"
Owen was now surrounded by such of Farrell's children as were old enough
to remember him; every one of whom he shook hands with, and kissed.
"Why, thin, the Lord save my sowl, Bridget," said he, "are these the
little bouchaleens an' colleens that were runnin' about my feet whin
I was here afore? Well, to be sure! How they do shoot up! An' is this
Atty?"
"No: but this is Atty, Owen; faix, Brian outgrew him; an' here's Mary,
an' this is Bridget Oge."
"Well!--well! But where did these two; young shoots come from? this boy
an' the colleen here? They worn't to the fore, in my time, Bridget."
"This is Owen, called afther yourself,--an' this is Kathleen. I needn't
tell you who she was called afther."
"_Gutsho, alanna? thurm pogue?_--come here, child, and kiss me," said
Owen to his little namesake; "an' sure I can't forget the little woman
here; _gutsho, a colleen_, and kiss: me too."
Owen took her on his knee, and kissed her twice.
"Och, but poor Kathleen," said he, "will be the proud woman of this,
when she hears it; in throth she will be that."
"Arrah! what's comin' over me!" said Mrs. Farrell. "Brian, run up to
Micky Lowrie's for your father, An' see, Brian, don't say who's wantin'
him, till we give him a start. Mary, come here, acushla," she added to
her eldest daughter in a whisper--"take these two bottles an' fly up
to Peggy Finigan's for the full o' them o' whiskey.
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