“Nothin’, Nancy, thanks be to the Almighty—­down, poor fellow—­there now, Ranger—­och, behave, you foolish dog—­musha, see this!”

“Throth, Tom,” continued his loving wife, “let what will happen, it’s the last journey ever we’ll let you take from us.  Ever an’ ever, there we wor thinkin’ an’ thinkin’ a thousand things about you.  At one time that something happened you; then that you fell sick an’ had none but strangers about you.  Throth we won’t; let what will happen, you must stay wid vis.”

“Indeed an’ I never knew how I loved the place, an’ you all, till I went; but, thank God, I hope it’s the last journey ever I’ll have to take from either you or it.”

“Shibby, run down to—­or do you, Dora, go, you’re the souplest—­to Paddy Mullen’s and Jemmy Kelly’s, and the rest of the neighbors, an’ tell them to come up, that your father’s home.  Run now, acushla, an’ if you fall don’t wait to rise; an’ Shibby, darlin’, do you whang down a lot o’ that bacon into rashers, ’your father must be at death’s door wid hunger; but wasn’t it well that I thought of having the whiskey in, for you see afther Thursday last we didn’t know what minute you’d dhrop in on us, Tom, an’ I said it was best to be prepared.  Give Peety a chair, the crature; come forrid, Peety, an’ take a sate; an’ how are you? an’ how is the girsha wid you, an’ where is she?”

To these questions, thus rapidly put, Peety returned suitable answers; but indeed Mrs. M’Mahon did not wait to listen to them, having gone to another room to produce the whisky she had provided for the occasion.

“Here,” she said, reappearing with a huge bottle in one hand and a glass in the other, “a sip o’ the right sort will help you afther your long journey; you must be tired, be coorse, so take this.”

“Aisy, Bridget,” exclaimed her husband, “don’t fill it; you’ll make me hearty.” (* tipsy)

“Throth an’ I will fill it,” she replied, “ay, an’ put a heap on it.  There now, finish that bumper.”

The old man, with a smiling and happy face, received the glass, and taking his wife’s hand in his, looked at her, and then upon them all, with an expression of deep emotion.  “Bridget, your health; childre’, all your healths; and here’s to Carriglasa, an’ may we long live happy in it, as we will, plase God!  Peety, not forgettin’ you!”

We need hardly say that the glass went round, nor that Peety was not omitted in the hospitality any more than in the toast.

“Here, Bryan,” said Mrs. M’Mahon, “lay that bottle on the dresser, it’s not worth while puttin’ it past till the neighbors comes up; an’ it’s they that’ll be the glad neighbors to see you safe back agin, Tom.”