“But sure he couldn't be that: he'd never come with a throop of noisy vagabonds, in the dead of the night, av he was after the young lady. Well, well, he bates me out--sorra lie in it,” said he, drawing a heavy sigh, and crossing his hands before him in sad resignation. “On _my_ conscience, then, it was a charity to cut your hair for you, anyhow!” said Mrs. Branagan, who had been calmly meditating on the pistol-shot, which, in grazing Kerry's hair, had somewhat damaged his locks. “See, then--by the holy mass! av he went half an inch lower, it's my life he'd be after taking; and if he was fifty O'Donoghues, I'd have my vingince. Bad cess to me, but they think the likes of me isn't fit to live at all.” “They do,” responded Mrs. Branagan, with a mild puff of smoke from the corner of her mouth--“they do; and if they never did worse than extarminate such varmin, their sowls would have an easier time of it.” Kerry's brow lowered, and his lips muttered; but no distinct reply was audible. “Sorra bit of good I see in ye at all,” said she, with inexorable severity. “I mind the time ye used to tell a body what was doing above stairs; and, though half what ye said was lies, it was better than nothing: but now yer as stupid and lazy as the ould beast there fornint the fire--not a word out of yer head from morning to night. Ayeh, is it your hearin's failin' ye?” “I wish to the Blessed Mother it was,” muttered he fervently to himself. “There's a man now eatin' and drinkin' in the parlour, and the sorra more ye know about him, than if he was the Queen of Sheba.” “Don't I, thin--maybe not,” said Kerry, tauntingly, and with a look of such well-affected secrecy, that Mrs. Branagan was completely deceived by it. “What is he, then? spake it out free this minit,” said she. “Bad cess to you, do you want to trate me like an informer.” “No, indeed, Mrs. Branagan; its not that same I'd even to you--sure I knew your people--father and mother's side--two generations back. Miles Buoy--yallow Miles, as they called him--was the finest judge of a horse in Kerry--I wonder now he didn't make a power of money.” “And so he did, and spint it after. 'Twas blackguards, with ould gaiters, and one spur on them, that ate up every shilling he saved.” “Well, well! think of that, now,” said Kerry, with the sententious-ness of one revolving some strange and curious social anomaly; “and that's the way it wint.” “Wasn't it a likely way enough,” said Mrs. Branagan, with flashing eyes, “feedin' a set of spalpeens that thought of nothing but chating the world. The sight of a pair of top hoots gives me the heartburn to this day.” “Mine warms to them, too,” said Kerry, timidly, who ventured on his humble pun with deep humility. A contemptuous scowl was Mrs. Branagan's reply, and Kerry resumed.