Don't be ashamed, but take it; we can well afford it, glory be to God
for it! It's not, agra, bekase you're goin' the way you are--though that
same's an honor to you--but bekase our hearts warmed to you, that we
offered it, an' bekase we would wish you to be thinkin' of us now an'
thin, when you're in a strange part of the country. Let me open your
pocket an' put them into it. That's a good, boy, thank you, an' God
bless an' prosper you! I'm sure you were always biddable."

"Now childre," said the farmer, addressing his sons and daughters,
"never see the sthranger widout a friend, nor wantin' a bed or a dinner,
when you grow up to be men an' women. There's many a turn in this world;
we may be strangers ourselves; an' think of what I would feel if any of
you was far from me, widout money or friends, when I'd hear that you
met a father in a strange counthry that lightened your hearts by his
kindness. Now, dear, the carts 'll be ready in no time--eh? Why there
they are at the gate waitin' for you. Get into one of them, an' they'll
lave you in the next town. Come, roan, budan' age, be stout-hearted, an'
don't cry; sure we did nothin' for you to spake of."

He shook the poor scholar by the hand, and drawing his hat over his
eyes, passed hurriedly out of the room. Alley stooped down, kissed his
lips, and wept; and the children each embraced him with that mingled
feeling of compassion and respect which is uniformly entertained for the
poor scholar in Ireland.

The boy felt as if he had been again separated from his parents; with a
sobbing bosom and wet cheeks he bid them farewell, and mounting one of
the carts was soon beyond sight and hearing of the kind-hearted farmer
and his family.