Ye poor little crather! Oh! Murther! Who could harm the like of ye?
Faix, I hope that ould divil of an aunt o' yours won't darken these doors, or she'll git what she won't like from Biddy Mulcahy.

There now! There now! 'Tis into yer bed I'll tuck ye meself, for 'tis worn-out ye are--God help ye!" She is gone, taking Perpetua with her.

The professor rubs his eyes, and then suddenly an overwhelming sense of gratitude towards Mrs.
Mulcahy takes possession of him.

_What_ a woman! He had never thought so much moral support could be got out of a landlady--but Mrs.Mulcahy has certainly tided him safely over _one_ of his difficulties.

Still, those that remain are formidable enough to quell any foolish present attempts at relief of mind.