The "chimney-brace" projected far out over the fire-place towards the
floor, and under it on each side stretched two long hobs or chimney
corner seats, on which nearly a dozen persons could sit of a winter
evening. Mrs. Burke, a smart, good-looking little woman, though somewhat
advanced in years, kept passing in a kind of perpetual motion from
one part of the house to the other, with a large bunch of bright
keys jingling at one side, and a huge house-wife pocket, with a round
pin-cushion dangling beside it, at the other. Jemmy Burke himself,
a placid though solemn-faced man, was sitting on the hob in question
complacently smoking his pipe, whilst over the glowing remnants of an
immense turf fire hung a singing kettle, and beside it on three crushed
coals was the teapot, "waitin'," as the servants were in the habit of
expressing it, "for the masther and misthress's breakfast."

Peety, who was well known and a great favorite on his rounds, received a
warm and hospitable welcome from Jemmy Burke, who made him and the girl
sit upon the hob, and immediately ordered them breakfast.

"Here, Nancy Devlin, get Peety and the girsha their skinfuls of
stirabout an' milk. Sit over to the fire, alanna, an' warm yourself."

"Warm, inagh!" replied Peety; "why, sure it's not a fire sich a blessed
mornin' as this she'd want--an' a blessed mornin' it is, glory be to
God!"

"Troth, an' you're right, sure enough, Peety," replied the good-natured
farmer; "a blessed saison it is for gettin' down the crops. Go over
there, now, you an' the girsha, to that other table, an'--whish!--kick
them pigs an' dogs out o' the house, an' be d--d to them! One can't hear