"Do what?" interrupted Mary, in alarm.
"Oh, nothing, nothing!—an' yet, I've niver kept anything from you, Molly, an' I don't know why I should now! Sure, it's you that'll have the binifit of it, if it comes to good."
"Dear Corney," replied Mary, "I'm happy enough as it is, so long as Heaven gives us strength to provide for each other's wants, an' you continue to be, what you always have been, a good husband to me. I'd rather not be throubled with any more."
"It's nothin' but right for you to say so, Mary, darlin'," returned Corney; "but now, supposin' that I could make a lady of you—eh? Think of bein' able to wear a fine silken gound, an' a beautiful sthraw bonnet, wid a real feather stuck in it; wouldn't you jerk your showlders to show off the silk, an' toss your purty head for to humor the feather?"
I must confess Mary's heart did flutter a little, at the mention of the silk gown and the feather. Corney saw his advantage, and continued,
"You know how it was Phil got his money; it was by sleepin in a fairy circle. I know where there's one, an' wid a blessin', I'll thry it meself."
"You won't be so foolish, Corney?"
"May I niver taste glory, if I don't do it!"
Of course, after that solemn, though doubtful obligation, Mary dared not endeavor to dissuade him from following out his intention, notwithstanding the most melancholy forebodings of kidnapping, fairy-blighting, and all the terrors associated with supernatural agency, filled her imagination.
The evening was now far advanced, and Corney, having finished his pipe, rose to go.