the town to-day?" said Malone, affecting an air of easy
indifference.

"Nothing remarkable, I believe. They have taken up that rascal. Darby
the Blast, as they call him. The major had him under examination this
morning for two hours; and they say he 'll give evidence against the
Dillons, (a little more fat, if ye please;) money, you know, Ned, will
do anything these times."

"You ought to know that, sir," said Maurice, with such an air of assumed
innocence as actually made Barton look ashamed. In an instant, however,
he recovered himself, and pretended to laugh at the remark. "Your
health, sergeant; Ned Malone, your health; ladies, yours; and boys,
the same." A shower of "thank ye, sir's," followed this piece of
unlooked-for courtesy. "Who's that boy there, Ned?" said he, pointing to
me as I sat with my eyes riveted upon him.

"He's from this side of Banagher, sir," said Malone, evading the
question.

"Come over here, younker. What 's his name?"

"Tom, sir."

"Come over, Tom, till I teach you a toast. Here's a glass, my lad;
hold it steady, till I fill you a bumper. Did you ever hear tell of the
croppies?"

"No, never!"

"Never heard of the croppies! Well, you're not long in Ned Malone's
company anyhow, eh? ha! ha! ha! Well, my man, the croppies is another
name for the rebels, and the toast I 'm going to give you is about them.
So mind you finish it at one pull. Here now, are you ready?"

"Yes, quite ready," said I, as I held the brimming glass straight before
me.

"Here 's it, then,--

"'May every croppy taste the rope.
And find some man to hang them;
May Bagnal Harvey and the Pope
Have Heppenstal to hang them!'"

I knew enough of the meaning of his words to catch the allusion, and
dashing the glass with all my force against the wall, I smashed it
into a hundred pieces. Barton sprang from his chair, his face dark with
passion. Clutching me by the collar with both hands, he cried out,--

"Halloo! there without, bring in the handcuffs here! As sure as my name
's Sandy Barton, we 'll teach you that toast practically, and that ere
long."

"Take care what you do there," said Malone, fiercely. "That young
gentleman is a son of Matthew Burke of Cremore; his relatives are not
the kind of people to figure in your riding-house."

"Are you a son of Matthew Burke?"

"I am."

"What brings you here then? why are you not at home?"

"By what right do you dare to ask me? I have yet