“Troth, if I was a man, tis a life I'd like well,” said Mary, with a look of resolute determination, well becoming the speech. “Them's the fine times they have, going round the world for sport, and nothing to care for--as much goold as they'd ask--fine clothes--the best of eating and drinking; sure there's not one of them would drink out of less than silver.” “Faix, they may have iron round their ancles for it, after all, Mary.” “Sorra bit of it--the jail isn't built yet, that would howld them. What's that noise now? That's them. Oh, no; it's the water running down the mountain.” “Well, I wish they'd come any way,” said Lanty; “for I must be off early to-morrow--I've an order from the ould banker here above, for six beasts, and I'd like to get a few hours' sleep before morning.” “'Tis making a nice penny you are there, Lanty,” said Mary, with a quizzical look from the corner of her eye. “A good stroke of business, sure enough, Mary,” replied he, laughingly. “What d'ye think I did with him yesterday morning? I heerd here, ye know, what happened to the grey mare I bought from Mark O'Donoghue--that she was carried over the weir-gash and drowned. What does I do, but goes up to the Lodge and asks for Sir Marmaduke; and says I, 'I'm come, sir, to offer a hundred and fifty for the little mare I sould you the other day for a hundred; 'tis only now I found out her real value, and I can get two hundred for her in Cork, the day I bring her up; and sure your honour wouldn't prevent a poor man making a trifle in the way of his trade.' 'You're an honest fellow, Lanty,' says he--divil a lie in it Mary, don't be laughing--'you're an honest fellow; and although I cannot let you have your mare back again, for she was killed last night, you shall have your own price for the four carriage-horses and the two roadsters I ordered.' With that I began blubbering about the mare, and swore I was as fond of her as if she was my sister. I wish you'd seen his daughter then; upon my conscience it was as good as a play. 'They have so much feelin', says she to her father. 'For fun,' says I to myself. 'O murther, murther. Mary, and them's the people that rules us!'” “Omadhauns they are, the devil a' more!” interposed Mary, whose hearty contempt for the Saxon originated in the facility by which he could be imposed upon. “That's what I'm always saying,” said Lanty. “I'd rather have the chaytin' than the bayting of John Bull, any day! You'll humbug him out of his shirt, and faix it's the easiest way to get it after all.” “It's a mane way, Lanty,” interposed Mary, with a look of pride; “it's a dirty, mane way, and doesn't become an Irishman?” “Wait till the time comes, Mary M'Kelly,” said Lanty, half angrily, “and maybe I'd be as ready as another.”