Father Jos, who, from the window, saw Harry’s dog snuffing along the path to the wood, thought he could not be far from the house, and went to make inquiries; and now when Sir Ulick and King Corny were left alone together, a dialogue--a sort of single combat, without any object but to try each other’s powers and temper--ensued between them; in which the one on the offensive came on with a tomahawk, and the other stood on the defensive parrying with a polished blade of Damascus; and sometimes, when the adversary was off his guard, making a sly cut at an exposed part. “What are you so busy about?” said Sir Ulick. “Mending the child’s toy,” said Cornelius. “A man must be doing something in this world.” “But a man of your ingenuity! ‘tis a pity it should be wasted, as I have often said, upon mere toys.” “Toys of one sort or other we are all taken up with through life, from the cradle to the grave. By-the-bye, I give you joy of your baronetage. I hope they did not make you pay, now, too much in conscience for that poor tag of nobility.” “These things are not always matters of bargain and sale--mine was quite an unsolicited honour, a mark of approbation and acceptance of my poor services, and as such, gratifying;--as to the rest, believe me, it was not, if I must use so coarse an expression, _paid_ for.” “Not paid for--what, then, it’s owing for? To be paid for still? Well, that’s too hard, after all you’ve done for them. But some men have no manner of conscience. At least, I hope you paid the fees.” “The fees, of course--but we shall never understand one another,” said Sir Ulick. “Now what will be the next title or string you look forward to, Ulysses, may I ask? Is it to be Baron Castle Hermitage, or to get a riband, or a garter, or a thistle, or what?--A thistle! What asses some men are!” What savages some men are, thought Sir Ulick: he walked to the window, and looking out, hoped that Harry Ormond would soon make his appearance. “You are doing, or undoing, a great deal here, cousin Cornelius, I see, as usual.” “Yes, but what I am doing, stand or fall, will never be my undoing--I am no speculator. How do your silver mines go on, Sir Ulick? I hear all the silver mines in Ireland turn out to be lead.” “I wish they did,” said Sir Ulick, “for then we could turn all our lead to gold. Those silver mines certainly did not pay--I’ve a notion you found the same with your reclaimed bog here, cousin Cornelius--I understand that after a short time it relapses, and is worse than ever, like most things pretending to be reclaimed.” “Speak for yourself, there, Sir Ulick,” said Cornelius; “you ought to know, certainly, for some thirty years ago, I think you pretended to be a reclaimed rake.” “I don’t remember it,” said Sir Ulick.