at spakin' it fair was the best plan, thought he would give it
a soft word as well as her.

"'Plase your honour,' said Jack, 'she only spaiks the truth, an' upon my
voracity, we both feels much oblaiged to you for your quietness. Faith,
it's quite clear that if you weren't a gentlemanly pudden, all out,
you'd act otherwise. Ould Harry, the rogue, is your mark; he's jist gone
down the road there, and if you go fast you'll overtake him. Be my song,
your dancin'-masther did his duty, anyway. Thank your honour! God speed
you, and may you niver meet wid a parson or alderman in your thravels.'

"Jist as Jack spoke, the pudden appeared to take the hint, for it
quietly hopped out, and as the house was directly on the roadside,
turned down towards the bridge, the very way that ould Harry went. It
was very natural, of coorse, that Jack and Katty should go out to see
how it intended to thravel, and as the day was Sunday, it was but
natural, too, that a greater number of people than usual were passin'
the road. This was a fact; and when Jack and his wife were seen
followin' the pudden, the whole neighbourhood was soon up and afther it.

"'Jack Rafferty, what is it? Katty, ahagur, will you tell us what it
manes?'

"'Why,' replied Katty, 'it's my big pudden that's bewitched, an' it's
out hot foot pursuin''--here she stopped, not wishin' to mention her
brother's name--'_someone_ or other that surely put _pishrogues_[3] an
it.'

"This was enough; Jack, now seein' that he had assistance, found his
courage comin' back to him; so says he to Katty, 'Go home,' says he,
'an' lose no time in makin' another pudden as good, an' here's Paddy
Scanlan's wife, Bridget, says she'll let you boil it on her fire, as
you'll want our own to dress the rest of the dinner; and Paddy himself
will lend me a pitchfork for purshuin' to the morsel of that same pudden
will escape, till I let the wind out of it, now that I've the neighbours
to back an' support me,' says Jack.

"This was agreed to, an' Katty went back to prepare a fresh pudden,
while Jack an' half the townland pursued the other wid spades, graips,
pitchforks, scythes, flails, and all possible description of
instruments. On the pudden went, however, at the rate of about six Irish
miles an hour, an' sich a chase was never seen. Catholics, Prodestants,
and Prosbytarians were all afther it, armed, as I said, an' bad end to
the thing, but its own activity could save it. Here it made a hop, there