She started towards the garden, which she ran over and over; and there we shall leave her, executing the fool's errand upon which Lanigan had sent her. “Now,” said he, going in, “the coast's clear; I have sent that impertinent jade out to the garden, and as the back gate is open--the gardener's men are wheeling out the rubbish--and they are now at dinner--I say, as the back gate is open, it's ten to one but she'll scour the country. Now, Miss Folliard, go immediately to your room; as for this poor man, I will take care of him.” “Most sincerely do I thank you, Lanigan; he will arrange with you when and where to see me again. Farewell, Reilly--farewell; rely upon my constancy;” and so they parted, Reilly to the kitchen, and the _Cooleen Bawn_ to her own room. “Come into the pantry, poor man,” said good-natured Lanigan, addressing our hero, “till I give you' something to eat and drink.” “Many thanks to you, sir,” replied he; “troth and whaix, I didn't taste a morshel for the last fwhour--hugh--hugh-and twenty hours; and sure, sir, it's this cough that's killin' me by inches.” A thought struck Lanigan, who had been also spoken to by the gardener, about half an hour before, to know if he could tell him where he might have any chance of finding an assistant. At all events they went into the pantry, when Lanigan, after having pulled to the door, to prevent their conversation from being overheard, disclosed a project, which had just entered his head, of procuring Reilly employment in the garden. Here it was arranged between them that the latter, who was both a good botanist and florist, should be recommended to the gardener as an assistant. To be sure, his dress and appearance were both decidedly against him; but still they relied upon the knowledge which Reilly confidently assured the cook that he possessed. After leaving the pantry with Lanigan, whom our hero thanked in a thorough brogue, the former called after him, as he was going away: “Come here again, my good man.” “What is it, shir? may God bless you anyhow, for your charity to the--hugh--hugh--hugh--to the poor man. Oh, then, but it's no wondher for you all to be fat and rosy upon sich beautiful vittles as you gave to me, shir. What is it, achora? and may the Lord mark you with grace!” “Would you take employment from the master, his honor Mr. Folliard, if you got it?” “Arrah now, shir, you gave me my skinful of what was gud; but don't be luakin' fwhun o' me after. Would I take employment, achora?--ay, but where would I get it?” “Could you work in a garden? Do you know any thing about plants or flowers?” “Oh thin, that I may never sup sarra (sorrow), but that's just what I'm fwhit fwhor.” “I'm afeared this scoundrel is but an imposthor afther all,” whispered Lanigan to the other servants; “but in ordher to make sure, we'll try him. I say--what's this your name is?” “Solvesther M'Bethershin, shir.”