When all his little plans for her comfort had been carried into execution, he took the opportunity one day of dropping in, as if accidentally, to speak to her.

By degrees he led the subject to her changed condition in life--the alteration from a cold, damp, smoky hovel, to a warm, clean, slated house--the cheerful garden before the door that replaced the mud-heap and the duck-pool--and all the other happy changes which a few weeks had effected.

And he then asked, did she not feel grateful to a bountiful Providence that had showered down so many blessings upon her head?
"Ah, troth, its thrue for yer honour, I am grateful," she replied, in a whining discordant tone, which astonished the worthy parson.
"Of course you are, my good woman, of course you are--but I mean to say, don't you feel that every moment you live is too short to express your thankfulness to this kind Providence for what he has done ?" "Ah, darlin', it's all thrue, he's very good, he's mighty kind, so he is." "Why then, not acknowledge it in a different manner ?" said the parson, with some heat--"has he not housed you, and fed you, and clothed you ?" "Yes, alanah, he done it all." "Well, where is your gratitude for all these mercies ?" "Ah, sure if he did," said the old crone, roused at length by the importunity of the questioner--"sure if he did, doesn't he take it out o' me in the corns ?".