The most decent among them all was Pat Brady, who occupied a comfortable seat near the fire, drinking his tumbler of punch and smoking like a gentleman; Joe Reynolds was sitting on the widow's bed, with a spade in his hand; he had only just come in. They were all from Drumleesh, with one or two exceptions; the man without the coat was Jack Byrne, the brother of the man whom Captain Ussher had taken when the malt was found in his brother-in-law's house. "Kathleen, agra," hallooed Joe Reynolds, "bring me a glass of sperrits, will you?" "Send out the rint, Joe," hallooed out the wary widow, and Kathleen came in for the money. "Sorrow to your sowl then, mother Mulready; d'ye think I'm so bad already then, that they haven't left me the price of a glass?" and he put three halfpence into the girl's hand. "Oh, Joe," said Brady, "don't be taking your sperrits that way; come over here, like a dacent fellow, and we'll be talking over this." "Oh, that's all right for you, Pat; you've nothing to be dhriving the life out of yer very heart. I am cowld within me, and divil a word I'll spake, till I dhriv it out of me with the sperrits," and he poured the glass of whiskey down his throat, as though he was pouring it into a pitcher. "And now, my boys, you'll see Joe Reynolds 'll talk may be as well as any of you. Give us a draw of the pipe, Pat." He took the pipe from Pat's hand, and stuck it in his mouth. "Well, Jack, I see'd your brother in Carrick; and I towld him how you'd done all you could for him, and pawned the clothes off your back to scrape the few shillings together for him; and what d'ye think he'd have me do then? why he towld me to take the money to Hyacinth Keegan, Esq., jist to stand to him and get him off. Why he couldn't do it, not av he was to give his sowl--and that's not his own to give, for the divil has it; and av he could, he wouldn't walk across Carrick to do them a good turn--though, by Jasus, he'd be quick enough pocketing the brads. Begad, Jack, and it's cowld you're looking without the frieze; come and warm your shins, my boy, and take a draw out of Pat's pipe." "And Joe," said Pat, "what magisthrates war there in it?" "Why, there war Sir Michael, and Counsellor Webb, and there war that black ruffian Jonas Brown." "And they jist sent him back to gaol agin, Joe?" "No, they didn't! Counsellor Webb stuck to the boys hard and fast, while he could; both his own boys and poor Tim; and that he may never sup sorrow; for he proved hisself this day the raal friend to the poor man--" "But it war all no good in the end?"