“Well, Rosha—­well?”

“Och, och, Owen, it’s low days wid me to be depindin’ upon the sthranger? little thim that reared me ever thought it ’ud come to this.  You know I’m a dacent father’s child, an’ I have stooped to you, Owen M’Carthy—­what I’d scorn to do to any other but yourself—­poor an’ friendless as I stand here before you.  Let them take the cows, thin, from my childhre; but the father of the fatherless will support thim an’ me.  Och, but it’s well for the O’Donohoes that their landlord lives at home among themselves, for may the heavens look down on me, I wouldn’t know where to find mine, if one sight of him ‘ud save me an’ my childre from the grave!  The Agent even, he lives in Dublin, an’ how could I lave my sick boy, an’ small girshas by themselves, to go a hundre miles, an’ maybe not see him afther all.  Little hopes I’d have from him, even if I did; he’s paid for gatherin’ in his rents; but it’s well known he wants the touch of nathur for the sufferins of the poor, an’ of them that’s honest in their intintions.”

“I’ll go over wid you, Rosha, if that will be of any use,” replied Owen, composedly; “come, I’ll go an’ spake to Frank M’Murt.’’

“The sorra blame I blame him, Owen,” replied Rosha, “his bread’s depindin’ upon the likes of sich doins, an’ he can’t get over it; but a word from you, Owen, will save me, for who ever refused to take the word of a M’Carthy?”

When Owen and the widow arrived at the house of the latter, they found the situation of the bailiff laughable in the extreme.  Her eldest son, who had been confined to his bed by a hurt received in his back, was up, and had got the unfortunate driver, who was rather old, wedged in between the dresser and the wall, where his cracked voice—­for he was asthmatic—­was raised to the highest pitch, calling for assistance.  Beside him was a large tub half-filled with water, into which the little ones were emptying small jugs, carried at the top of their speed from a puddle before the door.  In the meantime, Jemmy was tugging at the bailiff with all his strength—­fortunately for that personage, it was but little—­with the most sincere intention of inverting him into the tub which contained as much muddy water as would have been sufficient to make him a subject for the deliberation of a coroner and twelve honest men.  Nothing could be more conscientiously attempted than the task which Jemmy had proposed to execute:  every tug brought out his utmost strength, and when he failed in pulling down the bailiff, he compensated himself for his want of success by cuffing his ribs, and peeling his shins by hard kicks; whilst from those open points which the driver’s grapple with his man naturally exposed, were inflicted on him by the rejoicing urchins numberless punches of tongs, potato-washers, and sticks whose points were from time to time hastily thrust into the coals, that they might more effectually either blind or disable him in some other manner.