'That's it, I suppose,' resumed O'Hoolohan with a sigh. 'Of course she must have been,' he added, after thinking a little, as if a new revelation had dawned upon him. 'Anyhow, he wasn't as good a boy as he ought to have been, and 'tis sorry he is to-day to have to own it. Well, it's no use crying over spilt milk. To get on with my tale. I raked and I rambled--I may as well make a clean breast of it--and in the end I took a liking to a cavalry uniform I saw in Ballincollig, and I 'listed. My father paid the smart-money, my mother cried, and I was lugged home. Then they bound me to a saddler. After a month I 'listed again: he bought me off again, and the old game of tears from the mother and promises of repentance from the hopeful youth, and stern majesty from the father, was repeated. Six months after, the quicksilver got up in my constitution again. I determined not to be balked this time, so I went to the old fellow, said I was going to 'list, and wouldn't be bought out. '"Mother'll buy you out," says he. '"I'll 'list again," says I; "see who'll get tired of that trick first." '"She prevailed on you to leave off your soldiering notions twice before," said he again. '"The third time has the charm," was my answer. 'He reflected awhile: "Well, if you will be a soldier, I suppose it's wrong to bar such a fine fellow the chance of getting a bullet in his head." '"Oh!" said I gaily, "the man that is born to be hanged will never be shot." '"Go your way, then," said he. '"You'd better let me have that one-and-twenty shillings smart you used to pay, to drink your long life, and a healthy thirst for learning to the rising generation of Corkonians." 'If I hadn't ducked my head at the moment, I mightn't be here to tell you. He had levelled "lamb and salad," as he used to call his slapper--the superannuated bolt of an outhouse--at the place where my brains ought to have been. The good man had a temper of his own.' 'Is he no more?' 'These ten years. So is my mother, and if I ever go back to Ireland again, one of the businesses that will take me there is to put a stone over their graves. The regiment which I joined was one of the medium cavalry, and my knowledge of saddlery stood me in good stead. Because of it I got promoted, which was not an ordinary piece of luck, for the corps was an English one, and a Paddy had little chance of the stripes anywhere except on his back. It was in the Tangiers Horse I learned to be a rebel and a democrat. To see young spooneys, fresh from their mother's apron-strings, spooneys not able to grow a beard, hemming and hawing on a parade-ground, and strutting about in command of old soldiers that were black with powder before they were born! It sickened me, I tell you Pshaw! All men are equal.' 'As all the fingers of our hand are of the same length,' quietly observed O'Hara. The democratic dragoon did not regard the interruption, but continued: