the
rain came pelting down wherever there was a clearing, and the cold
March wind tore through the trees. Glad he was then when he saw a light
in the distance, and drawing near found a cabin, though for the life of
him he couldn't think how it came there. However, in he walked, after
tying up his horse, and right welcome was the brushwood fire blazing on
the hearth. And there stood a chair right and tight, that seemed to
say, "Come, sit down in me." There wasn't a soul else in the room.
Well, he did sit, and got a little warm and cheered after his
drenching. But all the while he was wondering and wondering.

"Andrew Coffey! Andrew Coffey!"

Good heavens! who was calling him, and not a soul in sight? Look around
as he might, indoors and out, he could find no creature with two legs
or four, for his horse was gone.

"ANDREW COFFEY! ANDREW COFFEY! tell me a story."

It was louder this time, and it was nearer. And then what a thing to
ask for! It was bad enough not to be let sit by the fire and dry
oneself, without being bothered for a story.

"ANDREW COFFEY! ANDREW COFFEY!! Tell me a story, or it'll be the worse
for you."

My poor grandfather was so dumbfounded that he could only stand and
stare.

"ANDREW COFFEY! ANDREW COFFEY! I told you it'd be the worse for you."

And with that, out there bounced, from a cupboard that Andrew Coffey
had never noticed before, _a man_. And the man was in a towering rage.
But it wasn't that. And he carried as fine a blackthorn as you'd wish
to crack a man's head with. But it wasn't that either. But when my
grandfather clapped eyes on him, he knew him for Patrick Rooney, and
all the world knew _he'd_ gone overboard, fishing one night long years
before.

Andrew Coffey would neither stop nor stay, but he took to his heels and
was out of the house as hard as he could. He ran and he ran taking
little thought of what was before till at last he ran up against a big
tree. And then he sat down to rest.

He hadn't sat for a moment when he heard voices.

"It's heavy he is, the vagabond." "Steady now, we'll rest when we get
under the big tree yonder." Now that happened to be the tree under
which Andrew Coffey was sitting. At least he thought so, for seeing a
branch handy he swung himself up by it and was soon snugly hidden away.
Better see than be seen, thought he.

The rain had stopped and the wind fallen. The night was blacker than
ever, but Andrew Coffey could see four men, and they w