It was evident that Mr. Corcoran's guests were behind time; his impatience was not to be mistaken. He walked from the kitchen to the parlour and back again without ceasing, now, adding a turf to the fire, now, removing the roasting chickens a little farther from the blaze, and anon, bending his ear to listen if perchance he could catch the sound of approaching wheels. He had sat down on every chair of the parlour, he had taken a half glass out of each decanter on the table, he had sharpened every knife in turn, and in fact resorted to every device to cheat time, when suddenly the sound of a carriage was heard on the road, and the next moment he unbarred the door and admitted two persons, whose dripping hats and soaked great coats bore evidence to the downpour without. “Well, Billy,” said the first who entered, “this rain will beat down the wind at last, and we shall be able to get some fish in the market.” “Sorra bit, sir,” said Billy, as he assisted the speaker to remove his wet garments, leaving the other stranger to his own devices. “The wind is coming more round to the east, and I know from the noise on the Bull we'll have plenty of it. I was afeard something happened you, sir; you're an hour behind the time you said yourself.” “Very true--so I am. I was detained at a dinner party, and my friend here also kept me waiting a few minutes for him.” “It was not my fault,” interposed the other; “I was ready when----” “Never mind--it was of no consequence whatever; the only misfortune was, we could find no coach, and were forced to put up with a car, and got wet for our pains; but the supper, Bill--the supper.” “Is smoking hot on the table,” was the reply; and as he opened the door into the parlour, the fact declared itself to their senses.