O’Brien, a son of ould Bob O’Brien, who was the richest and proudest man in the County Tipperary. Ould Bob thraces his ancestors for five hundhred years, and he owns a mile of land and has forty tenants. He had no child but this omadhaun.”
“And who is the colleen? Some grand Princess, I suppose,” said Maureen.
“There was the whole throuble,” answered the little man. “Why, she’s no one at all, but a little white-cheeked, brown-eyed, black-haired girl named Norah Costello, belonging to one of his own tenants on the domain. It all came from eddicatin’ people above their station.”
“Faix,” Darby says, “there’s Phelem Brady, the stonecutter, a fine, dacint man he was till he made up his mind to larn the history of Ireland from ind to ind. When he got so far as where the Danes killed Brian Boru he took to dhrink, and the divil a ha’porth’s good he’s been ever since. But lade on with your discoorse, King,” says he, waving his noggin of punch.
At this the King filled his pipe, Maureen threw fresh turf on the fire, and the wind dhrew the sparks dancing up the chimney. Now and thin while the
