into little flashes of impatience, as she soliloquizes: 

 "Did anybody ever see the likes of that Dan of mine? He couldn't take the "tops" over to ould Bulworthy himself—not he!—of course not—he wasn't well enough to go out then, but the minute my back was turned, away he cuts to the 'shebeen' house to get his 'mornin''—ugh! I do believe if he was before me now, I'd—but no—my poor Dan, it ain't much comfort he's got in the world; so I won't say a blessed word to worry him." 

 As if to recompense the considerate thought, Dan's jolly voice was heard, singing one of his consoling ditties. 

 "Here he comes, bless him," cried Peg, joyfully, "as lively as a lark." 

 There was wonderful commotion amongst the animals as Dan entered. "Pincher," the apocryphal, shook his apology for a tail as vigorously as that diminished appendage was capable of accomplishing; while "Pussy" urged her claims upon his attention by rubbing herself against his legs. Peg said nothing. 

 Now, Dan perfectly well knew his delinquency. Indeed, the song he had just executed, in a good, bold voice, had more of "brag" in it than real enthusiasm. He saw how the land lay instantly. 

 "Peg, alanna machree, here I am," said he. "Whisht! I know what you're goin' to say. Keep yer mouth shut, you hateful blaggard, or I'll stop it up wid kisses, as close as cobbler's wax. There, Peg," he continued, after having suited the action to the word, with a smack like a carter's whip, "I couldn't help it—I couldn't, upon my word. You were a long time away—and the breakfast was mighty small—and—and—a sort of oneasiness kem over me inside, I was lonesome, and thinkin' of things as wasn't wholesome, so I thought I'd just stick another chalk up at Phil Mooney's, so don't say another word." 

 "Not a word Dan," replied Peg. "Sure, don't I mind poor Mary Maguire's case, how she never let Mike rest when he had 'the drop' in him, until at long last he stayed out, for the fear of comin' home; the whisky is too strong for a woman to fight agin, Dan, so, if you like it better than me"—— 

 That was a skillful side-blow, and it made its mark. 

 "Peg, you know better, you thief of the world, you do; you know, in your pure little heart, that's too good for me, or the likes of me; that the summer flowers doesn't love the sunshine of heaven better than I love you; oh! no, it isn't that, not that, Peg aroon." 

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