Up she went, while I waited below all of a twitter, expecting every minute that I should have a whole regiment of fire-engines come tearing up to the door, and putting us to goodness knows what expense for nothing; when all of a sudden I heard the water come splashing down right into the parlour overhead, and saw in an instant that that stupid thing of a Norah must have got blinded with the smoke up above, and mistaken the chimney, so that she had gone pouring it down all over my beautiful stove in the dining-room. In an instant I put my head up the kitchen chimney and hallooed out to her as loud as ever I could, “No--rah! you must pour it down here.” I declare the words were scarcely out of my mouth when down came such a torrent of water and soot, right in my face and all over my head and shoulders, and down my neck, that anybody to have seen me would have sworn some one had been breaking a large bottle of blacking over my head; while immediately afterwards, as if only to make matters worse, I heard a tremendous shout in the street, and on running to the window I at once knew that the parish engine was at hand: for, tearing along the pavement on the opposite side of the way was a whole regiment of, I should say, twenty or thirty little dirty boys pulling at a rope, and dragging along a nasty, ugly, red, trumpery little machine, which, I’m sure, if the house had been in flames, could have been of no more use to us than a squirt upon four wheels; while the mischievous young urchins kept hurraing away as if it was a good bit of fun, and little thinking that what was sport to them was (as with the toad in the fable) near upon death to me, and a good bit of money out of my pocket into the bargain. When Norah Connor came down and saw what a pretty pickle both my cap and face were in, the only thing she did was to cry out, “Och, murther, I niver saw such a fright as ye look. What on airth have ye been gettin’ up to now?” and when I told her what had happened, she actually had the impudence to add, that “sure an’ I wasn’t fit to be trusted alone for two minutes together.” And then, seeing the parish engine at the door, she wanted to go--and I declare it was as much as ever I could do to prevent the fury--rushing out, and (to use her own words) “larruppin’ the Badle--just to tache the dirty blaggeard not to come robbin’ the masther agin in that way.” However, I was determined not to have the door opened; so after the beadle had hammered away at it like a trunk-maker, for better than half an hour, he grew disgusted and went off with those impudent young monkeys of boys, and that stupid little watering-pot of a parish engine, (if I may be allowed to use so strong an expression.)