"What's of it, ma'am," said they. "Faix, we think Mr. Doyle will be talkin' to you about it." And they were quite right; for Owny became indignant at being overreached, as he thought, and lost no time in going to the widow to tell her so. When he arrived at her cabin, Andy happened to be in the house; and when the widow raised her voice through the storm of Owny's rage, in protestations that she knew nothing about it, but that "Andy, the darlin', put the cock up with his own hands," then did Owny's passion gather strength. "Oh! it's you, you vagabone, is it?" said he, shaking his whip at Andy, with whom he never had had the honour of a conversation since the memorable day when his horse was nearly killed. "So this is more o' your purty work! Bad cess to you! wasn't it enough for you to nigh-hand kill one o' my horses, without plottin' to chate the rest o' them?" "Is it _me_ chate them?" said Andy. "Throth, I wouldn't wrong a dumb baste for the world." "Not he, indeed, Misther Doyle!" said the widow. "Arrah, woman, don't be talkin' your balderdash to me," said Doyle; "sure you took my good money for your hay!" "And sure I gave all I had to you--what more could I do?" "Tare an' ounty, woman! who ever heerd of sich a thing as coverin' up a rock wid hay, and sellin' it as the rale thing?" "'T was Andy done it, Mr. Doyle; hand, act, or part, I hadn't in it." "Why, then, aren't you ashamed o' yourself?" said Owny Doyle, addressing Andy. "Why would I be ashamed?" said Andy. "For chatin'--that's the word, since you provoke me." "What I done is not chatin'," said Andy. "I had a blessed example for it." "Oh! do you hear this!" shouted Owny, nearly provoked to take the worth of his money out of Andy's ribs. "Yes, I say a blessed example," said Andy. "Sure, didn't the blessed Saint Peter build his church upon a rock, and why shouldn't I build my cock o' hay on a rock?" Owny, with all his rage, could not help laughing at the ridiculous conceit. "By this and that, Andy," said he, "you're always sayin' or doin' the quarest things in the counthry, bad cess to you!" So he laid his whip upon his little hack instead of Andy, and galloped off. Andy went over the next day to the neighbouring town, where Owny Doyle kept a little inn and a couple of post-chaises (such as they were), and expressed much sorrow that Owny had been deceived by the appearance of the hay; "but I'll pay you the differ out o' my wages, Misther Doyle--in throth I will--that is, whenever I have any wages to get: for the Squire turned me off, you see, and I'm out of place at this present." "Oh, never mind it," said Owny. "Sure, it was the widow woman got the money, and I don't begrudge it; and now that it's all past and gone, I forgive you. But tell me, Andy, what put such a quare thing into your head?"