“Ah, then, Harry Hacket,” said he, passing to another, “how are you? an’ how are you all over in Derrycloony, Harry? not forgettin’ the ould couple?”

“Throth, middlin’ only, Darby.  My fine boy, Denis, is down wid this illness, an’ I’m wantin’ a barrel of meal from you till towards Christmas.”

“Come inside, Harry, to this little nest here, till I tell you something; an’, by the way, let your father know I’ve got a new prayer that he’ll like to learn, for it’s he that’s the pious man, an’ attinds to his duties—­may God enable him! and every one that has the devotion in the right place; amin a Chiernah!”

He then brought Hacket into a little out-shot behind the room in which the scales were, and shutting the door, thus proceeded in a sweet, confidential kind of whisper—­

“You see, Harry, what I’m goin’ to say to you is what I’d not say to e’er another in the parish, the divil a one—­God pardon me for swearin’—­amin a Chiernah! I’m ruined all out—­smashed down and broke horse and foot; there’s the Slevins that wint to America, an’ I lost more than thirty pounds by them.”

“I thought,” replied Hacket, “they paid you before they went; they were always a daicent and an honest family, an’ I never heard any one speak an ill word o’ them.”

“Not a penny, Harry.”

“That’s odd, then, bekaise it was only Sunday three weeks, that Murty Slevin, their cousin, if you remember, made you acknowledge that they paid you, at the chapel green.”

“Ay, an’ I do acknowledge; bekaise, Harry, one may as well spake charitably of the absent as not; it’s only in private to you that I’m lettin’ out the truth.”

“Well, well,” exclaimed the other, rather impatiently, “what have they to do wid us?”

“Ay, have they; it was what I lost by them an’ others—­see now, don’t be gettin’ onpatient, I bid you—­time enough for that when you’re refused—­that prevints me from bein’ able to give credit as I’d wish.  I’m not refusin’ you, Harry; but achora, listen; you’ll bring your bill at two months, only I must charge you a trifle for trust, for chances, or profit an’ loss, as the schoolmasther says; but you’re to keep it a saicret from livin’ mortal, bekaise if it ’ud get known in these times that I’d do sich a thing, I’d have the very flesh ait off o’ my bones by others wantin’ the same thing; bring me the bill, then, Harry, an’ I’ll fill it up myself, only be dhe husth (* hold your tongue) about it.”

Necessity forces those who are distressed to comply with many a rapacious condition of the kind, and the consequence was that Hacket did what the pressure of the time compelled him to do, passed his bill to Skinadre, at a most usurious price, for the food which was so necessary to his family.