One evening a wretched-looking old man, repeating his prayers, with beads in hand, entered her cottage, which consisted of two rooms and a kitchen; and after having presented himself, and put on his hat--for we need scarcely say that no Catholic ever prays covered--he asked lodging in Irish, for the night, and at this time it was dusk.
"Well, good man," she replied, "you can have lodgings here for this night.

God forbid I'd put a poor wandherer out, an' it nearly dark." Fergus stared at her as if he did not understand what she said; she, however, could speak Irish right well, and asked him in that language if he could speak no English--"_Wuil Bearlha agud ?_" (Have you English ?) "_Ha neil foccal vaun Bearlha agum_." (I haven't one word of English.) "Well," said she, proceeding with the following short conversation in Irish, "you can sleep here, and I will bring you in a wap o' straw from the garden, when I have it to feed my cow, which his honor, Sir Robert, gives me grass for; he would be a very kind man if he was a little more generous--ha! ha! ha!" "Ay, but doesn't he hunt an' hang, an' transport our priests ?" "Why, indeed, I believe he doesn't like a bone in a priest's body; but then he's of a different religion--and it isn't for you or me to construe him after our own way." "Well, well," said Fergus, "it isn't him I'm thinking of; but if I had a mouthful or two of something to ait I'd go to sleep--for dear knows I'm tired and hungry." "Why, then, of coorse you'll have something to ait, poor man, and while you're eatin' it I'll fetch in a good bunch of straw, and make a comfortable shake-down for you." "God mark you to grace, avourneen!" She then furnished him with plenty of oaten bread and mixed milk, and while he was helping himself she brought in a large launch of straw, which she shook out and settled for him.
"I see," said she, "that you have your own blankets." "I have, acushla.

Cheerna, but this is darlin' bread! Arra was this baked upon a griddle or against the _muddhia arran ?_"*.
* The muddhia arran was a forked branch, cut from a tree, and shaped exactly like a letter A--with a small stick behind to support it.

A piece of hoop iron was nailed to it at the bottom, on which the cake rested--not horizontally, but opposite the fire.

When one side was done the other was turned, and thus it was baked.
"A griddle! Why, then, is it the likes o' me would have a griddle?
that indeed! No; but, any how, sure a griddle only scalds the bread; but you'll find that this is not too much done; bekaise you know the ould proverb, 'a raw dad makes a fat lad.'" "Troth," replied Fergus, "it's good bread, and fills the _boast_** of a man's body; but now that I've made a good supper, I'll throw myself on the straw, for I feel as if my eyelids had a millstone apiece upon them.
I never shtrip at night, but just throws my blanket over me, an' sleeps like a top.