it, and drinking, may be, at fairs and funerals, and no man of the house,
nor master, nor father for her.

_Owen._ Sure, mother, I'm next to a father for her. Amn't I a brother? and
no brother ever loved a sister better, or was more jealous of respect for
her; and if you'd be pleasing, I could be man and master enough.

_Widow._ (_laughing_) You, ye dear slip of a boy!

_Owen._ (_proudly, and raising his head high_) Slip of a boy as I am, then,
and little as you think of me--

_Widow._ Oh! I think a great deal of you! only I can't think you big nor
old, Owen, can I?

_Owen._ No--nor any need to be big or old, to keep people of all sorts in
respect, mother.

_Widow._ Then he looked like his father--did not he, Mabel?

_Mabel._ He did--God bless him!

_Owen._ Now hear me, mother, for I'm going to speak sense. You need not
listen, Mabel.

_Mabel._ But it's what I like to listen to sense, especially yours, Owen.

_Owen._ Then I can't help it.--You must hear, even if you blush for it.

_Mabel._ Why would I blush?