“‘Never saw a wake?’ repeated each of the company in turn, as though the gentleman was uttering a sentiment of very dubious veracity. “‘Never,’ said Mr. Prettyman, rather abashed at this proof of his incapacity to instruct his English friends upon _all_ matters of Irish interest. “‘Well, then,’ said Macnamara, ‘with a blessing, we’ll show you one. Lord forbid that we shouldn’t do the honors of our poor country to an intelligent foreigner when he’s good enough to come among us.’ “‘Peter,’ said he, turning to the servant behind him, ‘who’s dead hereabouts?’ “‘Sorra one, yer honor. Since the scrimmage at Portumna the place is peaceable.’ “‘Who died lately in the neighborhood?’ “‘The widow Macbride, yer honor.’ “‘Couldn’t they take her up again, Peter? My friend here never saw a wake.’ “‘I’m afeered not; for it was the boys roasted her, and she wouldn’t be a decent corpse for to show a stranger,’ said Peter, in a whisper. “Mr. Prettyman shuddered at these peaceful indications of the neighborhood, and said nothing. “‘Well, then, Peter, tell Jimmy Divine to take the old musket in my bedroom, and go over to the Clunagh bog,--he can’t go wrong. There’s twelve families there that never pay a halfpenny rent; and _when it’s done_, let him give notice to the neighborhood, and we’ll have a rousing wake.’ “‘You don’t mean, Mr. Macnamara,--you don’t mean to say--’ stammered out the cockney, with a face like a ghost. “‘I only mean to say,’ said Phil, laughing, ‘that you’re keeping the decanter very long at your right hand.’ “Burke contrived to interpose before the Englishman could ask any explanation of what he had just heard,--and for some minutes he could only wait in impatient anxiety,--when a loud report of a gun close beside the house attracted the attention of the guests. The next moment old Peter entered, his face radiant with smiles. “‘Well, what’s that?’ said Macnamara. “‘‘T was Jimmy, yer honor. As the evening was rainy, he said he’d take one of the neighbors; and he hadn’t to go far, for Andy Moore was going home, and he brought him down at once.’ “‘Did he shoot him?’ said Mr. Prettyman, while cold perspiration broke over his forehead. ‘Did he murder the man?’ “‘Sorra murder,’ said Peter, disdainfully. ‘But why shouldn’t he shoot him when the master bid him?’ “I needn’t tell you more, Charley; but in ten minutes after, feigning some excuse to leave the room, the terrified cockney took flight, and offering twenty guineas for a horse to convey him to Athlone, he left Galway, fully convinced that they don’t yet know us on the other side of the Channel.” CHAPTER XIII. THE JOURNEY.