_Catty._ ‘Tis but a stone’s throw to Ballynavogue. But I don’t like to be going into the fair on foot, when I been always used to go in upon my pillion behind my husband when living, and my son Randal, after his death. Wait, who comes here?--‘Tis Gerald O’Blaney’s, the distiller’s, young man, Pat Coxe: now we’ll larn all--and whether O’Blaney can lend me the loan of a horse or no. A good morrow to you, kindly, Mr. Pat Coxe. _Enter PAT COXE._ _Pat._ And you the same, Mrs. Rooney, tinfold. Mr. O’Blaney has his _sarvices_ to you, ma’am: no, not his _sarvices_, but his compliments, that was the word--his kind compliments, that was the very word. _Catty._ The counshillor’s always very kind to me, and genteel. _Pat._ And was up till past two in the morning, last night, madam, he bid me say, looking over them papers you left with him for your shuit, ma’am, with the McBrides, about the bit of Ballynascraw bog; and if you call upon the counshillor in the course of the morning, he’ll find, or make, a minute, for a consultation, he says. But mane time, to take no step to compromise, or make it up, _for your life_, ma’am. _Catty._ No fear, I’ll not give up at law, or any way, to a McBride, while I’ve a drop of blood in my veins--and it’s good thick Irish blood runs in these veins. _Pat._ No doubt, ma’am--from the kings of Ireland, as all the world knows, Mrs. Rooney. _Catty._ And the McBrides have no blood at-all-at-all. _Pat._ Not a drop, ma’am--so they can’t stand before you. _Catty._ They _ought_ not, any way!--What are they? Cromwellians at the best. Mac Brides! Scotch!--not Irish native, at-all-at-all. People of yesterday, graziers--which tho’ they’ve made the money, can’t buy the blood. My anshestors sat on a throne, when the McBrides had only their _hunkers_[1] to sit upon; and if I walk now when they ride, they can’t look down upon me--for every body knows who I am--and what they are. [Footnote 1: Their _hunkers_, i.e. their hams.] _Pat._ To be sure, ma’am, they do--the whole country talks of nothing else, but the shame when you’d be walking and they riding. _Catty._ Then could the counshillor lend me the horse? _Pat._ With all the pleasure in life, ma’am, only every horse he has in the world is out o’ messages, and drawing turf and one thing or another to-day--and he is very sorry, ma’am. _Catty._ So am I, then--I’m unlucky the day. But I won’t be saying so, for fear of spreading ill luck on my faction. Pray now what kind of a fair is it?--Would there be any good signs of a fight, Mr. Pat Coxe? _Pat._ None in life as yet, ma’am--only just buying and selling. The horse-bastes, and horned-cattle, and pigs squeaking, has it all to themselves. But it’s early times yet--it won’t be long so. _Catty._ No McBrides, no Ballynavogue boys gathering yet? _Pat._ None to signify of the McBrides, ma’am, at all.