“Ay do they, so well that they get sometimes into very close an’ lovin’ grips togather; if ever there was a scald alive she’s one o’ them, an’ him that was wanst so careless and aisey-tempered, she has now made him as bad as herself—­has trained him regularly until he has a tongue that would face a ridgment.  Tut, sure divil a week that they don’t flake one another, an’ half my time’s, taken up reddin’ them.”

“Did you ever happen to get the reddin’ blow? eh? ha, ha, ha!”

“No, not yet; but the truth is, Art, that an ill-tongued wife has driven many a husband to ruin, an’ only that I’m there to pay attention to the business, he’d be a poor drunken beggarman long ago, an’ all owin’ to her vile temper.”

“Does she dhrink?”

“No, sorra drop—­this wickedness all comes natural to her; she wouldn’t be aisy out of hot wather, and poor Jack’s parboiled in it every day in the year.”

“Well, it’s I that have got the treasure, Frank; from the day that I first saw her face till the minute we’re spakin’ in, I never knew her temper to turn—­always the same sweet word, the same flow of spirits, and the same light laugh; her love an’ affection for me an’ the childher there couldn’t be language found for.  Come, throth we’ll drink her health in another tumbler, and a speedy uprise to her, asthore machree that she is, an’ when I think of how she set every one of her people at defiance, and took her lot wid myself so nobly, my heart burns wid love for her, ay, I feel my very heart burnin’ widin me.”

Two tumblers were again mixed, and Margaret’s health was drunk.

“Here’s her health,” said Art, “may God grant her long life and happiness!”

“Amen!” responded Frank, “an’ may He grant that she’ll never know a sorrowful heart!”

Art laid down his tumbler, and covered his eyes with his hands for a minute or two.

“I’m not ashamed, Frank,” said he, “I’m not a bit ashamed of these tears—­she desarves them—­where is her aiquil? oh, where is her aiquil?  It’s she herself that has the tear for the distresses of her fellow-creatures, an’ the ready hand to relieve them; may the Almighty shower down his blessins on her!”

“Them tears do you credit,” replied Frank, “and although I always thought well of you, Art, and liked you betther than any other in the family, although I didn’t say much about it, still, I tell you, I think betther of you this minute than I ever did in my life.”

“There’s only one thing in the wide world that’s throublin’ her,” said Art, “an’ that is, that she hadn’t her parents’ blessin’ when she married me, nor since—­for ould Murray’s as stiff-necked as a mule, an’ the more he’s driven to do a thing the less he’ll do it.”

“In that case,” observed Frank, “the best plan is to let him alone; maybe when it’s not axed for he’ll give it.”

“I wish he would,” said Art, “for Margaret’s sake; it would take away a good deal of uneasiness from her mind.”