fifteen he is this minute, give up all his hopes and prospects, the cratur!
to come home and slave for his mother.

_Mr. H._ Ah, that's weel--that's weel! I luve the lad that makes a gude
son.--And is the father _deed_?

_Biddy._ Ay, dead and deceased he is, long since, and was buried just upon
that time that ould Sir Cormac, father of the young heiress that is now at
the castle above, the former landlord that was over us, died, see!--Then
there was new times and new _takes_, and the widow was turned out of the
inn, and these Gallaghers got it, and all wint wrong and to rack; for Mrs.
Gallagher, that was, drank herself into her grave unknownst, for it was by
herself in private she took it; and Christy Gallagher, the present man, is
doing the same, only publicly, and running through all, and the house is
tumbling over our ears: but he hopes to get the new inn; and if he does,
why, he'll be lucky--and that's all I know, for the dinner is done now, and
I'm going in with it--and won't your honour walk up to the room now?

_Mr. H._ (_going to the ladder_) Up here?

_Biddy._ Oh, it's not _up_ at all, your honour, sure! but down
here--through this ways.

_Mr. H._ One word more, my gude lassy. As soon as we shall have all dined,
and you shall have ta'en your ane dinner, I shall beg of you, if you be not
then too much tired, to show me the way to that bush of Bannow, whereat
this Widow Larken's cottage is.

_Biddy._ With all the pleasure in life, if I had not a fut to stand upon.