“Dinah Shadd, you're a dishgrace to an honust, clane-scraped man!” said Mulvaney, without replying to me. “Grow a beard on your own chin, darlint, and lave my razors alone. They're all that stand betune me and dis-ris-pect-ability. Av I didn't shave, I wud be torminted wid an outrajis thurrst; for there's nothin' so dhryin' to the throat as a big billy-goat beard waggin' undher the chin. Ye wudn't have me dhrink always, Dinah Shadd'? By the same token, you're kapin' me crool dhry now. Let me look at that whiskey.” The whiskey was lent and returned, but Dinah Shadd, who had been just as eager as her husband in asking after old friends, rent me with-- “I take shame for you, Sorr, coming down here though the Saints know you're as welkim as the daylight whin you do come--an' upsettin' Terence's head wid your nonsense about--about fwhat's much betther forgotten. He bein' a civilian now, an' you niver was aught else. Can you not let the Arrmy rest? 'Tis not good for Terence.” I took refuge by Mulvaney, for Dinah Shadd has a temper of her own. “Let be--let be,” said Mulvaney. “'Tis only wanst in a way I can talk about the ould days.” Then to me--“Ye say Dhrumshticks is well, an' his lady tu'? I niver knew how I liked the gray garron till I was shut av him an' Asia.”--“Dhrumshticks” was the nickname of the Colonel commanding Mulvaney's old regiment.--“Will you be seein' him again? You will. Thin tell him”--Mulvaney's eyes began to twinkle--“tell him wid Privit--” “Mister, Terence,” interrupted Dinah Shadd. “Now the Divil an' all his angils an' the Firmament av Hiven fly away wid the 'Mister,' an' the sin av makin' me swear be on your confession, Dinah Shadd! Privit, I tell ye. Wid Privit Mulvaney's best obedience, that but for me the last time-expired wud be still pullin' hair on their way to the sea.” He threw himself back in the chair, chuckled, and was silent. “Mrs. Mulvaney,” I said, “please take up the whiskey, and don't let him have it until he has told the story.” Dinah Shadd dexterously whipped the bottle away, saying at the same time, “'Tis nothing to be proud av,” and thus captured by the enemy, Mulvaney spake:-- “'Twas on Chuseday week. I was behaderin' round wid the gangs on the 'bankmint--I've taught the hoppers how to kape step an' stop screechin'--whin a head-gangman comes up to me, wid about two inches av shirt-tail hanging round his neck an' a disthressful light in his oi. 'Sahib,' sez he, 'there's a reg'mint an' a half av soldiers up at the junction, knockin' red cinders out av ivrything an' ivrybody! They thried to hang me in my cloth,' he sez, 'an' there will be murdher an' ruin an' rape in the place before nightfall! They say they're comin' down here to wake us up. What will we do wid our women-folk?' “'Fetch my throlly!' sez I; 'my heart's sick in my ribs for a wink at anything wid the Quane's uniform on ut. Fetch my throlly, an' six av the jildiest men, and run me up in shtyle.'”