the worse for the wear, with two or three coarse shirts,
in perfect keeping with, the other portion of the disguise.

"Well, Mrs. Buckley," said he, "how have you been since I saw you last?"

"Oh, then, Mr. Reilly," said she, "it's a miracle from God that you did
not think of stopping here! I had several visits from the sogers who
came out to look for you."

"Well, I suppose so, Mrs. Buckley; but it was one comfort that they did
not find me."

"God be praised for that!" replied the poor woman, with tears in her
eyes; "it would a' broken my heart if you had been catched in my little
place."

"But, Mrs. Buckley," said Reilly, "were there any plain clothes left for
me here?"

"Oh, indeed there was, sir," she replied, "and I have them safe for
you; but, in the meantime, I'll go outside, and have an eye about the
country, for somehow they have taken it into their heads that this would
be a very likely place to find you."

While she was out, Reilly changed his dress, and in a few minutes
underwent such a metamorphosis that poor Mrs. Buckley, on reentering the
house, felt quite alarmed.

"Heavenly Father! my good man, where did you come from? I thought I left
Mr. --" here she stopped, afraid to mention Reilly's name.

"Don't be alarmed, Mrs. Buckley," said Reilly; "I am only changed in
outward appearance; I am your true friend still; and now accept this for
your kindness," placing money in her hand.

"I can't, Mr. Reilly; you are under the persecutions, and will want all
the money you have to support yourself. Didn't the thieves of the devil
burn you out and rob you, and how can you get through this wicked world
without money--keep it yourself, for I don't want it."

"Come, come, Mrs. Buckley, I have money enough; you must take this;
I only ask you to conceal these clothes in some place where the
hell-hounds of the law can't find them. And now, good-by, Mrs. Buckley;
I shall take care that, whatever may happen me, you shall not be
disturbed out of your little cabin and your garden."

The tears ran down the poor old woman's cheeks, and Reilly left her
sobbing and crying behind him. This indeed was an eventful day to him,
Strong in the confidence of his disguise, he took the public road, and
had not gone far when he met a party of Sir Robert Whitecraft's. To fly
would have been instant ruin; he accordingly commenced an old Irish song
at the very top of his lungs. Sir Robert Whitecraft was not himself of
the party