“Well, my lord, I’ll tell you.  You know there was always a kind of frindship between Anty and the girls at home, and they set her up to going to old Moylan—­he that receives the rents on young Barron’s property, away at Strype.  Moylan’s uncle to Flaherty, that married mother’s sister.  Well, she went to him—­he’s a kind of office at Dunmore, my lord.”

“Oh, I know him and his office!  He knows the value of a name at the back of a bit of paper, as well as any one.”

“May-be he does, my lord; but he’s an honest old fellow, is Moylan, and manages a little for mother.”

“Oh, of course he’s honest, Martin, because he belongs to you.  You know Barry’s to be an honest chap, then.”

“And that’s what he niver will be the longest day he lives!  But, however, Moylan got her to sign all the papers; and, when Barry was out, he went and took an inventhory to the house, and made out everything square and right, and you may be sure Barry’d have to get up very ’arly before he’d come round him.  Well, after a little, the ould chap came to me one morning, and asked me all manner of questions—­whether I knew Anty Lynch? whether we didn’t used to be great friends? and a lot more.  I never minded him much; for though I and Anty used to speak, and she’d dhrank tay on the sly with us two or three times before her father’s death, I’d never thought much about her.”

“Nor wouldn’t now, Martin, eh? if it wasn’t for the old man’s will.”

“In course I wouldn’t, my lord.  I won’t be denying it.  But, on the other hand, I wouldn’t marry her now for all her money, av’ I didn’t mane to trate her well.  Well, my lord, after beating about the bush for a long time, the ould thief popped it out, and told me that he thought Anty’d be all the betther for a husband; and that, av’ I was wanting a wife, he b’lieved I might suit myself now.  Well, I thought of it a little, and tould him I’d take the hint.  The next day he comes to me again, all the way down to Toneroe, where I was walking the big grass-field by myself, and began saying that, as he was Anty’s agent, of course he wouldn’t see her wronged.  ‘Quite right, Mr. Moylan,’ says I; ‘and, as I mane to be her husband, I won’t see her wronged neither.’  ‘Ah! but,’ says he, ’I mane that I must see her property properly settled.’  ‘Why not?’ says I, ’and isn’t the best way for her to marry? and then, you know, no one can schame her out of it.  There’s lots of them schamers about now,’ says I.  ‘That’s thrue for you,’ says he, ’and they’re not far to look for,’—­and that was thrue, too, my lord, for he and I were both schaming about poor Anty’s money at that moment.  ‘Well,’ says he, afther walking on a little, quite quiet, ‘av’ you war to marry her.’—­’Oh, I’ve made up my mind about that, Mr. Moylan,’ says I.  ‘Well, av’ it should come to pass that you do marry her—­of course you’d expect to have the money settled on herself?’ ’In course I would, when I die,’ says I.  ‘No, but,’ says he, ’at once:  wouldn’t it be enough for you to have a warm roof over your head, and a leg of mutton on the table every day, and no work to do for it?’ and so, my lord, it came out that the money was to be settled on herself, and that he was to be her agent.”