"Alley," said the man to his wife, on entering, "here's a stranger I've
brought you."
"Well," replied Alley, "he's welcome sure, any way; _Cead millia, failta
ghud_, alanna! sit over to the fire. Brian, get up, dear," said she to
one of the children, "an' let the stranger to the hob."
"He's goin' on a good errand, the Lord bless him!" said the husband, "up
the country for the larnin'. Put thim books over on the settle; an' whin
the, _girshas_ are done milkin', give him a brave dhrink of the sweet
milk; it's the stuff to thravel on."
"Troth, an' I will, wid a heart an' a half, wishin' it was betther I had
to give him. Here, Nelly, put down a pot o' wather, an' lave soap an'
a _praskeen_, afore you go to milk, till I bathe the dacent boy's feet.
Sore an' tired they are afther his journey, poor young crathur."
When Jemmy placed himself upon the hob, he saw that some peculiarly
good fortune had conducted him to so comfortable a resting-place. Ho
considered this as a good omen; and felt, in fact, much relieved, for
the sense of loneliness among strangers was removed.
The house evidently belonged to a wealthy farmer, well to do in
the world; the chimney was studded with sides upon sides of yellow
smoke-dried bacon, hams, and hung beef in abundance. The kitchen tables
were large, and white as milk; and the dresser rich in its shining array
of delf and pewter. Everything, in fact, was upon a large scale. Huge
meal chests were ranged on one side, and two or three settle beds on
the other, conspicuous, as I have said, for their uncommon cleanliness;
whilst hung from the ceiling were the _glaiks_, a machine for churning;
and beside the dresser stood an immense churn, certainly too unwieldy to
be managed except by machinery.
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