“I see, Art,” said Frank, laughing, “he has been layin’ it thick an’ sweet on you.  My hand to you, there’s not so sweet-tongued a knave in the province; but mind, I put you on your guard—­he’s never pure honey all out, unless where there’s bitther hatred and revenge at the bottom of it—­that’s well known, so be advised and keep him at a distance; have nothin’ to do or to say to him, and, as to havin’ him for a godfather, why I hardly think the child could thrive that he’d stand for.”

“It’s too late for that now,”, replied Art, “for I axed him betther than three weeks agone.”

“An’ did he consint?”

“He did, to be sure.”

“Well, then, keep your word to him, of coorse; but, as soon as the christenings over, drop him like a hot potato.”

“Why, thin, that’s hard enough, Frank, so long as I find the crathur civil.”

“Ay, but, Art, don’t I tell you that it’s his civility you should be afeard of; throth, the same civility ought to get him kicked a dozen times a day.”

“Faix and,” said Art, “kicked or not, here he comes; whisht! don’t be oncivil to the little bachelor at any rate.”

“Oncivil, why should I? the little extortionin’ vagabone never injured or fleeced me; but, before he puts his nose into the house, let me tell you wanst more, Art, that he never gets sweet upon any one that he hasn’t in hatred for them at the bottom; that’s his carracther.”

“I know it is,” said Art, “but, until I find it to be true, I’ll take the ginerous side, an’ I won’t believe it; he’s a screw, I know, an’ a skinflint, an’—­whisht! here he is.”

“Toal Finnigan, how are you?” said Art; “I was goin’ to say how is every tether length of you, only that I think it would be impossible to get a tether short enough to measure you.”

“Ha, ha, ha, that’s right good—­divil a man livin’ makes me laugh so much as—­why then, Frank Maguire too!—­throth, Frank, I’m proud to see you well—­an’ how are you, man? and—­well, in throth I am happy to see you lookin’ so well, and in good health; an’ whisper, Frank, it’s your own fau’t that I’m not inquirin’ for the wife and childre.”

“An’ I can return the compliment, Toal; it’s a shame for both of us to be bachelors at this time o’ day.”

“Ah,” said the little fellow, “I wasn’t Frank Maguire, one of the best lookin’ boys in the barony, an’ the most respected, an’ why not?  Well, divil a thing afther all like the ould blood, an’ if I wanted a pure dhrop of that same, maybe I don’t know where to go to look for it—­maybe I don’t, I say!”

“It’s Toal’s fault that he wasn’t married many a year ago,” said Art; “he refused more wives, Frank, than e’er a boy of his years from this to Jinglety cooeh—­divil a lie in it; sure he’ll tell you himself.”