The Bunsby papers Part 9

greatest; could I only see the darlin' of a sperret that gev me the good advice I so foolishly kicked at, it's beg her pardon on my bended knees--that I would, if it was hot cendhers that was undher them."

At that instant, he was aware of the gentlest of all gentle touches on his shoulder, and on turning his head in the direction, sure enough, there she was.

Dan was prostrate before her, in a moment. "Ora good luck and long life to you, miss, for comin' to me in my disthress; I don't deserve it, I know I don't."

"Get up, Mr. Duff," said the spirit. "I am but the reflection of your better thoughts; therefore, you must proffer your repentance, through me, to the throne of One who rules us both."

"I will, I will," cried the other; "truly and wholly," covering his face with his hands, through which the tears now streamed copiously.

"What is your wish?" inquired the good spirit.

"You know, you _must_ know, for it's fairly breakin' my heart I am here; I want to get back to myself, and Peggy, an' the boy."

"Ah! you have begun to think of _them_ at last."

"I own I have been selfish, sinfully, wretchedly selfish, but I'm cured," replied Dan, in a tone of contrition.

"But you remember the conditions of the compact," said the other, "neither of you can regain your original form and station unless both consent."

"Oh! _wirrasthrue_, then I'll never be my own man again," sobbed Dan.

"Ould Bulworthy, bad 'cess to him, has the best of the bargain, an'

he'll stick to it like wax; small blame to him for it, seein' that I sould my comfort entirely for a pair of murdherin' top-boots; he ain't such an omathaun as to come back here to his gout an' his scowldin'

madame, when its a thrifle of hunger is all he'll have to put up wid, over the way, an' there's happiness enough in one glance of Peggy's bright eye, to swally that up if it was ten times as throublesome; and there's the boy, too, that's like a growin' angel about the house, fillin' up every spot of it wid heavenly joy; oh! _wirra, wirra!_ sure, I didn't know the luck I was in until I lost it out an' out."

"The perversity of mankind is strange," said the spirit. "Are you certain that Bulworthy is content in his present condition?"

"How the divil can he be otherwise?" replied the other, savagely.

"_You_ were not, you remember."

"Because I didn't know there was a _worse_: like an ignorant fool, I thought that a scanty meal now and then was the greatest calamity in the world; be me sowl, I've had the knowledge rubbed into my bones, that too much is sometimes apt to sting a fellow afterwards more than too little."

"Perhaps the sensation of hunger may be to him as disagreeable as the sense of satiety is to you," suggested the spirit.

"Oh! if there was only a chance of that," cried Dan, brightening up at the idea. "An' be the same token, now that I think of it, he did send over for some of that vagabone soup; long life to you, you've put the hope into me heart once more; but how the mischief am I to find out the state of the ould blaggard's feelin's?"

"There's nothing like going to work in a straightforward way," said the spirit; "just put on your hat and go over and ask him."

"Faix, an' I will, an' thank you kindly, too, for puttin' it into me head," replied Dan.

"I wish you good morning, then," said the other, and even while Dan was looking at her straight in her face, she gradually resumed her vapory appearance, growing thinner and thinner, until she finally went out like a puff of tobacco.

CHAPTER VI.

"Within the circle of your own estate, Confine yourself, nor yearn for brighter fate."

And now let us return to the cobbler's cabin, and see how matters are progressing there. Peggy has just brought over the tureen of soup so fervently longed for by the changed Squire; with a cry of joy, for he is very hard set, indeed, he seized the welcome gift, and placing it between his knees as he sat on the low workstall, prepared to dive into its savory contents, but a groan of horror and disappointment broke from his lips when, on taking off the cover, he found the tureen was empty.

"The pippin-squeezing ruffian," cried he, "he's sent it over without as much as a smell, and I so mortial hungry that I could bite a tenpenny nail in two; if he was here, bad 'cess to me if I wouldn't smash this upon his head."

"That's mighty strange, entirely," said Peggy, "for I'll be on me oath there was plenty in it when I took it off the Squire's sideboard."

"If there was, you must have gobbled it up yourself, or spilt it on the street, you unconsiderate faymale," said Bulworthy.

"Is it me, indeed, Dan, jewel? it's well you know that if it was goold, an' you could ate it, I wouldn't put a tooth into it, when I knew you wanted it so dhreadful," replied Peggy, reproachfully.

"Well, may-be you wouldn't," doggedly observed Bulworthy; "but do, for Heaven's sake, get me somethin' to put an end to the wobblin' that's goin' on in the inside of me; may I never leave this place alive if I think I've had a male's vitells for a month."

"How outrageous you are, Dan," sorrowfully replied the other. "Where am I to get it?"

"Go out an' buy it, ov coorse."

"Arrah what with? I'd like to know; sure, an' won't we have to wait until that purse-proud ould rap over the way pays us the shillin' that he owes us."

A reproachful pang shot through the heart of Bulworthy at that observation. "The ould skinflint," said he, "if I ever get near him again, may-be I won't touch him up for not doin' that same."

"Indeed, an' it would sarve him right," Peggy went on. "Swimmin' in plenty as he is, it's little that he thinks of the pinchin' hunger we feel."

"Don't don't," cried Bulworthy, pressing his hands against his gastronomic regions. "I feel it now, fairly sthranglin' me; it's just as if some wild savage beast was runnin' up and down here, sarchin' for somethin' to devour, and not bein' able to find it, is takin' mouthfuls out of my intayrior by the way of a relish; oh! murdher, I never knew what hunger was before."

"Didn't you, raylly?" Peggy replied, with a queer expression. "Faith, then, it wasn't for the want of chances enough."

"I mean--don't bother--it's famished I am, and crazy a'most; is there a dhrop of dhrink in the house?"

"Not as much as would make a tear for a fly's eye," said Peg.

"No! then what the Puck are we to do?"

"Bear it, I suppose, as well as we can; we've often done it afore, an'

what's worse, will have to do it agin, unless the hearts of the rich changes towards us."

"Oh! if ever I get back to myself again," muttered the hungry Squire.

"Peg, darlin', go over to the old schamer, an' tell him that av he doesn't send me the shillin' I'll expose him, I know more about him than he thinks for; if he's black conthrary, you might just whisper in his lug that I'm up to his thricks when he was in the grocery line; ax him for me, who shoved the pennies into the b.u.t.ther, wathered the whisky, and sanded the shugar, who"----

"Why, for gracious sake, Dan, where did you pick up all that knowledgeableness?" interrupted Peggy.

"Hem! no matther--never you mind--may-be I only dhreamt it," replied Bulworthy, with some hesitation. "I don't know exactly what I was talkin' about; it's the imptyness that's speakin', so I wouldn't mention it; only go and get somethin' somewhere, av it was only a brick."

"I'll be at him again, Dan, sence you wish it; but it's little blood I'm thinking, we'll be able to squeeze out of his turnip of a heart,"

said Peggy, putting on her shawl and bonnet, to make the thankless attempt. As she was going out of the door, however, she saw the Squire hobbling across the street.

"Talk of the--what's his name--May I never, but here the ould reprobate comes, hoppin' gingerly over the stones, like a hen walkin' on a hot griddle. May the saints soften him all over, an' make his heart as tendher as his toes this blessed day. I'll lave you wid him, Dan, darlin', for I'm not over partial to his company. So I'll take the babby out for a blast o' fresh air while yez are convarsin'."

Peggy's preparations for her promenade were quickly made, which resulted in her leaving the place before the gouty visitor had accomplished his short but painful transit from house to house.