“I’ll have the task that you set both of us finished,” replied the son, “so that you’ll lose nothin’ by his absence, at all events.”

“It’s wrong, Connor, it’s wrong; where did you sind him to?”

“To Bodagh Buie’s wid a letter to Una.”

“It’s a waste of time, an’ a loss of work; about that business I have something to say to your mother an’ you to—­night, afther the supper, when the rest goes to bed.”

“I hope, father,you’ll do the dacent thing still.”

“No; but I hope, son, you’ll do the wise thing still; how—­an—­ever let me alone now; if you expect me to do anything, you mustn’t drive me as your mother does.  To-night we’ll make up a plan that’ll outdo Bodagh Buie.  Before you come home, Connor, throw a stone or two in that gap, to prevent the cows from gettin’ into the hay; it won’t cost you much throuble.  But, Connor, did you ever see sich a gut as Bartle has?  He’ll brake me out o’house an’ home feedin’ him; he has a stomach for ten-penny-nails; be my word it ’ud be a charity to give him a dose of oak bark to make him dacent; he’s a divil at aitin’, an’ little good may it do him!”

The hour of supper arrived without Bartle’s returning, and Connor’s impatience began to overcome him, when Fardorougha, for the first time, introduced the subject which lay nearest his son’s heart.

“Connor,” he began, “I’ve been thinkin’ of this affair with Una O’Brien; an’ in my opinion there’s but one way out of it; but if you’re a fool an’ stand in your own light, it’s not my fault.”

“What is the way, father?” inquired Connor.

“The very same I tould your mother an’ you before—­run away wid her—­I mane make a runaway match of it—­then refuse to marry her unless they come down wid the money.  You know afther runnin’ away wid you nobody else ever would marry her; so that rather than see their child disgraced, never fear but they’ll pay down on the nail, or maybe bring you both to live wid ’em.”

“My sowl to glory, Fardorougha,” said the wife, “but you’re a bigger an’ cunninner ould rogue than I ever took you for!  By the scapular upon me, if I had known how you’d turn out, the sorra carry the ring ever you’d put on my finger!”

“Father,” said Connor, “I must be disobedient to you in this at all events.  It’s plain you’ll do nothing for us; so there’s no use in sayin’ anything more about it.  I have no manes of supportin’ her, an’ I swear I’ll never bring her to poverty.  If I had money to carry me, I’d go to America an’ thry my fortune there; but I have not.  Father, it’s too hard that you should stand in my way when you could so easily make me happy.  Who have you sich a right to assist as your son—­your only son, an’ your only child too?”