_Dher Manim_, Oonagh, you're a guilty woman; that boy's no son of mine.

If he had my blood in him, he couldn't act as he did.

Here, you intherloper, the door's open for you; go out of it, an' let me never see the branded face of you while you live." The groans of the son were audible from his bed-room.
"I will go, father," he replied, "an' I hope the day will come when you'll all change your opinion of me.

I can't, however, stir out till I send a message a mile or so out of town." The old man in the mean time, wept as if his son had been dead; his tears, however, were not those of sorrow, but of shame and indignation.
"How can I help it," he exclaimed, "when I think of the way that the Neils will clap their wings and crow over us! If it was from any other family he tuck it so inanely, I wouldn't care so much; but from them! Oh, Chiernah! it's too bad! Turn out, you villain!" A charge of deeper disgrace, however, awaited the unhappy young man.
The last harsh words of the father had scarcely been uttered, when three constables came in, and inquired if his son were at home.
"He is at home," said the father, with tears in his eyes, "and I never thought he would bring the blush to my face as he did by his conduct last night." "I am sorry," said the principal of them, "for what has happened, both on your account and his.

Do you know this hat ?" "I do know it," replied the old man; "it belongs to John.