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Then she strains the water from it, and looks with admiration upon its steaming contents. "The murphies" (as, I fear, she calls the potatoes) are done to a turn. But which way to go? To Mona all round is an undiscovered country, and for that reason possesses an indiscribable charm. Finally, she goes up the avenue, beneath the gaunt and leafless elms, and midway, seeing a path that leads she knows not whither, she turns aside and follows it until she loses herself in the lonely wood. "Never mind Larry," says the farmer, impatiently. "This is the seventh time he has died this year. But think of Misther Rodney here. Can't ye do something for him?".

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It is a supreme moment. A deadly silence falls upon the room, and then Dorothy bursts into tears. In my heart I believe she feels as much relief at Mona's exculpation as at the discovery of the desired deed. All the wolves thought that this talk was good, and they began to dig, and before very long they had dug a hole down almost to the bottom of the pit. "Are you a man, to make me such a speech?" she says, passionately, fixing her eyes upon him with withering contempt. "Thank ye, miss. Ye mane it kindly, I know," says the woman, wearily. "But the big world is too small to hold one dhrop of comfort for me. He's dead, ye see!".