Hycy, on entering the parlor, found him! seated in an arm-chair, smoking as usual, whilst his mother, who soon came down stairs, appeared dressed in more than her usual finery.

“What keeps Patsy Dolan wid the car?” she inquired.  “Hycy, do you see any appearance of him?”

“No, ma’am,” replied the son; “I didn’t know you wanted him.”

Jemmy looked at her with a good deal of surprise, and, after whiffing away the smoke, asked—­“And well, Rosha—­begs pardon—­Mrs. Burke—­is it a fair question to ax where you are bound for?”

“Fair enough, Mr. Burke,” she replied; “but I’m not goin’ to answer it.”

“You’re bound for a journey, ma’am, I think?”

“I’m bound for a journey, sir.”

“Is it a long journey, Mrs. Burke?”

“No, indeed; it’s a short journey, Mister Burke.”

“Ah!” replied her husband, uttering a very significant groan; “I’m afraid it is.”

“Why do you groan, Mr. Burke?”

“Oh it doesn’t signify,” he replied, dryly; “it’s no novelty, I believe, to hear a man—­a married man—­groan in this world; only if you wor for a long journey, I’d be glad to give you every assistance in my power.”

“You hear that, Hycy; there’s affection?” she exclaimed—­“wishin’ me to go my long journey!”

“Would you marry again, Mr. Burke?” asked the worthy son.

“I think not,” replied Jemmy.  “There’s gintlemen enough o’ the name—­I’m afraid one too many.”

“Well,” exclaimed his wife, assuming something as near to her conception of the look of a martyr as possible, “I’m sufferin’ at all events; but I know my crown’s before me.”

“Sich as it is,” replied her husband, “I dare say it is.”

“I’ll not be back for a few hours, Hycy; an’—­but here’s the car.  Come fardher up, Patsy.”

Hycy politely handed his mother out, and assisted her on the car.  “Of course, he’ll discover it all,” said he, laughing.

“I know he will,” she replied; “but when it’s over, it’s over, and that’s all.”

Jemmy now met his son at the hall-door, and asked him if he knew where his mother had gone.

“I really cannot undertake to say,” replied the other.  “Mrs. Burke, father, is a competent judge of her own notions; but I presume to think that she may take a drive upon her own car, without being so severely, if not ungenerously catechised about it.  I presume to think so, sir; but I daresay I am wrong, and that even that is a crime on my part.”

His father made no reply, but proceeded at an easy and thoughtful pace to join his men in the field where they were at labor.

Hycy, after his mother’s return that evening, seemed rather in low spirits, if one could form any correct estimate of his character by appearances.  He was very silent, and somewhat less given to those broken snatches of melody than was his wont; and yet a close observer might have read in his deportment, and especially in the peculiar expression of his eye, that which seemed to indicate anything rather than depression or gloom.  His silence, to such an observer, might have appeared rather the silence of satisfaction and triumph, than of disappointment or vexation.