Across An Ulster Bog

I never textit{see a chicken again; I won't have them." Mr. Duffin was sitting over the dining-room fire with a pipe in his mouth; he kept his back turned upon Betty, and drummed impatiently on his knee with a broad flat hand which was not so clean as it might have been. It was a dreary day, a day on which Betty, and the fact that he could not be secure of the room to himself for five consecutive minutes, seemed particularly unbearable. A drizzling rain was falling every now and then, enough to make the prospect of an objectless walk untempting, and Mr. Duffin had been dragging out the afternoon dismally enough. The room had a stale smell of ale and mutton ; JrJetty had made several only half - successful attempts to take away the dinner-things. Shehad left the cover of the potato-dish and Mr. Duffin's plate on the sideboard, and had made no attempt to remove a cloth which was none too clean. What was the use, she would have said, when she would only have to put it back again for tea ? Perhaps with a similar idea, she had not troubled to dust the room for the last few days; when Mr. Duffin put up his hand on the mantelpiece to look for matches, he brought it back coated. " Matty says that sooner than take them on, she'll give you the chickens for shillin's apiece " The reappearance of Betty's smiling, dishevelled head was too much for him. He walked to the door, pushed her out, and slammed it hopelessly, for he had long ago learned th...