Martin, too, was quiet enough on the occasion.  It was arranged that he and his wife, and at any rate one of his sisters, should live at Dunmore House; and that he should keep in his own hands the farm near Dunmore, which old Sim had held, as well as his own farm at Toneroe.  But, to tell the truth, Martin felt rather ashamed of his grandeur.  He would much have preferred building a nice snug little house of his own, on the land he held under Lord Ballindine; but he was told that he would be a fool to build a house on another man’s ground, when he had a very good one ready built on his own.  He gave way to such good advice, but he did not feel at all happy at the idea; and, when going up to the house, always felt an inclination to shirk in at the back-way.

But, though neither the widow nor Martin triumphed aloud at their worldly prosperity, the two girls made up for their quiescence.  They were full of nothing else; their brother’s fine house—­Anty’s great fortune; their wealth, prosperity, and future station and happiness, gave them subjects of delightful conversation among their friends.  Meg. moreover, boasted that it was all her own doing; that it was she who had made up the match; that Martin would never have thought of it but for her,—­nor Anty either, for the matter of that.

“And will your mother be staying down at the shop always, the same as iver?” said Matilda Nolan, the daughter of the innkeeper at Tuam.

“’Deed she says so, then,” said Jane, in a tone of disappointment; for her mother’s pertinacity in adhering to the counter was, at present, the one misery of her life.

“And which of you will be staying here along with her, dears?” said Matilda.  “She’ll be wanting one of you to be with her, any ways.”

“Oh, turn about, I suppose,” said Jane.

“She’ll not get much of my company, any way,” said Meg.  “I’ve had enough of the nasty place, and now Martin has a dacent house to put over our heads, and mainly through my mains I may say, I don’t see why I’m to be mewing myself up in such a hole as this.  There’s room for her up in Dunmore House, and wilcome, too; let her come up there.  Av she mains to demain herself by sticking down here, she may stay by herself for me.”

“But you’ll take your turn, Meg?” said Jane.

“It’ll be a very little turn, then,” said Meg; “I’m sick of the nasty ould place; fancy coming down here, Matilda, to the tobacco and sugar, after living up there a month or so, with everything nice and comfortable!  And it’s only mother’s whims, for she don’t want the shop.  Anty begged and prayed of her for to come and live at Dunmore House for good and all; but no; she says she’ll never live in any one’s house that isn’t her own.”

“I’m not so, any way,” said Jane; “I’d be glad enough to live in another person’s house av I liked it.”

“I’ll go bail you would, my dear,” said Matilda; “willing enough—­especially John Dolan’s.”