the road, when his
brother was nigh killed, and towld me to get up, for he wouldn't go no
farther, when the jintleman objected----"

"What did the gentleman object to?"

"He objected to Pether goin' into the shay."

"Who is Peter?"

"Pether Doolin, to be sure."

"And what brought Peter Doolin there?"

"He fell off the horses----"

"Wasn't it Mick Doolin you said was driving but a moment ago?"

"Ay, sir, but that was th' other shay."

"What other chaise, you vagabond?"

"Th' other shay, your honour, that I never see at all, good or
bad--only Pether."

"What diabolical confusion you are making of the story, to be sure!
There's no use in talking to you here, I see. Bring him after me," said
the Squire, to some of his people standing by. "I must keep him in
custody till something more satisfactory is made out about the matter."

"Sure it's not makin' a presner of me you'd be?" said Andy.

"You shall be kept in confinement, you scoundrel, till something is
heard of this strange gentleman. I'm afraid he's drowned."

"D----l a dhrowned. I dhruv him to Squire Egan's, I'll take my book
oath."

"That's downright nonsense, sir. He would as soon go into Squire Egan's
house as go to Fiddler's Green."[5]

[5] Fiddler's Green is supposed to be situated on this (the cooler)
side of the regions below.

"'Faith, then, there's worse places than Fiddler's Green," said Andy,
"as some people may find out one o' these days."

"I think, boys," said O'Grady, to the surrounding countrymen, "we must
drag the river."

"Dhrag the river if you plase," said Andy; "but, for the tendher mercy
o' Heaven, don't dhrag me to jail! By all the crosses in a yard o'
check, I dhruv the jintleman to Squire Egan's!--and there he was in that
boat I showed you five minutes agone."

"Bring him after me," said O'Grady. "The fellow is drunk still, or
forgets all about it; I must examine him again. Take him over to the
hall, and lock him up till I go home."

"Arrah sure, your honour," said Andy, commencing an appeal.

"If you say another word, you scoundrel," said the Squire, shaking his
whip at him, "I'll commit you to jail this minute. Keep a sharp eye
after him, Molloy," were the last words of the Squire to a stout-built
peasant, who took Andy in charge as the Squire mounted his horse and
rode away.

Andy was marched off to Neck-or-Nothing Hall; and, in compliance with
the Squire's orders, locked up in the justice-room. Thi