She is soon, however, as much interested as her mistress in the sick
girl, to whom the latter is administering the warm restorative. Spoonful
after spoonful is applied to her lips, and greedily swallowed though
with evident effort. The toasted bread is soaked in a portion of the
broth, and is also devoured as speedily as offered, with an avidity made
still more painful by the difficulty of swallowing, occasioned by some
obstruction in the throat.

'God help you, poor girl,' says the good Samaritan, as she puts the
last mouthful to the lips of the patient.

The eyes unclose, and a tear falls upon the wan cheek, as a murmured,
'Thank you, my lady,' is faintly heard.

The 'lady' turns away with a heavy sigh, whilst the servant begins to
arrange the blanket-shawl and rags more comfortably, and finally takes
off her large linsey-woolsey apron to make a softer resting-place for
the head and neck of the girl. The grateful friends that stand around
now bless the servant as zealously as they blessed her mistress, and if
she understood the language in which the warm Irish hearts express their
gratitude, she would probably wonder who 'the Vargin and all the holy
saints and angels' are, that are invoked for her sake.

Again the farm-lady goes away, and returns bearing a small bottle of
medicine, that she bids the red-cloaked woman give the sick girl in
about an hour. She then leaves her patient and motley guests to their
supper and night's repose, followed by such prayers as the poor alone
know how to utter, and perhaps how to feel.