Peter’s eye rested upon her as she spoke—­a slight shade passed over his face, but it was the symptom of deep feeling and affection, whose current had run smooth and unbroken during the whole life they had spent together.

“Ellish,” said he, in a tone of voice that strongly expressed what he felt, “you wor one o’ the best wives that ever the Almighty gev to mortual man.  You wor, avourneen—–­you wor, you wor!”

“I intind, too, to begin an’ make my sowl, a little,” she continued; “we had so much to do, Pether, aroon, that, indeed, we hadn’t time to think of it all along; but now, that everything else is settled, we ought to think about that, an’ make the most of our time—­while we can.”

“Upon my conscience, I’ve strong notions myself o’ the same thing,” replied Peter.  “An’ I’ll back you in that, as well as in every thing else.  Never fear, if we pull together, but we’ll bring up the lost time.  Faith, we will!  Sowl, if you set about it, let me see them that ’ud prevint you goin’ to heaven!”

“Did Paddy Donovan get the bay filly’s foot aised, Pether?”

“He’s gone down wid her to the forge:  the poor crathur was very lame to-day.”

“That’s right; an’ let Andy Murtagh bring down the sacks from Drumdough early to-morrow.  That what ought to go to the market on Thursday, an’ the other stacks ought to be thrashed out of hand.”

“Well, well; so it will be all done.  Tare alive! if myself knows how you’re able to keep an eye on everything.  Come in, an’ let us have our tay.”

For a few months after this, Ellish was perfectly in her element.  The jaunting-car was procured; and her spirits seemed to be quite elevated.  She paid regular visits to both her sons, looked closely into their manner of conducting business, examined their premises, and subjected every fixture and improvement made or introduced without her sanction, to the most rigorous scrutiny.  In fact, what, between Peter’s farm, her daughter’s shop, and the establishments of her sons, she never found herself more completely encumbered with business.  She had intended “to make her soul,” but her time was so fully absorbed by the affairs of those in whom she felt so strong an interest, that she really forgot the spiritual resolution in the warmth of her secular pursuits.

One evening, about this time, a horse belonging to Peter happened to fall into a ditch, from which he was extricated with much difficulty by the laborers.  Ellish, who thought it necessary to attend, had been standing for some time directing them how to proceed; her dress was rather thin, and the hour, which was about twilight, chilly, for it was the middle of autumn.  Upon returning home she found herself cold, and inclined to shiver.  At first she thought but little of these symptoms; for having never had a single day’s sickness, she was scarcely competent to know that they were frequently the forerunners of very dangerous