“Thin faith, sir, that’s what I am,” said the lad, in a rich brogue, which told, without asking, the country to which he belonged.  Then stretching his bare hands to the fire, he continued, “By Jove, sir, I was never so near gone in my life!”

“Where do you come from, and what is your business here?  You must be aware that this is a very late hour to take a house by storm in this way.”

“Thrue for you, sir.  But necessity knows no law; and the condition you see me in must plade for me.  First, thin, sir, I come from the township of D—–­, and want a masther; and next to that, bedad!  I want something to ate.  As I’m alive, and ’tis a thousand pities that I’m alive at all at all, for shure God Almighty never made sich a misfortunate crather afore nor since; I have had nothing to put in my head since I ran away from my ould masther, Mr. F—–­, yesterday at noon.  Money I have none, sir; the divil a cent.  I have neither a shoe to my foot nor a hat to my head, and if you refuse to shelter me the night, I must be contint to perish in the snow, for I have not a frind in the wide wurld.”

The lad covered his face with his hands, and sobbed aloud.

“Bell,” I whispered; “go to the cupboard and get the poor fellow something to eat.  The boy is starving.”

“Dinna heed him, mistress, dinna credit his lees.  He is ane o’ those wicked Papists wha ha’ just stepped in to rob and murder us.”

“Nonsense!  Do as I bid you.”

“I winna be fashed aboot him.  An’ if he bides here, I’ll e’en flit by the first blink o’ the morn.”

“Isabel, for shame!  Is this acting like a Christian, or doing as you would be done by?”

Bell was as obstinate as a rock, not only refusing to put down any food for the famished lad, but reiterating her threat of leaving the house if he were suffered to remain.  My husband, no longer able to endure her selfish and absurd conduct, got angry in good earnest, and told her that she might please herself; that he did not mean to ask her leave as to whom he received into his house.  I, for my part, had no idea that she would realise her threat.  She was an excellent servant, clean, honest, and industrious, and loved the dear baby.

“You will think better of it in the morning,” said I, as I rose and placed before the lad some cold beef and bread, and a bowl of milk, to which the runaway did ample justice.

“Why did you quit your master, my lad?” said Moodie.

“Because I could live wid him no longer.  You see, sir, I’m a poor foundling from the Belfast Asylum, shoved out by the mother that bore me, upon the wide wurld, long before I knew that I was in it.  As I was too young to spake for myself intirely, she put me into a basket, wid a label round my neck, to tell the folks that my name was John Monaghan.  This was all I ever got from my parents; and who or what they were, I never knew, not I, for they never claimed me; bad cess to them!  But I’ve