When seven o’clock drew nigh, the inmates of this little cabin placed themselves at a clear fire; the father at one side, the mother at the other, and the daughter directly between them, knitting, for this is usually the occupation of a female on such a night.  Everything in the house was clean; the floor swept; the ashes removed from the hearth; the parents in their best clothes, and the daughter also in her holiday apparel.  She was a plain girl, neither remarkable for beauty, nor otherwise.  Her eyes, however, were good, so were her teeth, and an anxious look, produced of course by an occasion so interesting to a female, heightened her complexion to a blush that became her.  The creature had certainly made the most of her little finery.  Her face shone like that of a child after a fresh scrubbing with a strong towel; her hair, carefully curled with the hot blade of a knife, had been smoothed with soap until it became lustrous by repeated polishing, and her best red ribbon was tied tightly about it in a smart knot, that stood out on the side of her head with something of a coquettish air.  Old Donovan and his wife maintained a conversation upon some indifferent subject, but the daughter evidently paid little attention to what they said.  It being near the hour appointed for Phelim’s arrival, she sat with an appearance of watchful trepidation, occasionally listening, and starting at every sound that she thought bore any resemblance to a man’s voice or footstep.

At length the approach of Phelim and his father was announced by a verse of a popular song, for singing which Phelim was famous;—­

     “A sailor coorted a farmer’s daughter
     That lived contagious to the Isle of Man,
     A long time coortin’, an’ still discoorsin’
     Of things consarnin’ the ocean wide;
     At linth he saize, ’My own dearest darlint,
     Will you consint for to be my bride?’”

“An’ so she did consint, the darlin’, but what the puck would she do else?  God save the family!  Paddy Donovan, how is your health?  Molly, avourneen, I’m glad to hear that you’re thrivin’.  An’ Peggy—­eh?  Ah, be gorra, fadher, here’s somethin’ to look at!  Give us the hand of you, you bloomer!  Och, och! faith you’re the daisey!”

“Phelim,” said the father, “will you behave yourself?  Haven’t you the night before you for your capers?  Paddy Donovan, I’m glad to see you!  Molly, give us your right hand, for, in troth, I have a regard for you!  Peggy, dear, how are you?  But I’m sure, I needn’t be axin when I look at you!  In troth, Phelim, she is somethin’ to throw your eye at.”

“Larry Toole, you’re welcome,” replied Donovan and his wife, “an’ so is your son.  Take stools both of you, an’ draw near the hearth.  Here, Phelim,” said the latter, “draw in an’ sit beside myself.”

“Thank you kindly, Molly,” replied Phelim; “but I’ll do no sich thing..  Arrah, do you think, now, that I’d begin to gosther wid an ould woman, while I have the likes o’ Peggy, the darlin’, beside me?  I’m up to a thrick worth nine of it.  No, no; this chest ’ll do.  Sure you know, I must help the ‘duck of diamonds’ here to count her stitches.”