"Don't be afeared, young un," said Barney, winking and poking the small clerk jocosely in the ribs with his thumb. "Isn't it beautiful to see them. Arrah, now! isn't it purty?"
"Keep your thumbs to yourself, you sea monster," said the small clerk, angrily, and laying his hand on the ruler. But Barney minded him not, and continued to smite his thigh and rub his hands, while he performed a sort of gigantic war-dance round Mr. Jollyboy and Martin.
In a few minutes the old gentleman subsided sufficiently to understand questions.
"But, my aunt," said Martin, anxiously; "you have said nothing about Aunt
Dorothy. How is she? where is she? is she well?"
To these questions Mr. Jollyboy returned no answer, but sitting suddenly down on a chair, he covered his face with his hands.
"She is not ill?" inquired Martin in a husky voice, while his heart beat violently. "Speak, Mr. Jollyboy, is she—is she—"
"No, she's not ill," returned the old gentleman; "but she's—"
"She is dead!" said Martin, in a tone so deep and sorrowful that the old gentleman started up.
"No, no, not dead, my dear boy; I did not mean that. Forgive my stupidity, Martin. Aunt Dorothy is gone,—left the village a year ago; and I have never seen or heard of her since."
Terrible though this news was, Martin felt a slight degree of relief to know that she was not dead;—at least there was reason to hope that she might be still alive.