he man as mad; yet still the puzzle is to think
how he lives in such buck style--the vagabond. He certainly is involved
in some-mystery, for every one you meet or talk to is afraid of him."

"No, not every one, Alick; come, come, my boy, every general rule has an
exception; whisper--I could name you one who is not afraid of him"--and
this he said in a jocular tone--"I only wish," he added, raising his
voice with more confidence, "that I could get my thumb upon him, I
would--"

He was here interrupted by a loud but mellow voice, which rang
cheerfully with the following words:--

"I'm the rantin' Cannie Soogah."

"Ha! the Jolly Pedlar! Throw open the window, Fergus, till we have a
chat with him. Well, my rantin' Cannie Soogah, how are you?"

"Faith, your honor, I'm jist betwixt and between, as they say--naither
betther nor worse, but mixed middlin', like the praties in harvest.
However, it's good to be any way at all in these times; so thank God my
head's on my body still."

"Cannie," said Fergus, "we were just-talking of Buck English. Mr. Purcel
here-says that there's some mystery about him; for nobody knows how he
lives, and every one almost is afraid of him. My Father, however, denies
that every one is afraid of him."

"Buck English!" exclaimed the pedlar. "Mr. O'Driscol, darlin', what did
your honor say about him?"

"Why, I--I--a-hem--I wished to have the pleasure, Cannie,
of--of--shaking hands, with the honest fellow; was not that it, Alick?"

"Hands, or thumbs, or something that way," replied Alick; "threatening
him, as it were."

"Shaking hands, upon honor, Alick--thumb to thumb, you know."

"Well, Mr. O'Driscol, you're well known! to have more o' the divil
than the man in you--beggin' your pardon, sir, for the freedoms, I'm
takin'--but it's all for your own good I'm doin' it. Have you e're a
mouse-hole about your place, sir?"

"A-hem! Why, Cannie," asked O'Driscol, with an expression of strong
alarm in his face--"why do you ask so--so--singular a question as that?"

"Bekaise, sir, sooner than you should breathe--mind, breathe's the
word--one syllable against Buck English, I'd recommend you to go into
the mouse-hole I spoke of, and never show your face out of it agin.
I--an' everybody knows me, an' likes me, too, I hope--I meek--hem!
throth I do make it a point never to name him at all, barrin' when
I can't help it. Nobody knows anything about him, they say. By all
accounts, he never sleeps a week,