on the top of which was a man’s hat, fastened by a, ribbon under her chin.  As she thus stirred about, with a kind word and a joke for every one, her healthy cheek in full bloom, and her blue-gray eye beaming with an expression of fun and good-nature, it would be difficult to conceive a character more adapted for intercourse with, a laughter-loving people.  In fact, she soon became a favorite, and this not the less that she was as ready to meet her rivals in business with a blow as with a joke.  Peter witnessed her success with unfeigned pleasure; and although every feasible speculation was proposed by her, yet he never felt that he was a mere nonentity when compared to his wife.  ’Tis true, he was perfectly capable of executing her agricultural plans when she proposed them, but his own capacity for making a lucky hit was very limited.  Of the two, she was certainly the better farmer; and scarcely an improvement took place in his little holding which might not be traced to Ellish.

In the course of a couple of years she bought him a horse, and Peter was enabled, to join with a neighbor, who had another.  Each had a plough and tackle, so that here was a little team made up, the half of which belonged to Peter.  By this means they ploughed week about, until their crops were got down.  Peter finding his farm doing well, began to feel a kind of rivalship with his wife—­that is to say, she first suggested the principle, and afterwards contrived to make him imagine that it was originally his own.

“The sarra one o’ you, Pettier,” she exclaimed to him one day, “but’s batin’ me out an’ out.  Why, you’re the very dickins at the farmin’, so you are.  Faix, I suppose, if you go an this way much longer, that you’ll be thinkin’ of another farm, in regard that we have some guineas together.  Pettier, did you ever think of it, abouchal?”

“To be sure, I did, you beauty; an’ amn’t I in fifty notions to take Harry Neal’s land, that jist lies alongside of our own.”

“Faix, an’ you’re right, maybe; but if it’s strivin’ again me you are, you may give it over:  I tell you, I’ll have more money made afore this time twelvemonth than you will.”

“Arrah, is it jokin’ you are?  More money?  Would you advise me to take Harry’s land?  Tell me that first, you phanix, an’ thin I’m your man!”

“Faix, take your own coorse, avourneen.  If you get a lase of it at a fair rint, I’ll buy another horse, any how.  Isn’t that doin’ the thing dacent’?”

“More power to you, Ellish!  I’ll hold you a crown, I pay you the price o’ the horse afore this time twelvemonth.”

“Done!  The sarra be off me but done!—­an’ here’s Barny Dillon an’ Katty Hacket to bear witness.”

“Sure enough we will,” said Barny, the servant.

“I’ll back the misthress any money,” replied the maid.

“Two to one on the masther,” said the man.  “Whoo! our side o’ the house for ever!  Come, Pether, hould up your head, there’s money bid for you!”