsters separated, and M’Kenna joined his family, “to have a sup along wid them and Barny, in honor of what they had hard.”  It was upon this occasion he missed his son Frank, whose absence from the dance he had not noticed since his return until then.

“Musha, where’s Frank,” he inquired:  “I’ll warrant him, away wid his blackguards upon no good.  God look down upon him!  Many a black heart has that boy left us!  If it’s not the will o’ heaven, I fear he’ll come to no good.  Barny, is he long gone from the dance?”

“Troth, Frank, wid the noise an’ dancin’, an’ me bem’ dark,” replied Barny, shrewdly, “I can’t take on me to say.  For all you spake agin him, the sorra one of him but’s a clane, dacent, spirited boy, as there is widin a great ways of him.  Here’s all your, healths!  Faix, ’girls, you’ll all sleep sound.”

“Well,” said Mrs. M’Kenna, “the knowledge of that Darby More is unknowable!  Here’s a Carol I bought from him, an’ if you wor but to hear the explanations he put to it!  Why Father Hoolaghan could hardly outdo him!”

“Divil a-man in the five parishes can dance ‘Jig Polthogue’ wid him, for all that,” said Barny.  “Many a time Granua an’ I played it for him, an’ you’d know the tune upon his feet.  He undherstands a power o’ ranns and prayers, an’ has charms an’ holy herbs for all kinds of ailments, no doubt.”

“These men, you see,” observed Mrs. M’Kenna, in the true spirit of credulity and superstition, “may do many things that the likes of us oughtn’t to do, by raison of their great fastin’ an’ prayin’.”

“Thrue for you, Alley,” replied her husband:  “but come, let us have a sup more in comfort:  the sleep’s gone a shraugran an us this night, any way, so, Barny, give us a song, an’ afther that we’ll have a taste o’ prayers, to close the night.”

“But you don’t think of the long journey I’ve before me,” replied Barny:  “how-and-iver, if you promise to send some one home wid me, we’ll have the song.  I wouldn’t care, but the night bein’ dark, you see, I’ll want somebody to guide me.”

“Faith, an’ it’s but rasonable, Barny, an’ you must get Rody home wid you.  I suppose he’s asleep in his bed by this, but we’ll rouse him!”

Barny replied by a loud triumphant laugh, for this was one of his standing jests.