'For shame upon you, you naughty boy,' and therewith Netta and the unexpected guest were hugging one another, most lovingly.
''Tis the mother will give the poor Irisher a lodgin' and a drop o' the cratur,' cried that mother's well-beloved eldest born almost catching her up in his arms, and smothering her with kisses.

'And the masther isn't so hard-hearted as he looks,' he added, shaking the astonished farmer by the hand.
'Owen! oughtn't you to be ashamed of yourself ?' cried the farmer, laughing aloud, and rubbing his right leg.
'Not kilt intirely, yer honour! didn't I take you all in, that's all!' 'Where did you come from?
How did you come?
When did you leave your ship ?' were the questions reiterated on all sides of the welcome guest.
'I'll tell you all that to-morrow.

At present I am dying of cowld and hunger, and haven't broke me fast since morning.

Let me show you how the locker stands.' Owen emptied his pockets, and from a corner of one of them turned out a solitary halfpenny.
'I shouldn't have had that if old Nanny Cwmgwyn hadn't given it to me just now.

But I'll tell you my story to-morrow in character.' 'Not an improved one anyhow,' said Mr Prothero with a gathering frown.
'Don't lecture to-night, Datta, bach; you shall have an hour on purpose to-morrow, when I promise to listen to edification.