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"I'll be wantin'," observed Frank, "to see you in the hollydays faith, that stuff's to be christened yet, Darby so don't go till we have a dish o' discoorse about somethin' I'll mintion to you. As for Peggy Gartland, I'm done wid her; she may marry ould Nick for me."
"Spare yourself the throuble of inquirin'," he replied: "all I can say," he continued, starting up into sudden fury "all I can say, an' I say it I swear it where's the prayer-book?" and he ran frantically to a shelf beside the dresser on which the prayer-book lay, "ay! by him that made me I'll sware it by this sacred book, while I live, Mike Keillaghan, the husband of Peggy Gartland you'll never be, if I should swing for it!
Gartland, a genuine scion of the good Hibernian tree, an accomplished scholar, and a courteous and high-minded gentleman.
What right had you to challenge the boy to fight, and to strike him into the bargain, bekase Peggy Gartland danced with him, and wouldn't go out wid you? Death alive, sure that wasn't his fault."
"Frank," said he, solemnly, "you swore on that blessed book last night, that Mike Reillaghan never would be the husband of Peggy Gartland he's a corpse to-day! Yes," he continued, "the good, the honest, the industhrious boy is" his sobs became so loud and thick that he appeared almost suffocated. "Oh," said he, "may God pity us!
Are you willin, Mike lieillaghan?" "I have no objection in life," replied Mike, "if he'll say that Peggy Gartland won't be put to any more throuble through his manes." "There's my hand, Mike," said Frank, "that I forget an' forgive all that's past; and in regard to Peggy Gartland, why, as she's so dark agin me, I lave her to you for good."*
There is little more to be added, except that Mike Reillaghan almost miraculously recovered; that he and Peggy Gartland were happily married, and that Darby More lost his character as a dreamer in that parish, Mike, with whom, however, he still continued a favorite, used frequently to allude to the speaking crucifix, the dream aforesaid, and his bit of fiction, in assuring his mother that he had dissuaded him against "tracing" on that eventful day.
This was a secret of considerable value, for many of the superstitious people believed that by having this stained in upon them, they would escape unnatural deaths, and be almost sure of heaven. When Darby approached Reillaghan's house, he was considering the propriety of disclosing to his son the fact of having left his rival with Peggy Gartland.
He was seated upon a stone, surrounded by a ring of old men and women, to whom he sang and sold a variety of Christmas Carols, many of them rare curiosities in their way, inasmuch as they were his own composition. A littlee beyond them stood Mike Keillaghan and Peggy Gartland, towards both of whom he cast from time to time a glance of latent humor and triumph.
You see come, Lanty, tare-an'-ounkers, drink, man alive you see, wid regard to Peggy Gartland eh? what the hell! is that a cough?" "One o' the horses, man go an." "Rody, did Darby More go into the barn before you came out of it?" "Darby More? not he. If he did, I'd a seen him surely." "Why, thin, I'd kiss the book I seen him goin' towards the barn, as I was comin' into the stable.
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