“I peeped quietly through the windy, an’ there was sittin’ the ould villin two-double over a few coals upon the hearth--for he begrudged himself a dacent fire--and two women were spinnin’ in the corner. A dog that came out of the barn knew me to be strange, and set up the bark.--‘What’s that Cusdhu’s ** growlin’ at?’ said ould Maley, sharply--‘Go out, Brideeine, and see.’ I lifts the latch, and quietly steps in. ‘There’s no occasion, Mister Maley,’ says I. ‘It’s an ould friend who was passin’ the road, and dropped in to ask ye how ye were.’ The women gave a squall, and I thought the miser would have dropped out of the chair where he was sittin.’ ‘Girls,’ says I, ‘I’ll stand no nonsense. Ye have heard of Johnny Gibbons, I suppose.’ Both dropt upon their knees, and Maley began to cross himself.--‘Up with ye,’ says I. ‘Go into that room, and if ather you brathe a whisper that would waken the cat, I’ll drive a ball thro’ ach o’ye.” [Illustration: 0174] “The divil a delay they made; but away they stole, and closed the door after them. Well, I laid the gun upon the dresser, drew a stool, an’ sits down fornent the miser. ‘Arrah, bad luck attend ye for an ould thief,’ says I; ‘hav’n’t ye the manners to ask a man who has come ten miles to see ye, whether he has a mouth or not?’ ‘Oh! Mister Gibbons, jewel, it was all a forget on my part. There’s a bottle of licker in the cupboard.’ ‘An’ the curse of Cromwell on ye!’ says I; ‘de ye think it’s me that’s goin’ to attend myself?--Brideeine--tell the ould woman to go to bed, an’ come out an’ wait upon your betters,--come out, I say--or maybe yeer waitin’ for me to fetch ye?’ Out she comes, shakin’ like a dog in a wet sack, brings the whisky, and fills a glass. ‘Now, light a dacent candle--keep your rush-light for other company--an’ be off with ye. Here’s yeer health, Mister Maley,’ says I; ‘the divil a better poteeine crossed my lips this twelvemonth. An’ now for bisnis. Step down to the room with me, if ye plase.’ ‘Arrah,’ says he, ‘what de ye want there?’ I niver answered him, but took out a pistol carelessly from my coat pocket, opened the pan, shook the primin’, and looked at the flint. ‘Christ stan’ between us an’ harm! what are ye about?’ says he. ‘Nothing,’ says I; ‘only that I always see if the tools are in proper order before they’r wanted. * A sanguinary scoundrel, hanged after the Irish rebellion, whose name is still a terror to the peasantry. ** Cusdhu, literally blackfoot, although many a white-footed cur is so called--the Irish peasantry considering that name a lucky one.