my warm bed to go and fetch Anty Lynch down here that cowld morning!
Well, I'll be wise another time. Live and larn they say, and it's
thrue, too."

"But, mother, you ain't wishing poor Anty wasn't here?"

"Indeed, but I do; everything to give and nothin to get--that's not the
way I have managed to live. But it's not that altogether, neither. I'm
not begrudging Anty anything for herself; but that I'd be dhriven to
let that blagguard of a brother of hers into the house, and that as a
frind like, is what I didn't think I'd ever have put upon me!"

Barry made his appearance about an hour after the time at which they
had begun to expect him; and as soon as Meg saw him, one of them flew
upstairs, to tell Anty and give her her tonic. Barry had made himself
quite a dandy to do honour to the occasion of paying probably a parting
visit to his sister, whom he had driven out of her own house to die at
the inn. He had on his new blue frock-coat, and a buff waistcoat with
gilt buttons, over which his watch-chain was gracefully arranged. His
pantaloons were strapped clown very tightly over his polished boots; a
shining new silk hat was on one side of his head; and in his hand he
was dangling an ebony cane. In spite, however, of all these gaudy
trappings, he could not muster up an easy air; and, as he knocked, he
had that look proverbially attributed to dogs who are going to be hung.

Sally opened the door for him, and the widow, who had come out from the
shop, made him a low courtesy in the passage.

"Oh--ah--yes--Mrs Kelly, I believe?" said Barry.