"He's beyant,--wid Haley,--in the stone house." (Did you ever
hear the word tail from an Irish mouth?) "I came here. Hugh
told me never to stay me-lone."

"Hugh?"

"Yes."

A vexed frown crossed her face. The girl saw it, and added
quickly,--

"I have not seen Hugh the day, Deb. The old man says his watch
lasts till the mornin'."

The woman sprang up, and hastily began to arrange some bread and
flitch in a tin pail, and to pour her own measure of ale into a
bottle. Tying on her bonnet, she blew out the candle.

"Lay ye down, Janey dear," she said, gently, covering her with
the old rags. "Hur can eat the potatoes, if hur's hungry.

"Where are ye goin', Deb? The rain's sharp."

"To the mill, with Hugh's supper."

"Let him bide till th' morn. Sit ye down."

"No, no,"--sharply pushing her off. "The boy'll starve."