“‘Is it me?’ says Jack, quite sure that he had them all—­’arrah, catch any one from my country making a blunder of that kind.’

“‘Well,’ says she, ’let us see; so, taking the toes, she placed them on again, just as if they had never been off.  But, lo and behold! on coming to the last of the left foot, it wasn’t forthcoming.  ‘Oh!  Jack, Jack,’ says she, ’you have destroyed me; to-morrow morning your master will notice the want of this toe, and that instant I’ll be put to death.’

“‘Lave that to me,’ says Jack; ’by the powers, you won’t lose a drop of your darling blood for it.  Have you got a pen-knife about you? and I’ll soon show you how you won’t.’

“‘What do you want with the knife?’ she inquired.

“’What do I want with it?—­Why to give you the best toe on both my feet, for the one I lost on you; do you think I’d suffer you to want a toe, and I having ten thumping ones at your sarvice?—­I’m not the man, you beauty you, for such a shabby trick as that comes to.’

“‘But you forget,’ says the lady, who was a little cooler than Jack, ‘that none of yours would fit me.’

“‘And must you die to-morrow, acushla?’ asked Jack, in desperation.

“‘As sure as the sun rises,’ answered the lady ’for Your master would know at once that it was by my toes the nest was robbed.’

“‘By the powers,’ observed Jack, ’he’s one of the greatest ould vag—­I mane, isn’t he a terrible man, out and out, for a father?’

“‘Father!’ says the darling,—­’he’s not my father, Jack, he only wishes to marry me and if I’m not able to outdo him before three days more, it’s decreed that he must.

“When Jack heard this, surely the Irishman must come out; there he stood, and began to wipe his eyes with the skirt of his coat, making out as if he was crying, the thief of the world.  ’What’s the matter with you?’ she asked.

“‘All!’ says Jack, ’you darling, I couldn’t find it in my heart to desave you; for I have no way at home to keep a lady like you, in proper style, at all at all; I would only bring I you into poverty, and since you wish to know what ails me, I’m vexed that I’m not rich for your sake; and next, that that thieving ould villain’s to have you; and, by the powers, I’m crying for both these misfortunes together.’

“The lady could not help being touched and plaised with Jack’s tinderness and ginerosity; so, says she, ’Don’t be cast down, Jack, come or go what will, I won’t marry him—­I’d die first.  Do you go home as usual; but take care and don’t sleep at all this night.  Saddle the wild filly—­meet me under the whitethorn bush at the end of the lawn, and we’ll both leave him for ever.  If you’re willin’ to marry me, don’t let poverty distress you, for I have more money than we’ll know what to do with.’

“Jack’s voice now began to tremble in airnest, with downright love and tinderness, as good right it had; so he promised to do everything just as she bid him, and then went home with a dacint appetite enough to his supper.