fire off their guns, pretinding to be in a big passion, but only
to give their poor neighbors notice to escape as soon as they can."

In a short time they reached widow Buckley's cabin, who, on
understanding that it was Reilly who sought admittance, lost not a
moment in opening the door and letting them in. There was no candle lit
when they entered, but there was a bright turf fire "blinkin' bonnilie"
in the fireplace, from which a mellow light emanated that danced upon
the few plain plates that were neatly ranged upon her humble dresser,
but which fell still more strongly upon a clean and well-swept hearth,
on one side of which was an humble armchair of straw, and on the other a
grave, but placid-looking cat, purring, with half-closed eyes, her usual
song for the evening.

"Lord bless us! Mr. Reilly, is this you? Sure it's little I expected
you, any way; but come when you will, you're welcome. And who ought to
be welcome to the poor ould widow if you wouldn't?"

"Take a stool and sit down, honest man," she said, addressing Fergus;
"and you, Mr. Reilly, take my chair; it's the one you sent me yourself,
and if anybody is entitled to a sate in it, surely you are. I must light
a rush."

"No, Molly," replied Reilly, "I would be too heavy for your frail chair.
I will take one of those stout stools, which will answer me better."

She then lit a rush-light, which she pressed against a small cleft of
iron that was driven into a wooden shaft, about three feet long, which
stood upon a bottom that resembled the head of a churn-staff. Such
are the lights, and such the candlesticks, that are to be found in the
cabins and cottages of Ireland. "I suppose, Molly," said Reilly, "you
are surprised at a visit from me just now?"

"You know, Mr. Reilly," she replied, "that if you came in the deadest
hours of the night you'd be welcome, as I said--and this poor man is
welcome too--sit over to the fire, poor man, and warm yourself. Maybe
you're hungry; if you are I'll get you something to eat."

"Many thanks to you, ma'am," replied Fergus, "I'm not a taste hungry,
and could ait nothing now; I'm much obliged to you at the same time."

"Mr. Reilly, maybe you'd like to ait a bit. I can give you a farrel of
bread, and a sup o' nice goat's milk. God preserve him from evil that
gave me the same goats, and that's your four quarthers, Mr. Reilly. But
sure every thing I have either came or comes from your hand; and if I
can't thank you, God wi