moon, taking a pinch of snuff, when I was
done, 'you must not stay here.' 'Indeed, sir,' says I, ''tis much
against my will that I'm here at all; but how am I to go back?' 'That's
your business,' said he; 'Dan, mine is to tell you that you must not
stay, so be off in less than no time.' 'I'm doing no harm,' said I,
'only holding on hard by the reaping-hook lest I fall off.' 'That's what
you must not do, Dan,' says he. 'Pray, sir,' says I, 'may I ask how many
you are in family that you would not give a poor traveller lodging? I'm
sure 'tis not often you're troubled with strangers coming to see you,
for 'tis a long way.' 'I'm by myself, Dan,' says he, 'but you'd better
let go the reaping-hook.' 'Faith, and with your leave,' says I, 'I'll
not let go the grip, and the more you bids me the more I won't let
go--so I will.' 'You had better, Dan,' says he again. 'Why, then, my
little fellow,' says I, taking the whole weight of him with my eye from
head to foot, 'there are two words to that bargain; and I'll not
budge--you may, if you like.' 'We'll see how that is to be,' says he;
and back he went, giving the door such a great bang after him (for it
was plain he was huffed), that I thought the moon and all would fall
down with it.

"Well, I was preparing myself to try strength with him, when back he
comes, with the kitchen cleaver in his hand, and without saying a word
he gives two bangs to the handle of the reaping-hook that was holding me
up, and _whap_ it came in two. 'Good morning to you, Dan,' says the
spiteful little blackguard, when he saw me cleanly falling down with a
bit of the handle in my hand; 'I thank you for your visit, and fair
weather after you, Daniel.' I had no time to make any answer to him, for
I was tumbling over and over, and rolling and rolling, at the rate of a
fox-hunt. 'God help me!' says I, 'but this is a pretty pickle for a
decent man to be seen in at this time of the night. I am now sold
fairly.' The word was not out of my mouth, when, whiz! what should fly
by close to my ear but a flock of wild geese, all the way from my own
bog of Ballyasheenagh, else how should they know _me_? The _ould_
gander, who was their general, turning about his head, cried out to me,
'Is that you, Dan?' 'The same,' said I, not a bit daunted now at what he
said, for I was by this time used to all kinds of _bedivilment_, and,
besides, I knew him of _ould_. 'Good morrow to you,' says he, 'Daniel
O'Rourke; how are you in heal