"An' is it yoursef that's axin' that same, Mikee?--why where is it I would be goin' but to the berrin'?" "I thought so in throth. It's yoursef that is always ripe and ready for fun." "And small blame to me." "Why then it was a mighty complate thing, whoever it was that thought of makin' a berrin', out of it." "And don't you know?" "Not to my knowledge." "Why then who 'ud you think now laid it all out?" "Faix I dunna--maybe 't was Pether Conolly." "No it wasn't, though Pether's a cute chap--guess again." "Well, was it Phil Mulligan?" "No it wasn't, though you made a good offer at it sure enough, for if it wasn't Phil, it was his sisther--" "'Tare alive, is it Biddy, it was?" "'Scure to the one else.--Oh she's the quarest craythur in life.--There's not a thrick out, that one's not up to, and more besides. By the powdhers o' war, she'd bate a field full o' lawyers at schkamin'--she's the Divil's Biddy." "Why thin but it was a grate iday intirely." "You may say that in throth--maybe it's we won't have the fun--but see who's before us there. Isn't it that owld Coogan?" "Sure enough by dad." "Why thin isn't he the rale fine ould cock to come so far to see the rights o' the thing?" "Faix he was always the right sort--sure in Nointy-eight, as I hear, he was malthrated a power, and his place rummaged, and himself a'most kilt, bekase he wouldn't inform an his neighbours." "God's blessin' be an him and the likes av him that wouldn't prove thraitor to a friend in disthress." Here they came up with the old man to whom they alluded--he was the remains of a stately figure, and his white hair hung at some length round the back of his head and his temples, while a black and well marked eyebrow overshadowed his keen grey eye--the contrast of the dark eyebrow to the white hair rendered the intelligent cast of his features more striking, and he was, altogether, a figure that one would not be likely to pass without notice. He was riding a small horse at an easy pace, and he answered the rather respectful salutation of the two foot passengers with kindness and freedom. They addressed him as "Mr. Coogan," while to them he returned the familiar term "boys." "And av coorse it's goin' to the berrin, you are, Mr. Coogan, and long life to you." "Aye, boys.--It's hard for an owld horse to leave off his thricks." "Owld is it?--faix and it's yourself that has more heart in you this blessed mornin' than many a man that's not half your age." "By dad I'm not a cowlt, boys, though I kick up my heels sometimes." "Well, you'll never do it younger, sir,--but sure why wouldn't you be there when all the counthry is goin' I hear, and no wondher sure.--By the hole in my hat it's enough, so it is, to make a sick man lave his bed to see the fun that'll be in it, and sure it's right and proper, and shows the sperit that's in the counthry, when a man like yourself, Mr. Coogan, joins the poor people in doin' it."