She carried a very beautiful half-blown rose in her hand, which, as soon as she approached her husband, she placed carefully in his button-hole, standing on tiptoe to perform this graceful Sunday morning service.
'Thank you, mother,' said Mr Prothero, smiling, and looking down complacently on his little wife.
What went with all his lecture upon the profligacy of Irish beggars?
I suppose it was silently delivered from his breast to the rose, for none of it came to his lips, though it was quite ready to be heard when the rose made her appearance.
All the Irish are gone except the girl, Davy, _bach_' said quiet Mrs Prothero, 'and they are gone to the Overseer to tell him about her, and I will see that she is sent to the workhouse to-night, that is to say if I can.' 'I suppose you fed and clothed the ragged rascals ?' 'I just gave them some scraps for breakfast, and indeed their blessings did me good,' 'I should think they must.

People that left a dying girl behind 'em.' 'They promised to come back and see after her when the hay-harvest is over.

They are going into Herefordshire to get work, and she, poor thing, is looking for her relations in this county, and meant to get work here.' 'Well, I want my breakfast.

I promised brother Jonathan to go to church to-day.

He is going to preach a charity sermon for the Church Building Society, and wants my shilling.