Phelim, on finding that he could neither extort from Peggy an acknowledgment of love, nor make himself credible upon the subject of the large fortune, saw that he had nothing for it now, in order to produce an impression, but the pathetic.

“Well,” said he, “you may lave me, Peggy achora, if you like; but out o’ this I’ll not budge, wid a blessing, till I cry my skinful, so I won’t.  Saize the toe I’ll move, now, till I’m sick wid cryin’!  Oh, murdher alive, this night!  Isn’t it a poor case entirely, that the girl I’d suffer myself to be turned inside out for, won’t say that she cares about a hair o’ my head!  Oh, thin, but I’m the misfortunate blackguard all out!  Och, oh!  Peggy, achora, you’ll break my heart!  Hand me that shell, acushla—­for I’m in the height of affliction!”

Peggy could neither withhold it, nor reply to him.  Her mirth was even more intense now than before; nor, if all were known, was Phelim less affected with secret laughter than Peggy.

“It is makin’ fun o’ me you are, you thief, eh?—­Is it laughin’ at my grief you are?” exclaimed Phelim.  “Be the tarn’ o’ wor, I’ll punish you for that.”

Peggy attempted to escape, but Phelim succeeded, ere she went, in taking a salutation or two, after which both joined those who sat at the fire, and in a few minutes Sam Appleton entered.

Much serious conversation had already passed in reference to the courtship, which was finally entered into and debated, pro and con.

“Now, Paddy Donovan, that we’re altogether, let me tell you one thing:  there’s not a betther natur’d boy, nor a stouther, claner young fellow in the parish, than my Phelim.  He’ll make your daughther as good, a husband as ever broke bread!”

“I’m not sayin’ against that, Larry.  He is a good-nathur’d boy:  but I tell you, Larry Toole, that my daughter’s his fill of a wife any day.  An’ I’ll put this to the back o’ that—­she’s a hard-workin’ girl, that ates no idle bread.”

“Very right,” said Sam Appleton.  “Phelim’s a hairo, an’ she’s a beauty.  Dang me, but they wor made for one another.  Phelim, abouchal, why don’t you—­oh, I see you are.  Why, I was goin’ to bid you make up to her.”

“Give no gosther, Sam,” replied Phelim, “but sind round the bottle, an’ don’t forget to let it come this way.  I hardly tasted a dhrop to-night.”

“Oh, Phelim!” exclaimed Peggy.

“Whisht!” said Phelim, “there’s no use in lettin’ the ould fellows be committin’ sin.  Why, they’re hearty (* Tipsy) as it is, the sinners.”

“Come, nabors,” said Burn, “I’m the boy that’s for close work.  How does the match stand?  You’re both my friends, an’ may this be poison to me, but I’ll spake like an honest man, for the one as well as for the other.

“Well, then,” said Donovan, “how is Phelim to support my daughther, Larry?  Sure that’s a fair questin’, any way.”

“Wiry, Paddy,” replied Larry, “when Phelim gets her, he’ll have a patch of his own, as well as another.  There’s that ‘half-acre,’ and a betther piece o’ land isn’t in Europe!”