ent to prevent the bailiffs from slipping and floundering in the
deep sea-water pools left by the receding tide. Somehow the rope would
jerk, or a fisherman would slip, and down all would come together.
Meanwhile hoarse shouts echoed from the gallery of spectators above.

"Pull aft there, Bill."

"Let her head stand steady to the cliff."

"Port your helm, you lubber; don't you see where you're standing for?"

"Ease her, ease her, Tim! Now let her for'ard." And so, with shouts, and
orders, and a fair sprinkling of profane adjurations, the rescuers and
the rescued were hauled up the roughest side of the cliff, until the
black visages of the bailiffs were visible. Then there was a pause, and
many a sympathetic word for the "poor min."

"Where did they come from, at all?"

"No one knows. They're poor shipwrecked furriners."

"Have they any talk?"

"Very little, except to curse."

"Poor min! and I suppose they're all drowned wet."

Whilst the rescuing party halted, and wiped the perspiration from their
brows, one said, half apologetically:--

"I am axed by these gintlemin to tell ye--ahem! that there's a rule in
this village that no credit is given, from the price of an ounce of tay
to a pound of tobakky. An' if ye'd be so plasin' as to remimber that
poun' note ye promised, an' if it is convanient and contagious to ye,
perhaps--"

One of the bailiffs fumbled at his pockets in his critical condition,
and making a round ball of the note, he flung it up the cliff side with
a gesture of disgust. Jem Deady took up the missive, opened it calmly,
studied the numbers, and put it in his pocket.

"Now, byes, a long pull, a sthrong pull, and a pull thegither!"

And in an instant the bailiffs were sprawling on the green turf. Such
cheers, such congratulations, such slapping on the back, such hip! hip!
hurrahs! were never heard before. Then the procession formed and passed
on to the village; and to the melodious strains of "God save Ireland!"
the bailiffs were conducted to Father Letheby's house. Lizzie, half
crying, half laughing with delight for having escaped arrest and capital
punishment, prepared dinner with alacrity; and then a great hush fell on
the village--the hush of conjecture and surmise. Would the bailiffs
remain or depart? Would they recognize the deep hatred of the villagers
under all the chaff and fun, or would they take it as a huge joke? The
same questioning agitated their own minds; but they decided to