As for me, I'm lavin' this house in a day or two, for my mind's made up that the same roof won't cover us." "The divil go wid you an' sixpence then," replied Nelly, disdainfully--"an' then you'll want neither money nor company; but before you go, I'd thank you to tell me what has become o' the ould Tobaccy Box, that you pulled out o' the wall the other day.

I know you were lookin' for it, an' I'm sure you got it--there was no one else to take it; so before you go, tell me--unless you wish to get a knife put into me by that dark lookin' ould father of yours." "I know nothing about your ould box, but I wish I did." "That's a lie, you sthrap; you know right well where it is." "No," replied her father, "she does not, when she says she doesn't.

Did you ever know her to tell a lie ?" "Ay--did I--fifty." The Prophet rushed at her again, and again did Sarah interpose.
"You vile ould tarmagint," he exclaimed, "you're statin' what you feel to be false when you say so; right well you know that neither you nor I, nor any one else, ever heard a lie from her lips, an' yet you have the brass to say to the contrary." "Father," said Sarah, "there's but one coorse for you; as for me, my mind's made up--in this house I don't stay if she does." "If you'd think of what I spoke to you about," he replied, "all would soon be right wid us; but then you're so unraisonable, an' full of foolish notions, that it's hard for me to know what to do, especially as I wish to do all for the best." "Well," rejoined Sarah, "I'll spake to you again, about it; at this time I'm disturbed and unaisy in my mind; I'm unhappy--unhappy--an' I hardly knows on what hand to turn.

I'm afeared I was born for a hard fate, an' that the day of my doom isn't far from me.

All, father, is dark before me--my heart is, indeed, low an' full of sorrow; an' sometimes I could a'most tear any one that 'ud contradict me.