and
quiz him with impunity. The first portion of Furlong's penance
consisted in being dragged through dirty stable-yards and out-houses,
and shown the various pets of all the parties; dogs, pigeons, rabbits,
weasels, et caetera, were paraded, and their qualities expatiated upon,
till poor Furlong was quite weary of them, and expressed a desire to
see the domain. Horatio, the second boy, whose name was abbreviated to
Ratty, told him they must wait for Gusty, who was mending his spear.
"We're going to spear for eels," said the boy; "did you ever spear for
eels?"

"I should think not," said Furlong, with a knowing smile, who suspected
this was intended to be a second edition of quizzing _a la mode de
saumon_.

"You think I'm joking," said the boy, "but it's famous sport, I can
tell you; but if you're tired of waiting here, come along with me to
the milliner's, and we can wait for Gusty there."

While following the boy, who jumped along to the tune of a jig he was
whistling, now and then changing the whistle into a song to the same
tune, with very odd words indeed, and a burden of gibberish ending with
"riddle-diddle-dow," Furlong wondered what a milliner could have to do
in such an establishment, and his wonder was not lessened when his
guide added, "The milliner is a queer chap, and maybe he'll tell us
something funny."

"Then the milline' is a man?" said Furlong.

"Yes," said the boy, laughing; "and he does not work with needle and
thread either."

They approached a small out-house as he spoke, and the sharp clinking
of a hammer fell on the ear. Shoving open a rickety door, the boy
cried, "Well, Fogy, I've brought a gentleman to see you. This is Fogy,
the milliner, sir," said he to Furlong, whose surprise was further
increased, when, in the person of the man called the milliner, he
beheld a tinker.

"What a strange pack of people I have got amongst," thought Furlong.

The old tinker saw his surprise, and grinned at him. "I suppose it was
a nate young woman you thought you'd see when he towld you he'd bring
you to the milliner--ha! ha! ha! Oh, they're nate lads, the Master
O'Gradys; divil a thing they call by the proper name, at all."

"Yes, we do," said the boy, sharply; "we call ourselves by our proper
name. Ha! Fogy, I have you there."

"Divil a taste, as smart as you think yourself, Masther Ratty; you call
yourselves gentlemen, and that's not your proper name."

Ratty, who was scraping triangles on the