Farmer—­“A heavy load, poor crathurs!  God he knows it’s that.”

Wife—­“Brian! Gluntho ma?—­did you hear me?  You’ll be puttin’ in your gab, an’ me spakin’?  How-an-iver, as I was sayin’, our house was the first ye came to, an’ they say there’s a great blessin’ to thim that gives, the first charity to a poor man or woman settin’ out to look for their bit.”

Farmer—­“Throgs, ay!  Whin they set out; to look for their bit.”

Wife—­“By the crass, Brian, you’d vex a saint.  What have you to say in it, you pittiogue?* Hould your whisht now, an’ suck your dhudeen, I say; sure I allow you a quarther o’ tobaccy a week, an’ what right have you to be puttin’ in your gosther when other people’s spakin’?”

     * Untranslatable—­but means a womanly man a poor,
     effeminate creature.

Farmer—­“Go an.”

Wife—­“So, you see, the long an’ the short of it is that whenever you happen to be in this side of the counthry, always come to us.  You know the ould sayin’—­when the poor man comes he brings a blessin’, an’ when he goes he carries away a curse.  You have as much, meal as will last yez a day or two; an’ God he sees you’re heartily welcome to all ye got?”

Farmer—­“God he sees you’re heartily welcome—­”

Wife—­“Chorp an diouol, Brian, hould your tongue, Or I’ll turn you out o’ the kitchen.  One can’t hear their own ears for you, you poor squakin’ dhrone.  By the crass, I’ll—­eh?  Will you whisht, now?”

Farmer—­“Go an.  Amn’t I dhrawin’ my pipe?”

Wife—­“Well dhraw it; but don’t dhraw me down upon you, barrin—.  Do you hear me? an’ the sthrange people to the fore, too!  Well, the Lord be wid yez, an’ bless yez!  But afore yez go, jist lave your blessin’ wid us; for it’s a good thing to have the blessin’ of the poor?”

“The Lord bless you, an yours!” said Owen, fervently.  “May you and them never—­oh, may you never—­never suffer what we’ve suffered; nor know what it is to want a male’s mate, or a night’s lodgin’!”

“Amin!” exclaimed Kathleen; “may the world flow upon you! for your good, kind heart desarves it.”

Farmer—­“An’ whisper; I wish you’d offer up a prayer for the rulin’ o’ the tongue.  The Lord might hear you, but there’s no great hopes that ever he’ll hear me; though I’ve prayed for it almost ever since I was married, night an’ day, winther and summer; but no use, she’s as bad as ever.”

This was said in a kind of friendly insinuating undertone to Owen; who, on hearing it, simply nodded his head, but made no other reply.

They then recommenced their journey, after having once more blessed, and been invited by their charitable entertainers, who made them promise never to pass their house without stopping a night with them.