“Come on,” said Con; “what are you afeared of?” “It’s the witches,” said Patsy, in a terrified voice. “Sure, Uncle Con, where’s your eyes that you can’t see the light of their fire, and they sittin’ round it biling babies in pots——” Con, without answering, seized his nephew by the ear and dragged him along through the trees in the direction of the light. The boy did not mind the pain; it was almost a relief, for it helped to drive the witches from his mind. A moment later they broke into a little clearing in the midst of which a fire of holly sticks was burning brightly. By the fire sat something as bad, or maybe worse, than a company of witches. It was Paddy Murphy. He was sitting on a bundle of dried ferns toasting his toes at the burning logs, his old hat without a brim was on the back of his head, and he held a big stick in his hand with which every now and then he gave the burning embers a prod. “So you’ve brought him,” said Paddy, looking up as Con, leading his nephew by the ear, broke out of the wood into the zone of firelight; “you’ve cocht him alive-o. Faith, but it’s well he’s looking; but what’s become of his buttons and stripes?” “Faith, he’s left them behind him,” said Con making his nephew sit down on the ground, and sitting down beside him. “I can’t supply him with buttons,” said Mr Murphy, “but I’ve a large supply of stripes, and I’ll be after dealin’ them out to him right handed if he so much as opens his mouth, or stirs a finger, or does anythin’ but keep his ears wide and listens to my directions. Are yiz listenin’ to me, Patsy Rooney?” “I am,” said Patsy. “Well, keep on listenin’ and answer me questions. First and foremost, when’s the quality coming to the Big House?” “Day after to-morrow,” replied Patsy. “How many is there?” went on Mr Murphy, prodding the fire meditatively with his stick. “Dozens of them. I heard Mrs Kinsella sayin’ that a lot of thim was comin’ by spicial train to Tullagh station.” Tullagh was the nearest railway station to Glen Druid Park, and it was fifteen miles away. “Did you hear tell of anything else about them?” asked Mr Murphy. “I heard Mrs Kinsella say——” began Patsy, then he stopped. “What did you hear her say?” “Ohone!” wailed Patsy, “sure, I oughtn’t to be tellin’ you——” Mr Murphy drew a clasp-knife from his pocket, opened it, tried the point on his thumb to see if it were sharp, then, holding Patsy down with one big hand on his chest, he approached the point of the knife to his throat. “Don’t do it, Paddy!” cried Con, pretending to be alarmed. “I’ve made up me mind,” said Mr Murphy, “I’ve made up me mind to see the colour of his blood, there’s no use in tryin’ to stop me. I’ve made up me mind to see the colour of his blood.”