“Ay, and two pair for me,” cried the black cat, speaking in a wild unearthly tone from the hob-stone, and breaking forth into a horrible laugh. “Devil knock the day-lights out of yez all,” cried Larry, without seeming to take any notice of the strange circumstance, though his heart died within him with terror and surprise. “Lord have mercy on us!” faintly ejaculated Betty, signing her brow, whilst all the children started up in terror, and ran behind their parents in the chimney-corner. All this time the cat remained silent on the hob; but his aspect, at all times terrible, now seemed perfectly monstrous and hideous. For some time a death-like silence was preserved, but at last Larry plucked up courage to address the speaking animal. “And, in the name of God,” he began, “what business have you with brogues?” “Ask me no questions,” replied the cat, “but get me the brogues as soon as possible.” “Oh, by all means,” replied Larry, quite gently, “you must have them; and why did you not ask them long ago, and you should have got them?” “My time was not come,” replied Puss, briefly. “Well,” resumed Larry, “to-morrow is Sunday, and at daybreak I will start off to my gossip Phadruig Donovan’s, in Mill-street, to engage the brogues; he is the best brogue-maker in the county, and he is my first gossip besides.” “I know all that,” said the cat, as he leaped up the chimney, on his departure to the scene of his midnight wanderings. “Good night, Larry, and don’t forget your engagement;” and he disappeared through the gathering gloom, to the great relief of poor Larry and his terrified family. That was a sad and uneasy night with poor Larry and his wife and children. They did not go to bed at all, but sat trembling at the fire, expecting every moment that the black imp would return with legions of fiends to carry them away, body and bones, to the regions below. Numerous were the plans proposed for getting rid of their old companion, but all were rejected--some as inefficient, others as impracticable; and the only point on which they could finally agree, was, that their days were numbered, and that perhaps before morning their blood would be streaming on the hearth-stone, and their souls wandering through mire and morass, the prey of troops of fiends. At last the morning dawned, and as Larry disconsolately enough was preparing to set forward on his journey to Mill-street, the cat jumped down the chimney, and took his usual place on the hob. “Well, I am going now,” said Larry; “have you any directions to give about the brogues?” The cat did not reply, but uttered a hideous growl, which fell heavily on the poor fellow’s heart; so kissing his wife and children, and commending them to the protection of God, he set out on his sorrowful journey.