Misther Magrath," he replied, once more repeating the survey of his
puckered laws; "is it by way of information that you tould me that? That
I mayn't sin, but you should be ever and always employed in carryin'
coals to, Newcastle. Troth, since you have broached\the thing, I've
known it this good while, and no one could tell you more about it, if
I liked. Honor bright, however, as poor Letty said, troth, I pity that
girl--but what can I do? no--no--honor bright, for ever!"

"Well, anyhow, now that we've thrown light upon what I noticed a while
ago, let us talk about other matters. The house is still well armed and
guarded, you say?"

"That I may die in grace, but it 'ud take me half an hour to reckon all
the guns, pistols, and blunderbushes they have freshly loaded in the
house every night."

"Well, couldn't you assist us, you in the house?"

"No--for I'm not in the house; they wouldn't allow any servant to sleep
in the house for fear o' traichery, and they say so. If they'd let me
sleep in the house, it 'ud be another thing; I might wet the powdher,
and make their fire-arms useless; but sure they have lots of swords and
bagnets, and daggers, and other instruments o' that kind that 'ud skiver
one like a rabbit."

"Well, but you know all the outs and ins of the house, the rooms and
passages, and everything that way so thoroughly, that one could depend
upon your account of them."

"Depend upon them--ay, as well as you might upon the Gospel itself;--she
was fond of M'Carthy, they say, and they think she is still; but, _be
dhu husth_, (* Hold your tongue.) there's one that knows betther. You
don't like M'Carthy?"

"To be sure I do, as the devil does holy wather."

"Well," proceeded Mogue, "I've a thing in my head about him--but sure
he's in the black list as it is."

"Well, what is it you have in your head about him?"

Mogue shook it, but added, "Never mind, I'll think it over again, and
when I'm made up on it, maybe I'll tell you. Don't we meet on this day
week?"

"Sartainly, will you come?"

"I intend it, for the truth is, Misther Magrath, that the Millstone must
be broke; that I may die in pace, but it must, an' any one that stands
in the way of it must suffer. May I be happy, but they must."

The pedlar looked cautiously about him, and seeing that the coast was
clear and no person visible, he thrust a letter into his hand, adding,
"you may lave it in some place where the ould chap, or either of the
sons