"I was thinking of that," said the Squire. "Of course we'll manage."
He gave a great sigh, as if a load were lifted from his heart. "Of
course we'll manage," he repeated; "and don't you tell your mother,
for the life of you, child."

"Of course I will tell nothing until you give me leave. But how do
you mean to manage?"

"I am thinking of going up to Dublin next week to see one or two old
friends of mine; they are sure to help me at a pinch like this. They
would never see Patrick O'Shanaghgan deprived of his acres. They
know me too well; they know it would break my heart. I was thinking
of going up next week."

"But why next week, father? You have only three months. Why do you
put it off to next week?"

"Why, then, you're right, colleen; but it's a job I don't fancy."

"But you have got to do it, and you ought to do it at once."

"To be sure--to be sure."

"Take me with you, father; let us go tomorrow."

"But I have not got money for us both. I must go alone; and then
your mother must not be left. There's Terence gallivanting off to
England to visit his fine relations, and that will take a good bit.
I had to give him ten pounds this morning, and there are only forty
now left in the bank. Oh, plenty to tide us for a bit. We shan't