“Holy Saint Bridget,” cried a pious old woman, “he's to put on his brogues! An' is it The Mac has bid ye, Eugene?” “Sorra a sowl ilse. So just shake a coal in iviry fut to thaw thim a bit, alana.” While the old woman was performing this operation over the turf fire, there was some discussion as to what was the nature of the circumstances that demanded such an unusual proceeding on the part of The Macnamara. “It's only The Mac himsilf that sames to know--. knock the ashes well about the hale, ma'am--for Masther Standish was as much put out as mesilf whin The Mac says--nivir moind the toes, ma'am, me fut'll nivir go more nor halfways up the sowl--says he, 'Git on yer boots;' as if it was the ordinarist thing in the world;--now I'll thry an' squaze me fut in.” And he took the immense boot so soon as the fiery ashes had been emptied from its cavity. “The Mac's pride'll have a fall,” remarked the old man in the corner sagaciously. “I shouldn't wondher,” said Eugene, pulling on one of the boots. “The spring is patched with hemp, but it's as loikely to give way as not--holy Biddy, ye've left a hot coal just at the instep that's made its way to me bone!” But in spite of this catastrophe, the boy trudged off to the car, his coat's tails flapping like the foresail of a yacht brought up to the wind. Then he cautiously mounted his seat in front of the car, letting a boot protrude effectively on each side of the narrow board. The Macnamara and his son, who had exchanged no word during the short absence of Eugene in the kitchen, then took their places, the horse was aroused from its slumber, and they all passed down the long dilapidated avenue and through the broad entrance between the great mouldering pillars overclung with ivy and strange tangled weeds, where a gate had once been, but where now only a rough pole was drawn across to prevent the trespass of strange animals. Truly pitiful it was to see such signs of dilapidation everywhere around this demesne of Innishdermot. The house itself was an immense, irregularly built, rambling castle. Three-quarters of it was in utter ruin, but it had needed the combined efforts of eight hundred years of time and a thousand of Cromwell's soldiers to reduce the walls to the condition in which they were at present. The five rooms of the building that were habitable belonged to a comparatively new wing, which was supported on the eastern side by the gable of a small chapel, and on the western by the wall of a great round tower which stood like a demolished sugar-loaf high above all the ruins, and lodged a select number of immense owls whose eyesight was so extremely sensitive, it required an unusual amount of darkness for its preservation.