“No,” replied Linton; “that observation was mine, for really I was indignant at that summary system which disposes of a population as coolly as men change the cattle from one pasturage to another. Mr. Cashel, however, contented himself with a laugh, and such a laugh as, for his sake, I am right glad none of his unhappy tenantry were witness to.” “'You may do as you please down here, sir,' said Kenny-feck--who, by the way, does not seem to be any friend of yours--'but the Drumcoologan fellows must be humored.' “'I will see that,' said Mr. Cashel, who, in his own hotheaded way, actually likes opposition, 'but we 'll certainly begin with this fellow Keane.' “'I suppose you'll give him the means to emigrate?' said I, addressing Kennyfeck. “'We generally do in these cases,' said he. “'I'll not give the scoundrel a farthing,' broke in Mr. Cashel. 'I took a dislike to him from the very hour I came here.' And then he went on to speak about the dirt and neglect about the gate-lodge, the ragged appearance of the children--even your own looks displeased him; in fact, I saw plainly that somehow you had contrived to make him your enemy, not merely of a few days' standing, but actually from the moment of his first meeting you. Kennyfeck, though not your friend, behaved better than I expected: he said that to turn you out was to leave you to starve; that there was no employment to be had in the country; that your children were all young and helpless; that you were not accustomed to daily labor; indeed, he made out your case to be a very hard one, and backed as it was by myself, I hoped that we should have succeeded; but, as I said before, Mr. Cashel, for some reason of his own, or perhaps without any reason, hates you. He has resolved that out you shall go, and go you must!” Keane said nothing, but sat moodily moving his foot backwards and forwards on the gravel. “For Mr. Cashel's sake, I 'm not sorry the lot has fallen upon a quiet-tempered fellow like yourself; there are plenty here who would n't bear the hardship so patiently.” Keane looked up, and the keen twinkle of his gray eyes seemed to read the other's very thoughts. Linton, so proof against the searching glances of the well-bred world, actually cowered under the vulgar stare of the peasant. “So you think he's lucky that I 'm not one of the Drumcoologan boys?” said Keane; and his features assumed a smile of almost insolent meaning. “They're bold fellows, I've heard,” said Linton, “and quick to resent an injury.” “Maybe there's others just as ready,” said he, doggedly.