“Go home now, and say you can’t proceed to Mill-street without taking the wife and children with you, to leave the measure of their feet for the brogues. Tell the cat also that he must come too, to have his fit taken; then tie him up in a bag, and bring him with you; fasten this hair around your neck,” added the old man, at the same time extracting a single white hair from his head, “and all the imps of hell cannot hurt you. But mind and don’t open your lips from the time you leave home till you come to this spot; and when you arrive here with the cat, sit down and wait the event.” A thick fog now suddenly rose, and the old man was hidden from the sight of Larry, who, greatly overjoyed, returned to his cabin to execute the orders he had got, and was met by his wife, who was trembling for his safe return, but did not expect him sooner than night. “Musha! Larry agragal, you’re welcome,” she exclaimed; “and what in the name of God turned you back?” “I am coming for you and the gorsoons; you must all come to Mill-street to have your measure taken for the brogues.” “And must I go too?” asked the cat. “Faix you must,” said Larry; “if natural Christians couldn’t be fitted without bein’ on the spot, it’s hard to expect that you could.” “And how am I to travel?” he asked. “In a bag on my back,” replied Larry. “I’ll whip you through the country like a dinner to a hog, and man or mortal shall never be the wiser, if the brogue-maker keeps his tongue quiet.” “I’ll go bail he will,” said Puss, “for I’ll kill him the very night the brogues is brought home.” “Lord have mercy on him!” ejaculated Larry, his heart sinking within him. “Pray for yourself--may be you want mercy as well as him,” said the cat. The preparations were soon completed, and the cat being put into the bag, Larry tied the mouth of it firmly with a piece of cord, and then slung it on his shoulder; and after acquainting his wife with his adventure with the old man on “Moin-more,” he departed, whistling the air of “Thamama Thulla.” He soon gained the spot where he had parted with the old man, and looking round and perceiving nobody, he sat down on the green fern, still holding the bag which contained his terrible fellow-traveller. “What stops you Larry?” asked the cat. Larry, recollecting the old man’s injunction, spoke not, but continued whistling. “Does anything ail you, Larry?” “Whoo, hoo, phoo, hoo--Thamemo Chodladh.” “Is Betty and the childre to the fore?” “Thamemo Chodladh.” “Bad luck to you and your ‘Thamemo Chodladh,’” cried the cat. “That the prayers may fall on the preacher,” said Larry to himself. The cat now began to make desperate efforts to escape from the bag, whilst Larry redoubled his exertions to detain him. His attention, however, was soon arrested by the cry of hounds, and on looking westward, he perceived, rapidly approaching over the morass, a big black man mounted on a black horse, and accompanied by a numerous pack of black dogs.