“And what do _you_ know about it?” said he, turning savagely on her. “Where were you born and bred, to say what any gentleman might do, at any time, or in anything? Is it Joan Landy, the herd's daughter, is going to play fine lady upon us! Faix, we 're come to a pretty pass now, in earnest! Be off with you! Away! Stop, what was that? Did n't you hear a shot?” “I did, sir,--quite near the house, too.” A sharp knocking now on the hall-door decided the question, and Magennis hastened to admit the arrival. It is a strange fact, and one of which we are satisfied merely to make mention, without attempting in the least to explain, but no sooner was Magennis in the presence of his young guest, than not only he seemed to forget all possible cause of irritation towards him, but to behave with a manner of, for him, the most courteous civility. He aided him to remove his shot-belt and his bag; took his hat from his hands, and carefully wiped it; placed a chair for him close to the fire; and then, as he turned to address him, remarked for the first time the blood-stained handkerchief which still bound his forehead. “Did you fall,--had you an accident?” asked he, eagerly. “No,” said the other, laughing; “a bit of an adventure only, which I 'll tell you after dinner.” “Was it any of the people? Had you a fight--” “Come, Magennis, you must exercise a little patience. Not a word, not a syllable, till I have eaten something, for I am actually famishing.” A stout knock of the poker on the chimney summoned the dinner, and almost in the same instant the woman entered with a smoking dish of Irish stew. “Mrs. Joan, you're an angel,” said Massingbred; “if there was a dish I was longing for on this cold, raw day, it was one of your glorious messes. They seem made for the climate, and by Jove, the climate for them. I say, Mac, does it always rain in this fashion here?” “No; it sleets now and then, and sometimes blows.” “I should think it does,” said Jack, seating himself at the table. “The pleasant little slabs of marble one sees on the cabin-roofs to keep down the thatch are signs of your western zephyrs. Mrs. Joan has outdone herself today. This is first-rate.” “There's too strong a flavor of hare in it,” said Magen-nis, critically. “That's exactly its perfection; the wild savor lifts it out of the vulgar category of Irish stews, and assimilates it, but not too closely, to the ragout. I tell you, Mac, there's genius in the composition of that gravy.” The partial pedantry of this speech was more than compensated for by the racy enjoyment of the speaker, and Magennis was really gratified at the zest with which his young friend relished his meal. “It has one perfection, at least,” said he, modestly,--“it 's very unlike what you get at home.”