“Divil a fear o’ them.  Now, I’d hould nine to one that the purtiest o’ them hasn’t a sweeter mout’ than you have.  By dad, you have a pair o’ lips, God bless them that—­well, well—­”

Phelim here ogled her with looks particularly wistful.

“Phelim, you’re losin’ the little sense you had.”

“Faix, an’ it’s you that’s taken them out o’ me, then.  A purty woman always makes a fool o’ me.  Divil a word o’ lie in it.  Faix, Mrs. Doran, ma’am, you have a chin o’ your own!  Well, well!  Oh, be Gorra, I wish I hadn’t come out this mornin’ any how!”

“Arrah, why, Phelim?  In throth, it’s you that’s the quare Phelim!”

“Why, ma’am—­Oh bedad it’s a folly to talk.  I can’t go widout tastin’ them.  Sich a pair o’ timptations as your lips, barrin’ your eyes, I didn’t see this many a day.”

“Tastin’ what, you mad crathur?”

“Why, I’ll show you what I’d like to be afther tastin’.  Oh! bedad, I’ll have no refusin’; a purty woman always makes a foo——­”

“Keep away, Phelim; keep off; bad end to you; what do you mane?  Don’t you see Fool Art lyin’ in the corner there undher the sacks?  I don’t think he’s asleep.”

“Fool Art! why, the misfortunate idiot, what about him?  Sure he hasn’t sinse to know the right hand from the left.  Bedad, ma’am the truth is, that a purty woman always makes a——­”

“Throth an’ you won’t,” said she struggling.

“Throth an’ I will, thin, taste the same lips, or we’ll see whose strongest!”

A good-humored struggle took place between the housekeeper and Phelim, who found her, in point of personal strength, very near a match for him.  She laughed heartily, but Phelim attempted to salute her with a face of mock gravity as nearly resembling that of a serious man as he could assume.  In the meantime, chairs were overturned, and wooden dishes trundled about; a crash was heard here, and another there.  Phelim drove her to the hob, and from the hob they both bounced into the fire, the embers and ashes of which were kicked up into a cloud about them.

“Phelim, spare your strinth,” said the funny housekeeper, “it won’t do.  Be asy now, or I’ll get angry.  The priest, too, will hear the noise, and so will Fool Art.”

“To the divil wid Fool Art an’ the priest, too,” said Phelim, “who cares abuckey about the priest when a purty woman like you is consarn—­

“What’s this?” said the priest, stepping down from the parlor—­“What’s the matter?  Oh, ho, upon my word, Mrs. Doran!  Very good, indeed!  Under my own roof, too!  An’ pray, ma’am, who is the gallant?  Turn round young man.  Yes, I see!  Why, better and better!  Bouncing Phelim O’Toole, that never spoke truth!  I think, Mr. O’Toole, that when you come a courting, you ought to consider it worth your while to appear somewhat more smooth in your habiliments.  I simply venture to give that as my opinion.”

“Why sure enough,” replied Phelim, without a moment’s hesitation; “your Reverence has found us out.”