Directly Patsy had left the news that the “quality” were coming to the meet and returned to the house, the crowd in front of the Castle Knock inn thickened. Word of the impending event went from cabin to cabin, and Mr Mahony, the chimney sweep, put his head out of his door. “What’s the news, Rafferty?” cried Mr Mahony. “Mimber of Parlymint and all the quality comin’ to the meet!” cried a ragged-looking ruffian who was running by. “Sure, it’ll be a big day for Shan Finucane,” said Mrs Mahony, who was standing behind her husband in the doorway with a baby in her arms. Mr Mahony said nothing for a while, but watched the crowd in front of the inn. “Look at him,” said Mr Mahony, breaking out at last—“look at him in his ould green coat! Look at him with the ould whip undher his arm, and the boots on his feet not paid for, and him struttin’ about as if he was the Marquis of Watherford! Holy Mary! did yiz ever see such an objick! Mr Mullins!” “Halloo!” replied Mr Mullins, the cobbler across the way, who, with his window open owing to the mildness of the weather, was whaling away at a shoe-sole, the only busy man in the village. “Did y’ hear the news?” “What news?” “Shan’s going to get a new coat.” “Faith, thin, I hope he’ll pay first for his ould shoes.” “How much does he owe you?” “Siven and six—bad cess to him!” “He’ll pay you to-night, if he doesn’t drink the money first, for there’s a Mimber of Parlymint goin’ to the meet, and he’ll most like put a suverin in the poor box.” Mr Mullins made no reply, but went on whaling away at his shoe, and Bob Mahony, having stepped into his cottage for a light for his pipe, came back and took up his post again at the door. The crowd round the inn was growing bigger and bigger. Sneer as he might, Mr Mahony could not but perceive that Shan was having the centre of the stage, a worshipping audience, and free drinks. Suddenly he turned to his offspring, who were crowding behind him, and singling out Billy, the eldest: “Put the dunkey to,” said Mr Mahony. “Sure, daddy,” cried the boy in astonishment, “it’s only the tarriers.” “Put the dunkey to!” thundered his father, “or it’s the end of me belt I’ll be brightenin’ your intellects with.” “There’s two bags of sut in the cart and the brushes,” said Billy, as he made off to do as he was bidden. “Lave them in,” said Mr Mahony; “it’s only the tarriers.” In a few minutes the donkey, whose harness was primitive and composed mainly of rope, was put to, and the vehicle was at the door. “Bob!” cried his wife, as he took his seat. “What is it?” asked Mr Mahony, taking the reins. “Won’t you be afther givin’ your face the lick of a tow’l?” “It’s only the tarriers,” replied Mr Mahony; “sure, I’m clane enough for them. Come up wid you, Norah.” Norah, the small donkey, whose ears had been cocking this way and that, picked up her feet, and the vehicle, which was not much bigger than a costermonger’s barrow, started.