He had not gone far when he perceived through the dim grey of the morning a human figure approaching; and on advancing a little nearer, he found that it was a very old man, of extremely diminutive stature and forbidding aspect. He wore an old grey coat and an equally old woollen cap, and his thin white hair descended to his knees; he was barefoot, and carried a walking-stick in his hand. “Good morrow, and God save you, Larry Roche,” said the old man as he came up. “A bright morning to you,” answered Larry. “How is every rope’s length of you, Larry, and how is the woman and the childre at home?” demanded the stranger. “Faix, purty well, considherin,” replied Larry. “But you have a great advantage of me.” “How’s that?” said the old man. “Why, because you know me so well, while I have no more knowledge of you than of the man in the moon.” “Och, I’d know your skin in a tan-yard,” said the old chap, laughing. “But is it possible you don’t know me?” “Faix if God Almighty knows no more about you than I do, the devil will have a prey of you one of those days,” replied Larry. “Well, say no more about that,” said the old fellow, rather angrily. “But where are you going this blessed Sunday morning, Larry?” “To Mill-street,” said Larry. “All the ways--musha! what’s taking you to Mill-street, Larry?” “My feet and my business,” said Larry, something piqued at the old fellow’s inquisitive importunity. “You are very stiff this morning, Larry,” said the stranger with a grin. “I am worse than that,” said the poor fellow; “the heart within me is sick and sore.” “And what troubles you now, Larry?” Larry hereupon told the whole of his strange misfortunes to the stranger, ending with a deep “ochone,” and wishing, if it was the will of God, that “his four bones were stretched in the church-yard of Kilebawn.” “You’ll be there time enough for your welcome, may be,” said the old chap, “but that’s neither here nor there. What will you do with the black cat?” “Och, sweet bad luck to all the cats alive, both black and white,” imprecated Larry. “That cat’s a devil--a fiend,” said the stranger; “and more than that, he intends to murder you and your family this very night.” Larry groaned and crossed his forehead, whilst the stranger’s hideous countenance was convulsed with half-suppressed laughter. “Well, Larry,” said he again, “I am your friend, and I have power to save you and yours, on one condition; and that is, that you will stop up the window in the back wall of your cabin.” “Faith and I’ll do that with a heart and a half,” said Larry. “But what do you want that for?” “I’ll tell you that another time,” said the little man.