“He won’t when he finds you haven’t got the property from him: but frindship doesn’t depend on letting—rale frindship doesn’t. I don’t want you to be dhrinking, and ating, and going about with him. God forbid!—you’re too good for that. But when you find he wants a frind, come forward, and thry and make him do something for himself. You can’t but come together; you’ll be the executhor in the will; won’t you, Martin? and then he’ll meet you about the property; he can’t help it, and you must meet then as frinds. And keep that up. If he insults you, forgive it or my sake; if he’s fractious and annoying, put up with it for my sake; for my sake thry to make him like you, and thry to make others like him.” Martin felt that this would be impossible, but he didn’t say so—“No one respects him now, but all respect you. I see it in people’s eyes and manners, without hearing what they say. Av you spake well of him—at any rate kindly of him, people won’t turn themselves so against him. Will you do all this, for my sake?”
Martin solemnly promised that, as far as he could, he would do so; that, at any rate as far as himself was concerned, he would never quarrel with him.
“You’ll have very, very much to forgive,” continued Anty; “but then it’s so sweet to forgive; and he’s had no fond mother like you; he has not been taught any duties, any virtues, as you have. He has only been taught that money is the thing to love, and that he should worship nothing but that. Martin, for my sake, will you look on him as a brother?—a wicked, bad, castaway brother; but still as a brother, to be forgiven, and, if possible, redeemed?”
“As I hope for glory in Heaven, I will,” said Martin; “but I think he’ll go far from this; I think he’ll quit Dunmore.”
“Maybe he will; perhaps it’s betther he should; but he’ll lave his name behind him. Don’t be too hard on that, and don’t let others; and even av he does go, it’ll not be long before he’ll want a frind, and I don’t know anywhere he can go that he’s likely to find one. Wherever he may go, or whatever he may do, you won’t forget he was my brother; will you, Martin? You won’t forget he was your own Anty’s only brother.”
Martin again gave her his solemn word that he would, to the best of his ability, act as a friend and brother to Barry.
“And now about the will.” Martin again endeavoured to dissuade her from thinking about a will just at present.
“Ah! but my heart’s set upon it,” she said; “I shouldn’t be happy unless I did it, and I’m sure you don’t want to make me unhappy, now. You must get me some lawyer here, Martin; I’m afraid you’re not lawyer enough for that yourself.”
“Indeed I’m not, Anty; it’s a trade I know little about.”
“Well; you must get me a lawyer; not to-morrow, for I know I shan’t be well enough; but I hope I shall next day, and you may tell him just what to put in it. I’ve no secrets from you.” And she told him exactly what she had before told her brother. “That’ll not hurt him,” she continued; “and I’d like to think you and the dear girls should accept something from me.”