“That’s right,” said The O’Mahony, referring more to the clasping of hands than to the vow of fealty. “That’s the way I want ’er to stand. Don’t call me ‘yer honor,’ or any o’ that sort o’ palaver. I’ve been a poor man all my life. I ain’t used to bossin’ niggers around, or playin’ off that I’m better’n other folks. Now that I’m returnin’ to my estates, prob’ly I’ll have to stomach more or less of that sort o’ nonsense. That’s one of the things I’ll want you to steer me in.” “An’ might I be askin’, where are these estates, sir?” “So far’s I can make out, they’re near where we come in sight of Ireland first; it can’t be very far from here. They’re on the seashore--I know that much. We go to Dunmanway, wherever that is, by the railroad to-morrow, and there the lawyers have telegraphed to have the agent meet us. From there on, we’ve got to stage it. The place itself is Murrisk, beyond Skull--nice, comfortable, soothin’ sort o’ names you Irish have for your towns, eh?” “And what time’ll we be startin’ to-morrow?” “The train leaves at noon--that is, for Dunmanway.” “Thank God for that,” said Jerry, with a sigh of relief. The O’Mahony turned upon him with such an obviously questioning glance that he made haste to explain: “I’ll be bound your honor hasn’t been to mass since--since ye were like that grasshopper ye spoke about.” “Mass--no--how d’ye mean? What is it?” “Luk at that, now!” exclaimed Jerry, triumphantly. “See what ’d ’a’ come to ye if ye’d gone to your estates without knowing the first word of your Christian obligations! We’ll rise early to-morrow, and I’ll get ye through all the masses there are in Cork, betune thin an’ midday.” “Gad! I’d clean forgotten that,” said The O’Mahony. “An’ now let’s git out an’ see the town.” CHAPTER VI--THE HEREDITARY BARD. Two hours and more of the afternoon were spent before The O’Mahony and his new companion next day reached Dunmanway. The morning had been devoted, for the most part, to church-going, and The O’Mahony’s mind was still confused with a bewildering jumble of candles, bells and embroidered gowns; of boys in frocks swinging little kettles of smoke by long chains; of books printed on one side in English and on the other in an unknown tongue; of strange necessities for standing, kneeling, sitting all together, at different times, for no apparent reason which he could discover, and at no word of command whatever. He meditated upon it all now, as the slow train bumped its wandering way into the west, as upon some novel kind of drill, which it was obviously going to take him a long time to master. He had his moments of despondency at the prospect, until he reflected that if the poorest, least intelligent, hod-carrying Irishman alive knew it all, he ought surely to be able to learn it. This hopeful view gaining predominance at last in his thoughts, he had leisure to look out of the window.