“Come, that's right, anyhow. Glory be to God! I ate heartily of some bacon and greens; though the blackguards--bad luck to them for the same!--made me eat an orange lily whole, afraid the _greens_, as they said, might injure me.” “I wonder. Darby,” said I, “that you haven't more firmness than to change this way at every moment.” “Firmness, is it? Faix, it's firm enough I'd be, and Stiff, too, if I did n't. Sure it 's the only way now at all. Wait, my honey, till the time comes round for ourselves, and faix, you 'll never accuse me of coorting their favor; but now, at this moment, you perceive, we must do it to learn their plans. What do you think I got to-night? I learned all the signs the yeos have when they 're drinking together, and what they say at each sign. Thers 's a way they have of gripping the two little fingers together that I'll not forget soon.” For some time we walked on at a rapid pace, without exchanging more than an occasional word. At last we entered a narrow, ill-lighted street, which led from the canal harbor to one of the larger and wider thoroughfares. “I almost forget the way here,” said Darby, stopping and looking about him. At last, unable to solve the difficulty, he leaned over the half-door of a shop, and called out to a man within, “Can you tell where is Kevin Street?” “No. 39?” said the man, after looking at him steadily for a moment. Darby stroked down one side of his face with his hand slowly; a gesture immediately imitated by the other man. “What do you know?” said Darby. “I know 'U,'” replied the man. “And what more?” “I know 'N'” “That 'ill do,” said Darby, shaking hands with him cordially. “Now, tell me the way, for I have no time to spare.” “Begorra! you 're in as great haste as if ye were Darby the Blast himself. Ye 'll come in and take a glass?” Darby only laughed, and again excusing himself, he asked the way; which having learned, he wished his newly-made friend good-night, and we proceeded. “They know you well hereabouts; by name, at least,” said I, when we had walked on a little. “That they do,” said Darby, proudly. “From Wexford to Belfast there 's few does n't know me; and they 'll know more of me, av I 'm right, before I die.” This he spoke with more of determination than I ever heard him use previously. “Here 's the street now; there 's the lamp,--that one with the two burners there. Faix, we 've made good track since morning, anyhow.” As he spoke we entered a narrow passage, through which the street lamp threw a dubious half-light. This conducted us to a small paved court, crossing which we arrived at the door of a large house. Darby knocked in a peculiar manner, and the door was speedily opened by a man who whispered something, to which M'Keown made answer in the same low tone. “I 'm glad to see you again,” said the man, louder, as he made way for him to pass.