u."

"No, Misther John, not a bit o' that--divil a threat--me! I wouldn't
threaten you if there wasn't niver another man in Europe. Let me out, if
you plaise--let me out, and may the div--the Lord lov you!"

"Now," said the other, raising the blinds and afterwards opening the
door, "you may go about your business, and mark me, Mr Hourigan--"

"I do, sir," replied the other, bolting out "oh, God knows I do--you
have marked me, Misther Purcel, and I will mark you, sir--for--" he
added muttering in a low voice to those who stood about him--"one good
turn desarves another, anyhow."

We shall not now dwell upon the comments which young Purcel's violence
drew from the defaulters on their way home. Our reader, however, may
easily imagine them, and form for themselves a presentiment of the
length to which "the tithe insurrection," as they termed it, was likely
to proceed throughout the country at large, with the exception only of
the northern provinces.

CHAPTER V.--A Hang-Choice Shot--The "Garrison" on Short Commons.

When our merry friend the pedlar left the proctor's parlor, he proceeded
at a brisk pace in the direction of the highway, which, however, was not
less than three-quarters of a mile from Longshot Lodge, which was the
name Purcel had given to his residence. He had only got clear of the
offices, however, and was passing the garden wall, which ran between him
and the proctor's whole premises, when he was arrested by Mogue Moylan.

"Ah! merry Mogue," exclaimed the pedlar, ironically, "I was missin' you.
Where were you, my cherub?"

"I was in the barn 'ithin," replied Mogue, "just offerin' up a little
pathernavy for the protection o' this house and place, and of the
daicent, kind-hearted peeople that's in it."

"An', as a joint prayer, they say, is worth ten single ones, I suppose,"
returned the pedlar,--laying his fingers on his lips and winking--"you
had--ahem--you understand?"

"No, thin," replied Mogue, brightening up with excessive vanity, "may I
be happy if I do!"

"Why, our fair friend, Letty Lenehan--begad, Mogue, she's a purty girl
that--says she to herself," proceeded the pedlar; "for I don't think she
knew or thought I heard her--'If I thought he would like these rib-bons,
I'd buy them for myself.' 'Who do you mane, acushla?' says I, whisperin'
to her. 'Who,' says she, 'but--but Mogue himself--only honor bright, Mr.
Magrath' says she, 'sure you wouldn't betray me?' 'Honor bright again,'