ail we can't,
an' if we succeed it'll be good to come in for anything from the ould
scoundrel, before the devil gets him."

Jemmy gave him a look.

"Why, what have you to say against the ould boy? Sure it's not casting
reflections on your own masther you'd be."

"Oh, not at all," replied the pedlar, "especially when I'm expectin' a
favor from one of his sarvints. Throth he'll soon by all accounts have
his hook in the ould Clip o' the! Grange--an' afther that some of his
friends will soon folly him. I wouldn't be mainin' one Jemmy Branigan.
Oh, dear no--but it's a sure case that's the Black Boy's intention to
take the whole family by instalments, an' wid respect to the sarvints to
place them in their ould situations. Faith you'll have a warm berth of
it, Jemmy, an' well you desarve it."

"Why then you circulating vagabone," replied Jemmy; "if you wern't a
close friend to him, you'd not know his intentions so well. Don't let
out on yourself, man alive, unless you have the face to be proud of your
acquaintance, which in throth is more than anyone, barrin' the same set,
could be of you."

"Well, well," retorted the pedlar, "sure blood alive, as we're all of
the same connection, let us not quarrel now, but sarve another if we
can. Go an' tell the old blackguard I want to see him about business."

"Will I tell him you're itchy about the houghs?--eh? However, the thruth
is, that they,"--and he pointed to the stocks--"might be justice, but no
novelty to you. The iron gathers is an ornament you often wore, an' will
again, plase goodness."

"Throth, and. your ornament is one you'll never wear a second time--the
hemp collar will grace your neck yet; but never mind, you're leadin' the
life to desarve it. See now if I can spake a word wid your masther for a
poor family."

"Why, then, to avoid your tongue, I may as well tell you that himself,
Masther Richard, and Darby Skinadre's in the office; an' if you can use
the same blackguard tongue as well in a good cause as you can in a bad
one, it would be well for the poor crayturs. Go in now, an'," he added
in another soliloquy, "may the Lord prosper his virtuous endayvors, the
vagabone; although all hope o' that's past, I doubt; for hasn't Skinadre
the promise, and Masther Richard the bribe? However, who can tell?---so
God prosper the vagabone, I say again."

The pedlar, on entering, found old Henderson sitting in an arm-chair,
with one of his legs, as usual, bandaged and stre