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OLD MICHAEL INFORMS JERRY THAT HE CAN DO NOTHING WITH PEGGY
young Jerry, while you could have counted a hundred and five.
"Arrah!" said the father, at last, with the fierceness of a man who knows his womenfolks are not by. "Dont yo be afther frettin', me bye. Lave th' lass t' me. A colleen," says Michael, savagely, "is like a colt. She balks at th' bit at firrst an' shows her heels, but niver a colt yit thot couldn't be harnessed in th' ind. Lave her t' me, Jerry; lave her t' me."
'Twas a matter of a seven-night later, with the gorse blazing like rooted sunbeams along the laneside and the larks gossiping in the thorn hedges, when Peggy and her father set out for the fair at Killarney, driving their kine afore them. Never had the contrary lass looked sweeter than on this same morning, with an artful scrap of green ribbon twisted in her black curls and the joy of the day in her face. Spite of the empty place, by her side, where a certain young blacksmith should have been and
wasn't, Peggy was heartset on enjoy'ing herself, and, when the fair was gained at last, she soon had no lack of gallants to make up for Master Jerry. Flags were flying from every tent-peak; a steam-organ was grinding out jigs, and a hundred bold gossoons and rosy colleens were footing it on the green. A neater ankle had no lass than our Peggy, and in all Erin none danced better, for love of the youth and the joy of living that tickled her heels. So the day passed pleasantly enough, and on the edge of the evening she left half a score of new admirers, stammering and sighing and staring, as is the way with gossoons in love, and turned homewards with her father and the sheep that he had bought at the fair. And, afore ever she knew it, there was Jerry Donovan himself, in his old, black apron, new-banding a wagon-wheel in his own front yard, with a look in his face at seeing her like a priest's saying Mass.
"Hivin bless yez!" said Michael,