away at his convenience.

In a few days Owny's cars and men were sent for this purpose; but when
they came to take the haystack to pieces, the solidity of its centre
rather astonished them--and instead of the cars going back loaded, two
had their journey for nothing, and went home empty. Previously to his
men leaving the widow's field, they spoke to her on the subject, and
said, "'Pon my conscience, ma'am, the centre o' your haystack was
mighty heavy."

"Oh, indeed, it's powerful hay!" said she.

"Maybe so," said they; "but there's not much nourishment in that part
of it."

"Not finer hay in Ireland!" said she.

"What's of it, ma'am," said they. "Faix, we think Mr. Doyle will be
talkin' to you about it." And they were quite right; for Owny became
indignant at being overreached, as he thought, and lost no time in
going to the widow to tell her so. When he arrived at her cabin, Andy
happened to be in the house; and when the widow raised her voice
through the storm of Owny's rage, in protestations that she knew
nothing about it, but that "Andy, the darlin', put the cock up with his
own hands," then did Owny's passion gather strength.

"Oh! it's you, you vagabone, is it?" said he, shaking his whip at Andy,
with whom he never had had the honour of a conversation since the
memorable day when his horse was nearly killed. "So this is more o'
your purty work! Bad cess to you! wasn't it enough for you to nigh-hand
kill one o' my horses, without plottin' to chate the rest o' them?"

"Is it _me_ chate them?" said Andy. "Throth, I wouldn't wrong a
dumb baste for the world."

"Not he, indeed, Misther Doyle!" said the widow.

"Arrah, woman, don't be talkin' your balderdash to me," said Doyle;
"sure you took my good money for your hay!"

"And sure I gave all I had to you--what more could I do?"

"Tare an' ounty, woman! who ever heerd of sich a thing as coverin' up a
rock wid hay, and sellin' it as the rale thing?"

"'T was Andy done it, Mr. Doyle; hand, act, or part, I hadn't in it."

"Why, then, aren't you ashamed o' yourself?" said Owny Doyle,
addressing Andy.

"Why would I be ashamed?" said Andy.

"For chatin'--that's the word, since you provoke me."

"What I done is not chatin'," said Andy. "I had a blessed example for
it."

"Oh! do you hear this!" shouted Owny, nearly provoked to take the worth
of his money out of Andy's ribs.

"Yes, I say a blessed example," said Andy. "Sure, didn't the blessed
Saint Peter