om indigestion, any how," said Roach, with a
grin. "I'll give you a clean bill of health from that malady here."

"It's weel for us, that we ken a cure for it--more than ye can say for
the case you've just left."

"I saved the boy's life," said Roach indignantly.

"Assuredly ye did na kill him, and folks canna a'ways say as muckle for
ye. We maun thank the Lord for a' his mercies; and he vouchsafed you, a
vara sound sleep."

How this controversy was to be carried on further, it is not easy
to say; but at this moment the door of the breakfast-room opened
cautiously, and a wild rough head peeped stealthily in, which gradually
was followed by the neck, and in succession the rest of the figure of
Kerry O'Leary, who, dropping down on both knees before the Doctor, cried
out in a most lamentable accent--

"Oh! Docther darlint--Docther dear--forgive me--for the love of Joseph,
forgive me!"

Roach's temper was not in its blandest moment, and his face grew purple
with passion, as he beheld the author of his misfortunes at his feet.

"Get out of my sight, you scoundrel, I never want to set eyes on you,
till I see you in the dock--ay, with handcuffs on you."

"Oh, murther, murther, is it take the law of me, for a charge of swan
drops? Oh, Docther acushla, don't say you'll do it."

"I'll have your life, as sure as my name's Roach."

"Try him wi' a draught," interposed M'Nab.

"Begorra, I'm willn'," cried Kerry, grasping at the mediation. "I'll
take any thing, barrin' the black grease he gave the masther--that would
kill the divil."

This exceptive compliment to his skill was not so acceptable to the
Doctor, whose passion boiled over at the new indignity.

"I'll spend fifty guineas, but I'll hang you,--there's my word on it."

"Oh, wirra! wirra!" cried Kerry, whose apprehensions of how much law
might be had for the money, made him tremble all over--"that's what I
get for tramping the roads all night after the pony."

"Where's the pony--where's the gig?" called out Roach, suddenly reminded
by material interests, that he had more at stake than mere vengeance.

"The beast is snug in the stable--that's where he is, eating a peck of
oats--last year's corn--divil a less."

"And the gig?"

"Oh, the gig, is it? Musha, we have the gig too," responded Kerry, but
with a reluctance that could not escape the shrewd questioner.

"Where is it, then?" said Roach, impatiently.

"Where would it be, but in the yard?--we're going