It was my own Micky that was on my mind." "Look here, Mr.Macartney," said I; "I want you to do me a favour.

I owe your mother a good turn, and it'll ease my mind to repay it.

Sit down whilst we're enjoying your hospitality, and just write her a line, and let me have the pleasure of finding a stamp and putting it in the post with my own hands." We argued the point for some time, but Micky found the writing materials at last, and sat down to write.

As he proceeded he seemed to become more reconciled to the task; though he was obviously no great scribe, and followed the sentiments he was expressing with curious contortions of his countenance which it was most funny to behold.

By and by I was glad to see a tear or two drop on to the paper, though I was sorry that he wiped them up with his third finger, and wrote over the place before it had time to dry.
"Murther and ages! But it's mighty pleased that she'll be," said Mr.
Macartney when he had finished.