_Catty._ There is, I'm sinsible. (_Aside to her son_) Then he's a good
magistrate--except a little pompous, mighty good. (_Aloud to Mr. CARVER_)
Then I beg your honour's pardon for my bad behaviour, and bad language
and all. 'Twas O'Blaney's fau't--but he's down, and don't trample on the
fallen.

_Old McB._ Don't defind O'Blaney! Oh! the villain, to rob me of all my hard
arnings. Mrs. Catty, I thank you as much as a heavy heart can, for you're
ginerous; and you, Randal, for your--

_Randal._ Is it for loving her, when I can't help it?--who could?

_Old McB._ (_sighing deeply_) But still it goes against the father's heart
to see his child, his pride, go pinnyless out of his house.

_Phil._ Then, sir, father dear, I have to tell you she is not
pennyless.--But I would not tell you before, that Randal, and Catty too,
might show themselves what they are. Honor is not pennyless: the three
hundred you gave me to lodge with O'Blaney is safe here. (_Opening his
pocket-book._)--When I was going to him with it as you ordered, by great
luck, I was stopped by this very quarrel and riot in Ballynavogue:--he was
the original cause of kicking up the riot, and was summoned before your
honour,--and here's the money.

_Old McB._ Oh, she's not pinnyless! Well, I never saw money with so much
pleasure, in all my long days, nor could I think I'd ever live to give it
away with half so much satisfaction as this minute. I here give it, Honor,
to Randal Rooney and you:--and bless ye, child, with the man of _your_
choice, who is _mine_ now.