“Take it, asthore,” she added, “in your cuff!  Musha, God help you! sure it’s not much you or the likes of you can have in your cuff, avourneen!  Don’t be ashamed, but take it; we can well afford it, glory be to God for it!  It’s not, agra, bekase you’re goin’ the way you are—­though that same’s an honor to you—­but bekase our hearts warmed to you, that we offered it, an’ bekase we would wish you to be thinkin’ of us now an’ thin, when you’re in a strange part of the country.  Let me open your pocket an’ put them into it.  That’s a good, boy, thank you, an’ God bless an’ prosper you!  I’m sure you were always biddable.”

“Now childre,” said the farmer, addressing his sons and daughters, “never see the sthranger widout a friend, nor wantin’ a bed or a dinner, when you grow up to be men an’ women.  There’s many a turn in this world; we may be strangers ourselves; an’ think of what I would feel if any of you was far from me, widout money or friends, when I’d hear that you met a father in a strange counthry that lightened your hearts by his kindness.  Now, dear, the carts ’ll be ready in no time—­eh?  Why there they are at the gate waitin’ for you.  Get into one of them, an’ they’ll lave you in the next town.  Come, roan, budan’ age, be stout-hearted, an’ don’t cry; sure we did nothin’ for you to spake of.”

He shook the poor scholar by the hand, and drawing his hat over his eyes, passed hurriedly out of the room.  Alley stooped down, kissed his lips, and wept; and the children each embraced him with that mingled feeling of compassion and respect which is uniformly entertained for the poor scholar in Ireland.

The boy felt as if he had been again separated from his parents; with a sobbing bosom and wet cheeks he bid them farewell, and mounting one of the carts was soon beyond sight and hearing of the kind-hearted farmer and his family.

When the cart had proceeded about a mile, it stopped, and one of the men who accompanied it addressing a boy who passed with two sods of turf under his arm, desired him to hurry on and inform his master that they waited for him.

“Tell Misther Corcoran to come into coort,” said the man, laughing, “my Lordship’s waitin’ to hear his defince for intindin’ not to run away wid Miss Judy Malowny.  Tell him Lord Garty’s ready to pass sintince on him for not stalin’ the heart of her wid his Rule o’ Three.  Ha! by the holy farmer, you’ll get it for stayin’ from school to this hour.  Be quick, abouchal!”

In a few minutes the trembling urchin, glad of any message that might serve to divert the dreaded birch from himself, entered the, uproarious “Siminary,” caught his forelock, bobbed down his head to the master, and pitched his “two sods” into a little’heap of turf which lay in the corner of the school.

“Arrah, Pat Roach, is this an hour to inter into my establishment wid impunity?  Eh, you Rosicrusian?”

“Masther, sir,” replied the adroit monkey, “I’ve a message for you, sir, i’ you plase.”