"But if it was plasing to His will to remove him from us, would you ever
forgive yourself not lettin' him have a christenin' like another child?"
rejoined the persevering mother.

"The priest," replied the good man, "will do as much for the poor child
as the rich; there's but one sacrament for both; anything else is waste,
as I said, an' I won't give in to it. You don't considher that your
way of it 'ud spend as much in one day as 'ud clothe him two or three
years."

"May I never sin this day, Fardorougha, but one 'ud think you're tired
of him already. By not givin' in to what's dacent you know you'll
only fret me--a thing that no man wid half a heart 'ud do to any woman
supportin' a babby as I am. A fretted nurse makes a child sick, as Molly
Moan tould you before she went; so that it's not on my own account I'm
spakin', but on his--poor, weeny pet--the Lord love him! Look at his
innocent purty little face, an' how can you have the heart, Fardorougha?
Come, avourneen, give way to me this wanst; throth, if you do, you'll
see how I'll nurse him, an' what a darlin' lump o' sugar I'll have him
for you in no time!"

He paused a little at this delicate and affecting appeal of the mother;
but, except by a quick glance that passed from her to their child,
it was impossible to say whether or not it made any impression on his
heart, or in the slightest degree changed his resolution.

"Well, well," said he, "let me alone now. I'll think of it. I'll turn it
over an' see what's best to be done; do you the same, Honora, an' may be
your own sinse will bring you to my side of the question at last."