An immediate assent was given to this proposal; the motion, as Darby said, was carried by acclamation; and preparations were immediately made for starting. While the pedlar was buckling on his pack, the poney neighed; and the tinker exclaimed, “Who comes hither, I wonder, a-horseback?” “Faith, no one that I see or hear, a-horseback or a-foot,” replied the Irishman. “Ay, but there do, though, sure as death,” said the tinker; “my poney yean't no false prophet I'll lay pints round, a horse is coming: I won't swear for a man,--mind me;--but a horse I be sure of:--and, look--dang me if 'tean't Parson Hackle!” “And who's he, then?” inquired the Irishman, as a tall, thin, middle-aged man, in a black coat, with long leathern leggings, reaching from his toes to his hips, and mounted on a fat, ambling, old coach-horse, turned from the high-road, into the lane. “I'll just make my obedience and compliments to him as he goes by.” “Thee'st better not,” said the tinker. “Why not, then?--May be he'd drop me a keenogue and be civil.” “Not he, friend; he's a magistrate, and though a good man in the main, mortally hates beggars.” “Beggars!” exclaimed the Irishman; “sir, I'm a wandering minstrel--one of the tribe of Orpheus of ould; who, as the song says, the stones followed; and who, moreover, could move stocks themselves with his music:--maning, I suppose, that he often got pelted by bad boys, and whistled himself out of the stocks, with no thanks to the beadle.--Musha! that I mightn't, then!” “Well! I can only tell thee, lad,” said the tinker, “Parson Hackle looks as black at a ballad-singer, as his brother, the 'squire, do at a man who happens to be misfortunate wi' a maiden.” “Bad luck to the pair o' them then!” “So say I,” quoth the tinker; “I ha' been in their clutches afore now, and I'll warrant the person you spoke of couldn't ha' bought his liberty wi' an old song, if he got into their wooden gaiters.” “Oh! sir, sir! pray--dear sir!” said the little girl, who had several times in vain attempted to make herself heard, during the preceding dialogue between Darby and the tinker, “did you say the gentleman's name was Hackle?” “Yea, I did, troth!” replied the tinker; “Parson Hackle.” “Parson Hackle!” repeated the little girl; “where is he going?” “Down to the revel, I reckon,” said the tinker, “like we be; only he goeth a-horseback, and we poor folks a-foot; and he goeth to help to keep the peace, and we, mayhap, to help to break it. I can't answer for myself, much more for my friends, after one o'clock.”