“An' yet” continued Rody, “she's a favorite with every one; an' indeed there's not a more generous or kinder-hearted creature alive this day than she is. I advise you, however, not to let her into your saicrets, for if it was the knockin' of a man on the head and that she knew it, and was asked about it, out it would go, rather than she'd tell a lie.”
“They say she's handsomer than Gra Gal Sullivan,” said Hanlon; “and I think myself she is.”
“I don't know; it's a dead tie between them; however, I can give you a lift with her father, but not with herself, for somehow, she doesn't like a bone in my skin.”
“She and I made a swop,” proceeded Hanlon, “some time ago, that 'ud take a laugh out o' you: I gave her a pocket-hand-kerchy; and she was to give me an ould Tobaccy-Box—but she says she can't find it, altho' I have sent for it, an' axed it myself several times. She thinks the step-mother has thrown it away or hid it somewhere.”
Body looked at him inquiringly.
“A Tobaccy-Box,” he exclaimed; “would you like to get it?”
“Why,” replied Hanlon, “the poor girl has nothing else to give, an' I'd like to have something from her, even if a ring never was to go on us, merely as a keepsake.”
“Well, then,” replied Duncan, with something approaching to solemnity in his voice, “mark my words—you promise to give me a lift for the drivership with old Jemmy and the two Dicks?”
“I do.”
“Well, then, listen: If you will be at the Grey Stone to-morrow night at twelve o'clock—midnight—I'll engage that Sarah will give you the box there.”