“Ah, no, sir,” pleaded the other. “The boy ’ud be heart-broken if ye sint him away. ’Twas his grandfather waited on your great-uncle’s cousin, The O’Mahony of the Double Teeth; and his father always served your cousins four times removed, who aich in his turn held the title; and the old man sorrowed himsilf to death whin the last of ’em desaysed, and your honor couldn’t be found, and there was no more an O’Mahony to wait upon. The grief of that good man wud ’a’ brought tears to your eyes. There was no keeping him from the dhrink day or night, sir, till he made an ind to him-silf. And young Malachy, sir, he’s composed of the same determined matarial.” “Well, of course, if he’s so much sot on it as all that,” said The O’Mahony, relenting. “But I wanted to feel free to talk over affairs with you--money matters and so on; and--” “Ah, sir, no fear about Malachy. Not a word of what we do be saying does he comprehind.” “Deef and dumb, eh?” “Not at all; but he has only the Irish.” In answer to O’Mahony’s puzzled look, O’Daly added in explanation: “It’s the glory of Muirisc, sir, that we hould fast be our ancient thraditions and tongue. In all the place there’s not rising a dozen that could spake to you in English. And--I suppose your honor forgets the Irish entoirely? Or perhaps your parents neglected to tache it to you?” “Yes,” said The O’Mahony; “they never taught me any Irish at all; leastways, not that I remember.” “Luk at that now!” exclaimed O’Daly, sadly, as he took more fish upon his plate. “It’s goin’ to be pritty rough sleddin’ for me to git around if nobody understands what I say, ain’t it?” asked The O’Mahony, doubtfully. “Oh, not at all,” O’Daly made brisk reply. “It’s part of my hereditary duty to accompany you on all your travels and explorations and incursions, to keep a record of the same, and properly celebrate thim in song and history. The last two O’Mahonys betwixt ourselves, did nothing but dhrink at the pig-market at Dunmanway once a week, and dhrink at Mike Leary’s shebeen over at Ballydivlin the remainding days of the week, and dhrink here at home on Sundays. To say the laste, this provided only indifferent opportunities for a bard. But plase the Lord bether times have come, now.” Malachy had cleared the dishes from the board, and now brought forward a big square decanter, a sugar-bowl, a lemon fresh cut in slices, three large glasses and one small one. O’Daly at this lifted a steaming copper kettle from the crane over the fire, and began in a formally ceremonious and deliberate manner the brewing of the punch. The O’Mahony watched the operation with vigilance. Then clay pipes and tobacco were produced, and Malachy left the room.