"I wouldn't like to see you attacked by real soldiers; but I think these men of yours will give a good account of themselves if there's only peasantry brought up against them. Sure, the peasantry in this country is not so warlike as in our own,"--and there was a touch of pride in the father's remark that went to my very heart. After riding in silence for a while, meditating with head bowed, he looked suddenly across at me, his whole face lighted up with delicious remembrance. "Wouldn't you like to have Mike Sullivan with you this day," he cried, naming the most famous fighter in all the land, noted from Belfast to our own Old Head of Kinsale. "I'd give many a guinea," I said, "to have Mike by my side when the Earl comes on." The old father suddenly brought down his open hand with a slap on his thigh. "I'm going to stand by you, O'Ruddy," he said. "I'm glad to have your blessing on the job at last, Father," said I; "for it was sore against me to go into this business when you were in a contrary frame of mind." "You'll not only have my blessing, O'Ruddy, but myself as well. How could I sail across the ocean and never know which way the fight came out? and then, if it is to happen in spite of me, the Lord pity the frailness of mankind, but I'd like to see it. I've not seen a debate since the Black Fair of Bandon." By this time we had overtaken the hirelings with their carts, and the men were swinging past them at a good pace. "Whip up your horses," said I to the drivers, "and get over the ground a little faster. It's not gunpowder that's in those barrels, and when we reach the house there will be a drink for every one of you." There was a cheer at this, and we all pushed on with good hearts. At last we came to a lane turning out from the main road, and then to the private way through fields that led to Brede House. So far there had been no one to oppose us, and now, setting spurs to our horses, we galloped over the private way, which ran along the side of a gentle hill until one end of the mansion came into view. It seemed likely there was no suspicion who we were, for a man digging in the garden, stood up and took off his cap to us. The front door looked like the Gothic entrance of a church, and I sprang from my horse and knocked loudly against the studded oak. An old man opened the door without any measure of caution, and I stepped inside. I asked him who he was, and he said he was the caretaker. "How many beside yourself are in this house?" He said there was only himself, his wife, and a kitchen wench, and two of the gardeners, while the family was in London. "Well," said I, "I'd have you know that I'm the family now, and that I'm at home. I am the owner of Brede estate." "You're not the Earl of Westport!" said the old man, his eyes opening wide. "No, thank God, I'm not!"