The lad recommenced, and continued to eat as long as he could possibly
hold out; at length he ceased:--

"I can't go on," said he; "don't ax me: I can't indeed."

"Bad manners to the word I'll hear till you finish it; you know it's but
a thrifle to spake of. Thry agin, avick, but take your time; you'll be
able for it."

The poor lad's heart was engaged on other thoughts and other scenes; his
home, and its beloved inmates--sorrow and the gush of young affections,
were ready to burst forth.

"I cannot ate," said he, and he looked imploringly on the farmer and his
wife, whilst the tears started to his eyes--"don't ax me, for my heart's
wid them I left behind me, that I may never see agin!" and he wept in a
burst of grief which he could not restrain.

Neither the strength nor tenderness of the lad's affection was
unappreciated by this excellent couple. In a moment the farmer's wife
was also in tears; nor did her husband break the silence for some
minutes.

"The Almighty pity an' strengthen him!" said the farmer's wife, "but
he has the good an' the kind heart, an' would be a credit to any
family.--Whisht, acushla machree--whisht, we won't ax you to ate--no
indeed. It was out o' kindness we did it: don't be cast down aither;
sure it isn't the ocean you're crossin'; but goin' from one county
like to another. God 'll guard an' take care o' you, so he will. Your
intintion's good, an' he'll prosper it."