“What's a lie?” said her father, starting, for he had again relapsed into his moodiness. “What's a lie?—who—who's a liar?”
“You are!” she replied, looking him coolly and contemptuously in the face; “you tell the poor woman that there's nothing for her. Don't you know that's a lie? It may be very well to tell a lie to them that can bear it—to a rich bodagh, or his proud lady of a wife—although it's a mean thing even to them; but to tell a lie to that heartbroken woman and her poor childhre—her childhre—aren't they her own?—an' who would spake for them if she wouldn't. If every one treated the poor that way, what would become of them? Ay, to look in her face, where there's want an' hunger, and answer distress wid a lie—it's cruel—cruel!”
“What a kind-hearted creature she is,” said her step-mother, looking towards her father—“isn't she?”
“Come here, poor woman,” said Sarah, calling her back; “it is for you. If these two choose to let you and your childhre die or starve, I won't;” and she went to the meal to serve them as she spoke.
The woman returned, and looked with considerable surprise at her; but Nelly went also to the meal, and was about to interpose, when Sarah's frame became excited, and her eyes flashed, as they always did when in a state of passion.
“If you're wise, don't prevent me,” she said. “Help these creatures I will. I'm your match now, an' more than your match, thank God; so be quiet.”
“If I was to die for it, you won't have your will now, then,” said Nelly.
“Die when you like, then,” replied Sarah; “but help that poor woman an' her childhre I will.”
“Fight it out,” said Donnel Dhu, “its a nice quarrel, although Sal has the right on her side.”
“If you prevent me,” said she, disregarding her step-mother, “you'll rue it quickly; or hould—I'm beginnin' to hate this kind of quarrellin'—here, let her have as much meal as will make my supper; I'll do without any for the sake of the childhre, this night.”