As he entered this hospitable roof, the early industry of his friend's
wife presented him with a well-swept hearth and a pleasant fire, before
which had been placed the identical chair that they had appropriated
to his own use. Frank was enjoying "a blast o' the pipe," after having
risen; to which luxury the return of Owen gave additional zest and
placidity. In fact, Owen's presence communicated a holiday spirit to the
family; a spirit, too, which declined not for a moment during the period
of his visit.
"Frank," said Owen, "to tell you the thruth, I'm not half plased wid you
this mornin'. I think you didn't thrate me as I ought to expect to be
thrated."
"Musha, Owen M'Carthy, how is that?"
"Why, you said nothin' about widow Murray raisin' a head-stone over our
child. You kept me in the dark there, Frank, an' sich a start I never
got as I did this mornin', in the grave-yard beyant."
"Upon my sowl, Owen, it wasn't my fau't, nor any of our fau'ts; for,
to tell you the thruth, we had so much to think and discoorse of last
night, that it never sthruck me, good or bad. Indeed it was Bridget that
put it first in my head, afther you wint out, an' thin it was too late.
Ay, poor woman, the dacent strain was ever in her, the heaven's be her
bed."
"Frank, if any one of her family was to abuse me till the dogs wouldn't
lick my blood, I'd only give them back good for evil afther that.
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