"It's right, it's right--for his sake, an' on his account, have it; but,
Honora, let there be no waste."

"Sure we had to make it for Mrs. Moan whether or not," said his
mother-in-law, "she can't drink it hard, poor woman."

Mrs. Moan, who had gone to see her patient, having heard his voice
again, made her appearance with the child in her arms, and with all
the importance which such a burden usually bestows upon persons of her
calling.

"Here," said she, presenting him the infant, "take a proper look at
this fellow. That I may never, if a finer swaddy ever crossed my hands.
Throth if you wor dead tomorrow he'd be mistaken for you--your born
image--the sorra thing else--eh alanna--the Lord loves my son--faix,
you've daddy's nose upon you anyhow--an' his chin to a turn. Oh, thin,
Fardorougha, but there's many a couple rowlin' in wealth that 'ud be
proud to have the likes of him; an' that must die an' let it all go
to strangers, or to them that doesn't care about them, 'ceptin' to get
grabbin' at what they have, that think every day a year that they're
above the sod. What! manim-an--kiss your child, man alive. That I may
never, but he looks at the darlin' as if it was a sod of turf. Throth
you're not worthy of havin' such a bully."

Fardorougha, during this dialogue, held the child in his arms and
looked upon it earnestly as before, but without betraying any visible
indication of countenance that could enable a spectator to estimate the
nature of what passed within him. At length there appeared in his eye a
barely perceptible expression of benignity, which, however, soon passed
away, and was replaced by a shadow of gloom and anxiety. Nevertheless,