it, by rason that one bint on what you're bint on, oughtn't to be makin'
freedoms wid the same dhrink. But there's a time for everything, an'
there's a time for this.--Thank you, agra," he added, in reply to Jemmy,
who had drunk his health. "Now, don't be frettin'--but make yourself as
aisy as if you were at your own father's hearth. You'll have everything
to your heart's contint for this night; the carts are goin' in to the
market to-morrow airly--you can sit upon them, an' maybe you'll get
somethin' more nor you expect: sure the Lord has given it to me, an' why
wouldn't I share it wid them that wants it more nor I do?"

The lad's heart yearned to the generous farmer, for he felt that his
kindness had the stamp of truth and sincerity upon it. He could only
raise his eyes in a silent prayer, that none belonging to him might ever
be compelled, as strangers and way-farers, to commit themselves, as he
did, to the casualties of life, in pursuit of those attainments which
poverty cannot otherwise command. Fervent, indeed, was his prayer; and
certain we are, that because it was sincere, it must have been heard.

In the meantime, the good woman, or _vanithee_, had got the pot of water
warmed, in which Jemmy was made to put his feet. She then stripped up
her arms to the elbows, and, with soap and seedy meal, affectionately
bathed his legs and feet: then, taking the _praskeen_, or coarse towel,
she wiped them with a kindness which thrilled to his heart.

"And now," said she, "I must give you a cure for blisthers, an' it's
this:--In the mornin', if we're all spared, as we will, plase the
Almighty, I'll give you a needle and some white woollen thread, well
soaped. When your blisthers gets up, dhraw the soapy thread through
them, clip it on each side, an', my life for yours, they won't throuble
you. Sure I thried it the year I went on my Station to Lough Derg, an' I