One morning, Mr Plunket taking an early walk was overtaken by two respectable-looking men, carpenters apparently by trade, each carrying the implements of his work. ‘Good-morning, my friends,’ said the old gentleman; ‘you are early afoot. Going on a job, eh?’ ‘Good-morrow kindly, sir; yes, we are; and a quare job too. The quarest and the most out-of-the-way you ever heard of, I’ll be bound, though you’ve lived long in the world, and heard and read of many a thing. Oh, you’ll never guess it, your honour, so I may as well tell at once. We’re going to cut the legs off a dead man.’ ‘What!’ cried his hearer, aghast. ‘You don’t mean’—— ‘Yes, indeed, ’tis true for me; and here’s how it come about. Poor Mary Neil’s husband—a carpenter like ourselves, and an old comrade—has been sick all the winter, and departed life last Tuesday. What with the grief and the being left on the wide world with her five orphans, and no one to earn bit or sup for them, the craythur is fairly out of her mind—stupid from the crying and the fret; for what does she do, poor woman, but send the wrong measure for the coffin; and when it come home it was ever so much too short! Barney Neil was a tall man; nigh six feet we reckoned him. He couldn’t be got into it, do what they would; and the poor craythur hadn’t what would buy another. Where would she get it, after the long sickness himself had, and with five childher to feed and clothe? So, your honour, all that’s in it is to cut the legs off him. Me and my comrade here is going to do it for the desolate woman. We’ll just take ’em off at the knee-joints and lay them alongside him in the coffin. I think, sir, now I’ve told you our job, you’ll say ’tis the quarest ever you heard of.’ ‘Oh!’ cried the old gentleman, ‘such a thing must not be done. It’s impossible! How much will a new coffin cost?’ The carpenter named the sum, which was immediately produced, and bestowed on him with injunctions to invest forthwith in the necessary purchase. The business, however, took quite an unexpected turn. Mr Plunket on his return home related his matutinal adventure to his family at breakfast, the future Chancellor, then a young barrister, being at the table. Before the meal was ended, the carpenters made their appearance, and with many apologies tendered back the coin they had received. He who had been spokesman in the morning explained that on seeing the gentleman in advance of them on the road, he had for a lark made a bet with his companion that he would obtain the money; which, having won his wager, he now refunded. Genuine Irish this! MONSIEUR HOULOT. IN THREE CHAPTERS. CHAPTER III.—TO-MORROW—LIBERTY.