threw the sacking round her neck, and lifted the handles of her barrow.

"Good-night, me darlin'!" said she, raising her voice as she moved off.
"_We'll meet again_, GOD willing."

"Safe enough, unless you tumble into the dock," replied the watchman.
"Go steady, missus. I hope you'll get safe home with that barra o'
yours."

"GOD send all safe home that's far from it!" shouted Biddy, in tones
that rose above the rumbling of the wheel and the shuffling of her
shoes.

"Haw! haw!" laughed the watchman, and with increased brutalness in his
voice he reiterated, "You're a rum lot, Biddy! and free of most things,
blessings and all."

I was not surprised that the sound of the wheel and the shoes ceased
suddenly. Biddy had set down her barrow to retort. But it was with deep
gratitude that I found her postpone her own wrath to my safety, and
content herself with making her enemy "a prisint of the contimpt of a
rogue."

"And what would I be doing but blessing ye?" she cried, in a voice of
such dramatic variety as only quick wits and warm feelings can give, it
was so full at once of suppressed rage, humorous triumph, contemptuous
irony, and infinite tenderness. And I need hardly say that it was raised
to a ringing pitch that would have reached my ears had they been buried
under twenty tarpaulins, "GOD bless ye for ivermore! Good luck to ye!
fine weather to ye! health and strength to ye! May the knaves that would