“What I want you to do for me is this—­that is if you can do it—­maybe you could bring a couple of stones of meal to a family of the name of—­of—­” here she blushed again, and her confusion became so evident that she felt it impossible to proceed until she had recovered in some degree her composure.  “Only two or three years agone,” she continued, “they were the daicentest farmers in the parish; but the world went against them as it has of late a’most against every one, owing to the fall of prices, and now they’re out of their farm, very much reduced, and there’s sickness amongst them, as well as want.  They’ve been living,” she proceeded, wiping away the tears which were now fast flowing, “in a kind of cabin or little cottage not far from the fine house an’ place that was not long ago their own.  Their name,” she added, after a pause in which it was quite evident that she struggled strongly with her feelings, “is—­is—­Dal-ton.”

“O was the young fellow one of them,” asked the woman, “that was so outrageous awhile ago in the miser’s?  I think I heard the name given to him.”

“Oh, I have nothing to say for him,” replied Mave; “he was always wild, but they say never bad-hearted; it’s the rest of the family I’m thinking about—­and even that young man isn’t more than three or four days up out o’ the fever.  What I want you to do is to bring the male I’m spakin’ of to that family; any one will show you their little place; an’ to leave it there about dusk this evenin’, so that no one will ever know that you do it; an’ as you love God an’ hope for mercy, don’t breathe my name in the business at all.”

“I will do it for you,” replied the other; “but in the meantime where am I to get the meal?”

“Why, at the miser’s,” replied Mave; “and when you go there, tell him that the person who told him they wouldn’t forget it to him, sent you for it, an’ you’ll get it.”

“God forbid I refused you that much,” said the stranger; “an’ although it’ll keep me out longer than I expected, still I’ll manage it for you, an’ come or go what will, widout mentioning your name.”

“God bless you for that,” said Mave, “an grant that you may never be brought to the same hard pass that they’re in, and keep you from ever having a heavy or a sorrowful heart.”

“Ah, acushla oge,” replied the woman with a profound sigh, “that prayer’s too late for me; anything else than a heavy and sorrowful heart I’ve seldom had:  for the last twenty years and upwards little but care and sorrow has been upon me.

“Indeed, one might easily guess as much,” said Mave, “you have a look of heart-break and sorrow, sure enough.  But answer me this:  how do you know that there’s evil before me or, about me?’

“I don’t know much about it,” returned the other; “but I’m afeard there’s something to your disadvantage planned or plannin’ against you.  When I seen you awhile ago I didn’t know you till I heard your name; I’m a stranger here, not two weeks in the neighborhood, and know hardly anybody in it.”