at the iron plate should whistle a particular tune the moment that the gauger or a red-coat, or in fact any person whom he did not know, should appear. Accordingly, about eight o’clock in the morning they heard the little fellow in his highest key whistling up that well-known and very significant old Irish air called “Go to the devil an’ shake yourself”--which in this case was applied to the gauger in any thing but an allegorical sense. “Be the pins,” which was George’s usual oath, “be the pins, Mickey, it’s over with us--Pentland’s here, for there’s the sign.” Mickey paused for a moment and listened very gravely; then squirting out a tobacco spittle, “Take it aisy,” said he; “I have half a dozen fires about the hills, any one as like this as your right hand is to your left. I didn’t spare trouble, for I knew that if we’d get over this day, we’d be out of his power.” “Well, my good lad,” said Pentland, addressing the vidette, “what’s this fire for?” “What is it for, is it?” “Yes; if you don’t let me know instantly, I’ll blow your brains out, and get you hanged and transported afterwards.” This he said with a thundering voice, cocking a large horse pistol at the same time. “Why, sir,” said the boy, “it’s watchin’ a still I am; but be the hole o’ my coat if you tell upon me, it’s broilin’ upon these coals I’ll be soon.” “Where is the still then? An’ the still-house, where is it?” “Oh, begorra, as to where the still or still-house is, they wouldn’t tell _me_ that.” “Why, sirra, didn’t you say this moment you were watching a still?” “I meant, sir,” replied the lad with a face that spoke of pure idiocy, “that it was the gauger I was watchin’, an’ I was to whistle upon my fingers to let the boy at that fire on the hill there above know that he was comin’.” “Who told you to do so?” “Little George, sir, an’ Mickey M’Quade.” “Ay, ay, right enough there, my lad--two of the most notorious schemers unhanged they are both. But now, like a good boy, tell me the truth, an’ I’ll give you the price of a pair of shoes. Do you know where the still or still-house is? Because if you do, an’ won’t tell me, here are the soldiers at hand to make a prisoner of you; an’ if they do, all the world can’t prevent you from being hanged, drawn, and quartered.” “Oh, bad cess may seize the morsel o’ me knows that; but if you’ll give me the money, sir, I’ll tell you who can bring you to it, for he tould me yestherday mornin’ that he knew, an’ offered to bring me there last night, if I’d steal him a bottle that my mother keeps the holy water in at home, tal he’d put whisky in it.” “Well, my lad, who is this boy?” “Do you know Harry Neil, or Mankind, sir?” “I do, my good boy.” “Well, it’s a son of his, sir; an’ look, sir; do you see the smoke farthest up to the right, sir?” “To the right? Yes.” “Well, ’tis there, sir, that Darby Neil is watchin’; and he _says_ he knows.” “How long have you been watching here?”