"Ay, but his father," continued the innocent girl; "to break into the
house at night an' rob him like a robber!"
"Well, I say, it's reported that he has been robbin' him these three
years in one shape or other," continued Art; "but here's Shibby, let's
hear what she'll say. What do you think, shibby?"
"About what, Art?"
"That Hycy Burke would rob his father!"
"Hut, tut! Art, what puts that into your head? Oh, no, Art--not at
all--to rob his father, an' him has been so indulgent to him!"
"Indeed, I agree with you, Shibby," said Bryan; "for although my opinion
of Hycy is changed very much for the worse of late, still I can't and
won't give in to that."
"An what has changed it for the worse?" asked his mother. "You an' he
wor very thick together always--eh? What has changed it, Bryan?"
Bryan began to rub his hand down the sleeve of his coat, as if freeing
it from dust, or perhaps admiring its fabric, but made no reply.
"Eh, Bryan," she continued, "what has changed your opinion of him?"
"Oh, nothing of much consequence, mother," replied her son; "but
sometimes a feather will toll one how the wind blows."
As he spoke, it might have been observed that he looked around upon the
family with an appearance of awakened consciousness that was very nearly
allied to shame. He recovered his composure, however, on perceiving
that none among them gave, either by look or manner, any indication of
understanding what he felt.
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