“More power, Dick--Dick, (hiccup) you're a trojan, an' so was your father and mother afore you; here's your to--toast, Dick, that we may ever an' always ait no worse mait than--praties an' point, hurra!--that's the chat, ha!--ha!--ha!--ah, begad it's we that's the well-fed boys--ay, but sure our friends the poor parsons has been always starvin' in the counthry.” “Always starvin' the counthry!” exclaimed another, playing upon the word, “be my sowl you're right there, Ned. Well sure they're gettin' a touch of it now themselves; by japers, some o' them knows what it is to have the back and belly brought together, or to go hungry to bed, as the sayin' is; but go on, Dick, an' tell us how it was.” “Why, you see, we went back when we heard that the house was to be attacked, and only he escaped the way he did, it wouldn't be attacked; howaniver, you know it's wid O'Driscol--a short cooser to him, too, and he'll get it--it's wid O'Driscol he stops. So off we went, and waited in Barney Broghan's still-house, where we had a trifle to dhrink.” “Divil resave the bet--bettherer spirits ever came from--a still--il eye, nor dar-lent Bar--ar--ney Brogh--aghan makes--whisht!--more power!--won't the counthry soon--be our--our--own--whips!” “Ned, hould your tongue, an' let him go 'an; well, Dick.” “Afther waitin' in the still-house till what we thought was the proper time, we went to O'Driscol's, and first struv to get in quietly, but you see we had no friends in the camp, for the men-servants all sleep in the outhouses, barrin' the butler; an' he's not the thing for Ireland. Well and good, although among ourselves, it was anything but well and good this night; however, we demanded admittance, an' jist as if they had been on the watch for us--a windy was raised, and a voice called out to us to know what we wanted. “'Neither to hurt or harm any one in the house,' we said, 'or belongin' to it; but there is a stranger in it that we must have out.' “'Ay,' said another voice, that several of us knew to be Mr. Alick Purcel's; 'here I am--you scoundrels, but that's your share of me. If you don't begone instantly,' says he, swearin' an oath, 'we'll shoot you like dogs where you stand.' “'We know you, Mr. Purcel,' says we, 'but it isn't you we want to-night--your turn's to come yet; time about is fair play. It's M'Carthy we want.' “'You must want him, then,' says young O'Driscol, 'for he's not here; and even if he was, you should fight for him before you'd get him--but what might your business be wid him?' he asked. 'Why,' says we, 'there's a man among us that has an account to settle wid him.'