Mave, almost immediately after her brother had concluded, passed to another room, and returned just as the old pedlar had gone out.  She instantly followed him with a hasty step; while he, on hearing her foot, turned round.

“You told me that you admired my hair,” she said, on coming up to him.  “Now, supposin’ I’m willin’ to sell it to you, what ought I to get for it?”

“Don’t be alarmed by what they say inside,” replied the pedlar; “any regular doctor would tell that, in these times, it’s safer to part wid it—­that I may be happy but I’m tellin’ you thruth.  What is it worth?  What are you axin?”

“I don’t know; but for God’s sake cut it off, and give me the most you can afford for it.  Oh! believe me, it’s not on account of the mere value of it, but the money may save lives.”

“Why, achora, what do you intend doin’ wid the money, if it’s a fair question to ax?”

“It’s not a fair question for a stranger—­it’s enough for me to tell you that I’ll do nothing with it without my father and mother’s knowledge.  Here, Denny,” she said, addressing her brother, who was on his way to the stable, “slip a stool through the windy, an’ stay wid me in the barn—­I want to send you of a message in a few minutes.”

It is only necessary to say that the compensation was a more liberal one than Mave had at all expected, and the pedlar disencumbered her of as rich and abundant a mass of hair as ever ornamented a female head.  This he did, however, in such a way as to render the absence of it as little perceptible as might be; the side locks he did not disturb, and Mave, when she put on a clean night cap, looked as if she had not undergone any such operation.

As the pedlar was going away, he called her aside, so as that her brother might not hear.

“Did you ever see me afore?” he asked.

“I did,” she replied, blushing.  “Well, achora,” he proceeded, “if ever you happen to be hard set, either for yourself or your friends, send for me, in Widow Hanlon’s house at the Grange, an’ maybe I may befriend either you or them; that is, as far as I can—­which, dear knows, is not far; but, still an’ all, send.  I’m known as the Cannie Sugah, or Merry Pedlar, an’ that’ll do.  God mark you, ahagur!”

Her brother’s intelligence respecting the situation of the Daltons, as well as of Sarah M’Gowan, saved Mave a long explanation to her parents for the act of having parted with her hair.

“We are able to live—­barely able to live,” she exclaimed; “an’ thanks be to God we have our health; but the Daltons—­oh! they’ll never get through what they’re sufferin’; an’ that girl—­oh! mother, sich a girl as that is—­how little does the world know of the heart that beautiful craythur has.  May the mercy of God rest upon her!  This money is for the poor Daltons an’ her; we can do without it—­an’, mother dear, my hair will grow again.  Oh! father dear, think of it—­lyin’ in a could shed by the road-side, an’ no one to help or assist her—­to hand her a drink—­to ease her on her hard bed—­bed!—­no on the cold earth I suppose!  Oh! think if I was in that desolate state.  May God support me, but she’s the first I’ll see; an’ while I have life an’ strength, she musn’t want attendance; an’ thank God her shed’s on my way to the Daltons!”