“Be the vestment, Sally, only that my regard an’ love for you is uncommon, I’d break off the affair altogether, so I would.”

“An’ why would you do so, Phelim O’Toole?” inquired the uncle.

“Bekase,” replied Phelim, “you came here an’ made a show of me, when I wished to have no bruliagh, at all at all.  In regard of Peggy Donovan, I never spoke a word to the girl about marriage since I was christened.  Saize the syllable!  My father brought me down there to gosther awhile, the other night, an’ Paddy sent away for whiskey.  An’ the curse o’ Cromwell on myself!  I should get tossicated.  So while I was half-saes over, the two ould rip set to makin’ the match—­planned to have us called—­an’ me knowin’ nothin’ about it, good, bad, or indifferent.  That’s the thruth, be the sky above us.”

“An’ what have you to say about the housekeeper, Phelim?”

“Why I don’t know yet, who done me there.  I was about takin’ a farm, an’ my father borried ten guineas from her.  Somebody heard it—­I suspect Sam Appleton—­an’ gave in our names to the priest, to be called, makin’ a good joke of it.  All sorts o’ luck to them, barrin’ good luck, that did it; but they put me in a purty state!  But never heed!  I’ll find them out yet.  Now go home, both o’ you, an’ I’ll slip down in half an hour, with a bottle o’ whiskey in my pocket.  We’ll talk over what’s to be done.  Sure Sally here, knows that it’s my own intherest to marry her and no one else.”

“If my father thought you would, Phelim, he’d not stag, even if he was to cras the wather!”

“Go home, Sally darlin’ till I get this mad Donovan an’ his daughter away.  Be all that’s beautiful I’ll be apt to give him a taste o’ my shillely, if he doesn’t behave himself!  Half an hour I’ll be clownin—­wid the bottle; an’ don’t you go, Nick, till you see me.”

“Phelim,” said the uncle, “you know how the case is.  You must aither marry the girl, or take a long voyage, abouchal.  We’ll have no bouncin’ or palaver.”

“Bedad, Mick, I’ve great patience wid you,” said Phelim, smiling:  “go off, I say, both of you.”

They proceeded homewards, and Phelim returned to appease the anger of Donovan, as he had that of the others.  Fresh fiction was again drawn forth, every word of which the worthy father corroborated.  They promised to go down that night and drink another bottle together; a promise which they knew by the state of their finances, it was impossible to fulfil.  The prospect of a “booze,” however, tranquillized Donovan, who in his heart relished a glass of liquor as well as either Phelim or the father.  Shaking of hands and professions of friendship were again beginning to multiply with great rapidity, when Peggy thought proper to make a few observations on the merits of her admirer.

“In regard to me,” she observed, “you may save yourself the throuble o’ comin’.  I wouldn’t marry Phelim, afther what the priest said yistherday, if he had the riches o’ the townland we’re spakin’ in.  I never cared for him, nor liked him; an’ it was only to plase my father an’ mother, that I consinted to be called to him at all.  I’ll never join myself to the likes of him.  If I do, may I be a corpse the next minute!”