“Troth, an’ you’re right, sure enough, Peety,” replied the good-natured farmer; “a blessed saison it is for gettin’ down the crops.  Go over there, now, you an’ the girsha, to that other table, an’—­whish!—­kick them pigs an’ dogs out o’ the house, an’ be d—­d to them!  One can’t hear their ears for them—­you an’ the girsha, an’ let us see what you can do.  Nancy, achora, jist dash a gawliogue o’ sweet milk into their noggins—­they’re not like us that’s well fed every day—. it’s but seldom they get the likes, the creatures—­so dash in a brave gawliogue o’ the sweet milk for them.  Take your time, Peety,—­aisy, alanna, ’till you get what I’m sayin; it’ll nourish an put strinth in you.”

“Ah, Misther Burke,” replied Peety, in a tone of gratitude peculiar to his class, “you’re the ould* man still—­ever an’ always the large heart an’ lavish hand—­an’ so sign’s on it—­full an’ plinty upon an’ about you—­an’ may it ever be so wid you an’ yours, a chierna, I pray.  An how is the misthress, sir?”

     * That is to say, the same man still.

“Throth, she’s very well, Peety—­has no raison to complain, thank God!”

“Thank God, indeed! and betther may she be, is my worst wish to her—­an’ Masther Hycy, sir?—­but I needn’t ax how he is.  Isn’t the whole country ringin’ wid his praises;—­the blessin’ o’ God an you, acushla”—­this was to Nancy Devlin, on handing them the new milk—­“draw over, darlin’, nearer to the table—­there now”—­this to his daughter, whom he settled affectionately to her food.  “Ay, indeed,” he proceeded, “sure there’s only the one word of it over the whole Barony we’re sittin’ in—­that there’s neither fetch nor fellow for him through the whole parish.  Some people, indeed, say that Bryan M’Mahon comes near him; but only some, for it’s given up to Masther Hycy all to pieces.”

“Faix, an’ I for one, although I’m his father—­amn’t I, Rosha?” he added, good-humoredly addressing his wife, who had just come into the kitchen from above stairs.

“Throth,” said the wife, who never replied with good humor unless when addressed as Mrs. Burke, “you’re ill off for something to speak about.  How are you, Peety? an’ how is your little girl?”

“In good health, ma’am, thank God an’ you; an’ very well employed at the present time, thanks to you still!”

To this Mrs. Burke made no reply; for it may be necessary to state here, that although she was not actually penurious or altogether without hospitality, and something that might occasionally be termed charity, still it is due to honest Jemmy to inform the reader in the outset, that, as Peety Dhu said, “the large heart and the lavish hand” were especially his own.  Mrs. Burke was considered to have been handsome—­indeed, a kind of rustic beauty in her day—­and, like many of that class, she had not been without a due share of vanity, or perhaps we might say coquetry, if we were to speak the truth.  Her teeth were good, and she had a very pretty dimple in one of her