to the ould one's berrin'. I've seen 'em often, and mighty dacent they
behave. Damn Kells and the barber, up with the boords and go to
work!--this is something like sport! Houly Paul, there's one up my
breeches--here's the tail of him--he caught a hould of my
leather-garter. Come out of that, Spider! Spider, here he is--that's
it--give him another shake for his impudence--serve him out! Hurrah!"

"Fast and furious" grew our incessant urging on of the willing Spider,
for his continued efforts at extermination. At the end of two hours,
the metamorphosed barn was nearly stripped of its flooring--nine huge
rats lay dead, as trophies of our own achievements--the panting Spider,
"by turns caressing, and by turns caressed," licking alternately the
hands and faces of all, as we sat on the low ledge of the doorway,
wagging his close-cut stump of tail, as if he were resolved, by his
unceasing exertions, to get entirely rid of that excited dorsal
ornament.

"This is the rael thing," said Bob.

"So it is," said Dick; "but"--

"But what?"

"Why, devil a ha'p'orth of Kells or hair-cutting there's in it."

"Not a taste," chimed in Jack.

"Nothing like it," echoed Will.

"What will we do?" said all at once. There was a short pause--after
which the matter was resumed by Dick, who was intended for a parson,
and therefore rather given to moralising.

"Life," quoth Dick--"life's uncertain."

"You may say that," rejoined Bob; "look at them rats."

"Tony Dowlan's a hard-drinking man, and his mother had fits."

"Of the same sort," said Bob.

"Well, then," continued Dick, "there's no knowing--he may be dead--if
so, how could he cut our hair?"

Here Dick, like Brutus, paused for a reply. Bob produced one.

"It's a good scheme, but it won't do; the likes of him never does
anything he's wanted to. He's the contrariest ould thief in Ireland! I
wish mama hadn't got a party; we'd do well enough but for that. Never
mind, boys, I've got it. There's Mikey Brian, he's the boy!

"What for?"

"To cut the hair of the whole of us."

"_He_ can't do it."

"Can't! wait, a-cushla, till I tell you, or, what's better, show you.
Come now, you devils. Look at the heels (Rasper's and Scrub's) of them
ponies! Did ever you see anything like them!--look at the cutting
there--Tony Dowlan never had the knack o' that tasty work in his dirty
finger and thumb--and who done that? Why Mikey Brian--didn't I see him
myself; and isn't he the boy that c