Woodlands is situated on the north bank of the Liffey, about five miles from Dublin.
P.
PEGGY THE PISHOGUE.
“And now, Mickey Brennan, it’s not but I have a grate regard for you, for troth you’re a dacint boy, and a dacint father and mother’s child; but you see, avick, the short and the long of it is, that you needn’t be looking after my little girl any more.”
Such was the conclusion of a long and interesting harangue pronounced by old Brian Moran of Lagh-buoy, for the purpose of persuading his daughter’s sweetheart to waive his pretensions—a piece of diplomacy never very easy to effect, but doubly difficult when the couple so unceremoniously separated have laboured under the delusion that they were born for each other, as was the ease in the affair of which our story tells; and certainly, whatever Mr Michael Brennan’s other merits may have been, he was very far from exhibiting himself as a pattern of patience on the occasion.
“Why, thin, Brian Moran!” he outrageously exclaimed, “in the name of all that’s out of the way, will you give me one reason, good, bad, or indifferent, and I’ll be satisfied?”
“Och, you unfortunate gossoon, don’t be afther axing me,” responded Brian dolefully.
“Ah, thin, why wouldn’t I?” replied the rejected lover. “Aren’t we playing together since she could walk—wasn’t she the light of my eyes and the pulse of my heart these six long years—and when did one of ye ever either say or sign that I was to give over until this blessed minute?—tell me that.”
“Widdy Eelish!” groaned the closely interrogated parent; “’tis true enough for you. Botheration to Peggy, I wish she tould you herself. I knew how it ’ud be; an’ sure small blame to you; an’ it’ll kill Meny out an’ out.”
“Is it that I amn’t rich enough?” he asked impetuously.