ch was now
lifted, and a sergeant, stooping to permit his tall feather to pass in,
entered, followed by a man in plain clothes.

The latter was a short, powerfully-built man, of about fifty; his hair,
of a grizzly gray, contrasted with the deep purple of his countenance,
which was swollen and bloated; the mouth, its most remarkable feature,
was large and thick-lipped, the under-lip, projecting considerably
forward, and having a strange, convulsive motion when he was not
speaking.

"It's a hard day. Mister Barton," said Malone, rising from his seat, and
stroking down his hair with one hand; "won't ye come over and take an
air at the fire?"

"I will, indeed, Ned," said he, taking the proffered seat, and
stretching out his legs to the blaze. "It's a severe season we have. I
don't know how the poor are to get in the turf; the bogs are very wet
entirely."

"They are, indeed, sir; and the harvest 'ill be very late getting in
now," said one of the young men, with a most obsequious voice. "Won't ye
sit down, sir?" said he to the sergeant.

A nod from Mister Barton in acquiescence decided the matter, and the
sergeant was seated.

"What's here, Mary?" said Barton, striking the large pot that hung over
the fire with his foot.

"It's the boys' dinner, sir," said the girl.

"I think it wouldn't be a bad job if we joined them," replied he,
laughingly,--"eh, sergeant?"

"There 'ill be enough for us all," said Malone; "and I'm sure ye're
welcome to it."

The table was quickly spread, the places next the fire being reserved
for the strangers; while Malone, unlocking a cupboard, took down a
bottle of whiskey, which he placed before them, remarking, as he did
so,--

"Don't be afeard, gentlemen, 'tis Parliament."

"That 's right, Malone. I like a man to be loyal in these bad times;
there's nothing like it. (Faith, Mary, you're a good cook; that's as
savory a stew as ever I tasted.) Where 's Patsey now? I have n't seen
him for some time."

The girl's face grew dark red, and then became as suddenly pale; when,
staggering back, she lifted her apron to her face, and leaned against
the dresser.

"He's transported for life," said Malone, in a deep, sepulchral voice,
while all his efforts to conceal agitation were fruitless.

"Oh, I remember," said Barton, carelessly; "he was in the dock with the
Hogans. (I 'll take another bone from you, Ned. Sergeant, that 's a real
Irish dish, and no bad one either.)"

"What's doing at