I am knowing how to be dealing with them. It will be all a matter of
religious up-bringing, as Father Corrigan was saying. I have but to go
to my devotions, and the devil will fly away with them."

"And supposing they have your purse?" said I. "The devil might fly
away with them to an ill tune for you."

"When they are flying away with my purse," he replied suggestively,
"they will be flying away with little of what could be called my
ancestral wealth."

"You are natural rogues," said I, "you and Jem Bottles. And you had
best not be talking of religion."

"Sure a man may take the purse of an ugly old sick monkey like him,
and still go with an open face to confession," rejoined Paddy, "and I
would not be backward if Father Corrigan's church was a mile beyond."

"And are you meaning that Father Corrigan would approve you in this
robbery?" I cried.

"Devil a bit he would, your honour," answered Paddy indignantly. "He
would be saying to me: 'Paddy, you limb of Satan, and how much did you
get?' I would be telling him. 'Give fifteen guineas to the Church, you
mortal sinner, and I will be trying my best for you,' he would be
saying. And I would be giving them."

"You are saved fifteen guineas by being in England, then," said I,
"for they don't do that here. And I am thinking you are traducing your
clergy, you vagabond."

"Traducing?" said he. "That would mean giving them money. Aye, I was
doing it often. One year I gave three silver shillings."

"You're wrong," said I. "By 'traducing' I mean speaking ill of your
priest."

"'Speaking ill of my priest'?" cried Paddy, gasping with amazement.
"Sure, my own mother never heard a word out of me!"

"However," said I, "we will be talking of other things. The English
land seems good."

Paddy cast his eye over the rainy landscape. "I am seeing no turf for
cutting," he remarked disapprovingly, "and the potatoes would not be
growing well here. 'Tis a barren country."

At nightfall we came to a little inn which was ablaze with light and
ringing with exuberant cries. We gave up our horses and entered. To
the left was the closed door of the taproom, which now seemed to
furnish all the noise. I asked the landlord to tell me the cause of
the excitement.

"Sir," he answered, "I am greatly honoured to-night. Mr. O'Ruddy, the
celebrated Irish swordsman, is within, recounting a history of his
marvellous exploits."

"Indeed!" said I.

"Bedad!" said Paddy.

CHAPTER XVI