“Come here, you other man,” said she; “perhaps you are not such an insolent ruffian as this? Can you tell me if Mr. and Mrs. Goodwin are at home?” “Are you goin' there?” asked the man, making a low bow. “Yes, I am, my good man,” she replied. “Well, then, ma'am,” he added, bowing again, “you'll find that out when you go to the house;” and he made her another bow to wind up the information with all due politeness. “Barney,” said she to the servant, her face inflamed with rage, “drive on. I only wish I had those ruffianly scoundrels to deal with; I would teach them manners to their betters at all events; and you, sirra, why did you not use your whip and chastise them?” “Faith, ma'am,” replied our friend Barney Casey, “it's aisier said than done wid some of us. Why, ma'am, they're the two hardiest and best men in the parish; however, here's Pugshy Ruah turnin' out o' the gate, and she'll be able to tell you whether they are at home or not.” “O, that's the woman they say is unlucky,” observed his mistress--“unlucky to meet, I mean; I have often heard of her; indeed, it may be so, for I believe there are such persons; we shall speak to her, however. My good woman,” she said, addressing Pugshy, “allow me to ask, have you been at Mr. Goodwin's?” Now Pugshy had all the legitimate characteristics of an “unlucky” woman; red-haired, had a game eye--that is to say, she squinted with one of them; Pugshy wore a caubeen hat, like a man; had on neither shoe nor stocking; her huge, brawny arms, uncovered almost to the shoulders, were brown with freckles, as was her face; so that, altogether, she would have made a bad substitute either for the Medicean Venus or the Apollo Belvidere. “My good woman, allow me to ask if you have been at Mr. Goodwin's.” Pugshy, who knew her well, stood for a moment, and closing the eye with which she did not squint, kept the game one fixed upon her very steadily for half a minute, and as she wore the caubeen rather rakishly on one side of her head, her whole figure and expression were something between the frightful and the ludicrous. “Was I at Misther Goodwin's, is it? Lord love you, ma'am, (and ye need it, _sotto voce_), an' maybe you'd give us a thrifle for the male's mate; it's hard times wid us this weader.” “I have no change; I never bring change out with me.” “You're goin' to Mr. Goodwin's, ma'am?” “Yes; are he and Mrs. Goodwin at home, can you tell me?” “They are, ma'am, but you may as well go back again; you'll have no luck this day.” “Why so?” “Why, bekaise you won't; didn't you meet me? Who ever has luck that meets me? Nobody ought to know that betther than yourself, for, by all accounts, you're tarred wid the same stick.” “Foolish woman,” replied Mrs. Lindsay, “how is it in your power to prevent me?”