Mrs. Breslin—a fine figure of a woman, but one somewhat along in years—was celebrated the country over for her good liquor, which, on this occasion, had been prepared in a large kettle, and was dealt out steaming hot—in fact, it was the Polish blackstrap over again, with some scraps of lemon added, by way of variety, and honored with the name of punch—hot whisky-punch. The operative received an introduction to many of the men and all of the women, among the latter to a handsome lass, of rather uncertain age, named Kate McIntyre. Con O’Donnel gave him the acquaintance of this handsome and sprightly lady. She evidently became smitten with the young man, and despite the image of the Tamaqua queen, Miss Higgins, who still held a place in his memory, he paid her considerable attention, engaging her hand in several successive and successful reels and round dances. He treated Miss McIntyre to some of the prevalent beverage, found that she liked it, and took sufficient himself to make him feel jolly. In fact, a little after ten o’clock at night, the whole assemblage was funny, and after the clock had been raffled for and won—the winner gracefully making the widow a present of the timepiece—the mirth merged into hilarity and gradually into boisterousness. Then the time passed until midnight, when there was a short recess, during which Mrs. Breslin added to her profits by disposing of a cold collation, consisting of chicken, sandwiches, and hard-boiled eggs, of which the parties partook with appetite. Miss McIntyre and her gallant, after having refreshments, walked around the grounds, arm in arm. While near the shanty of Mrs. Breslin, they nearly stumbled over the prostrate form of a man, who had evidently absorbed too much of the liquor. The drunken fellow slowly opened his eyes, saw Miss McIntyre, and, rising up on one elbow, with a gesture called her to him. But she gazed on him in blank astonishment, merely turning on her heel, with a look of disdain, and they walked away. “An’ who is your friend?” asked McKenna. “I don’t know the man at all,” said Miss McIntyre, “and I’m sure he does not know me! It was the act of an idiot, who could think of nothing else!” “Well, but for his helpless state, I’d just go back and bate the brute for his impertinence!” said McKenna. Kate looked admiringly upon her companion, out of her large, dark eyes, and they passed on and once more joined in the dance. ————●———— CHAPTER XIX. SNARED BY KATE—HONORED BY “MOLLIE.” Con O’Donnel, who stood not far off, noted the drunken man’s remark and was seen to smile significantly as McKenna and the lady moved from the spot.