“Ochone,” thought Larry, “now I am coached of all ever happened me. Here is the chap’s black friends coming to rescue him, and they won’t leave a toothful a-piece in my carcass.” “Let me go, Larry,” said the cat, “let me go, and I’ll show you where there’s a cart-load of gold buried in the ground.” But Larry remained silent, and meantime the horseman and hounds came up. “Good morrow and good luck, Larry Roche,” said the black equestrian, with a grim smile. “Good morrow, kindly, your worship,” said Larry. “Is that a fox you have in the bag, Larry?” “No, in troth,” said Larry, “though I believe he is not much honester than a fox.” “I must see what it is, any how,” said the sable horseman, with a gesticulation which convinced Larry at once that he was the fellow whom he had seen before. So Larry opened the bag, and out jumped Puss, and away with him over the bog like a flash of lightning. The wild huntsman hallooed his dogs, and the pursuit commenced, but the cat was soon surrounded and torn to pieces. “Now,” said the horseman, “I must bid you farewell;” and off he went; and then Larry returned home with the happy tidings, and the squire’s guinea was spent in the purchase of sundry bottles of “Tom Corcoran’s” best potteen; but we must do Larry the justice to say that his agreement with the old man was punctually performed, and the back window stopped as effectually as mud and stones could do it. A few nights after, Larry was aroused from his sleep by the merry tones of bagpipes at his fire-side, and getting up, he perceived the kitchen illuminated with a bright, reddish glare, whilst on the hob-stone he saw, snugly seated, the ever remembered little old man playing a set of bagpipes, to the delightful tones of which hundreds of little fellows with red caps and red small-clothes were capering about the floor. “God bless the man and the work,” said Larry, “and warm work yez have ov it this hour ov the night.” The little fellow hereupon set up a shout, and rushing to the door, flew through it, one of them striking poor Larry a box on the right eye, which blinded it. “Goodnight, Misthur Larry,” said the piper; “and how is your four bones? and how is the good woman that owns you?” “Och, no fear at all ov the woman,” replied Larry; “and as for my bones, they are well enough; but, faith, my right eye, I believe, is in whey in my head.” “Well, it will teach you how to speak to your betters in future,” said the little piper; “never mintion the holy name again, when talking to the ‘good people.’ “But, Larry, listen: I’ll now tell you why I wanted you to stop up your back window.