LITMIR.BIZ

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thought too. He was walking about before the door, thinking and ruminating how to raise the money, when he sees the sheep grazing on the lawn fornint him – not that he could sell one of them, for there was a strap of a bond or mortage on them a year before. ‘Faix,’ and says he, when a man’s hard up for cash, he’s often obliged to wear a mighty thread-bare coat, and go cold enough in the winter season – and sure it’s reason sheep isn’t better than Christians; and begorra,’ says he, I’ll have the fleece off ye, if the weather was twice as cowld.’ No sooner said than done. They were ordered into the haggard-yard the same evening, and, as sure as ye’re there, they cut the wool off them three days after Christmas. Musha! but it was a pitiful sight to see them turned out shivering and shaking, with the snow on the ground. And it didn’t thrive with him; for three died the first night. Well, when he seen what come of it, he had them all brought in again, and they gathered all the spare clothes and the ould rags in the house together, and dressed them up, at least the ones that were worst; and such a set of craytures never was seen. One had an old petticoat on; another a flannel waistcoat; many, could only get a cravat or a pair of gaiters; but the ram beat all, for he was dressed in a pair of corduroy breeches, and an ould spencer of the master’s; and may I never live, if I didn’t roll down full length on the grass when I seen him.”

      For some minutes before Lanty had concluded his story, the whole party were convulsed with laughter; even Sir Archy vouchsafed a grave smile, as, receiving the tale in a different light, he muttered, to himself —

      “They’re a the same – ne’er-do-well, reckless deevils.”

      One good result at least followed the anecdote – the good-humour of the company was restored at once – the bargain was finally concluded; and Lanty succeeded by some adroit flattery in recovering five pounds of the price, under the title of luck-penny – a portion of the contract M’Nab would have interfered against at once, but that, for his own especial reasons, he preferred remaining silent.

      The party soon after separated for the night, and as Lanty sought the room usually destined for his accommodation, he muttered, as he went, his self-gratulations on his bargain. Already he had nearly reached the end of the long corridor, where his chamber lay, when a door was cautiously opened, and Sir Archy, attired in a dressing-gown, and with a candle in his hand, stood before him..

      “A word wi’ ye, Master Lawler,” said he, in a low dry tone, the horse-dealer but half liked. “A word wi’ ye, before ye retire to rest.”

      Lanty followed the old man into the apartment with an air of affected carelessness, which soon, however, gave way to surprise, as he surveyed the chamber, so little like any other in that dreary mansion. The walls were covered with shelves, loaded with books; maps and prints lay scattered about on tables; an oak cabinet of great beauty in form and carving, occupied a deep recess beside the chimney; and over the fireplace a claymore of true Highland origin, and a pair of silver-mounted pistols, were arranged like a trophy, surmounted by a flat Highland cap, with a thin black eagle’s feather.

      Sir Archy seemed to enjoy the astonishment of his guest, and for some minutes made no effort to break silence. At length he said —

      “We war speaking about a sma’ pony for the laird’s son, Mister Lawler – may I ask ye the price?”

      The words acted like a talisman – Lanty was himself in a moment. The mere mention of horse flesh brought back the whole crowd of his daily associations, and with his native volubility he proceeded, not to reply to the question, but to enumerate the many virtues and perfections of the “sweetest tool that ever travelled on four legs.”

      Sir Archy waited patiently till the eloquent eulogy was over, and then, drily repeated his first demand.

      “Is it her price!” said Lanty, repeating the question to gain time to consider how far circumstances might warrant him in pushing a market. “It’s her price ye’re asking me, Sir Archibald? Troth, and I’ll tell you: there’s not a man in Kerry could say what’s her price. Goold wouldn’t pay for her, av it was value was wanted. See now, she’s not fourteen hands high, but may I never leave this room if she wouldn’t carry me – ay, myself here, twelve stone six in the scales – over e’er a fence between this and Inchigeela.”

      “It’s no exactly to carry you that I was making my inquiry,” said the old man, with an accent of more asperity than he had used before.

      “Well then, for Master Herbert – sure she is the very beast – ”

      “What are you, asking for her? – canna you answer a straightforred question, man?” reiterated Sir Archy, in a voice there was no mistaking.

      “Twenty guineas, then,” replied Lanty, in a tone of defiance; “and if ye offer me pounds I won’t take it.”

      Sir Archy made no answer; but turning to the old cabinet, he unlocked one of the small doors, and drew forth a long leather pouch, curiously embroidered with silver; from this he took ten guineas in gold, and laid them leisurely on the table. The horse dealer eyed them askance, but without the slightest sign of having noticed them.

      “I’m no goin’ to buy your beast, Mr. Lawler,” said the old man, slowly; “I’m just goin’ merely to buy your ain good sense and justice. You say the powney is worth twenty guineas.”

      “As sure as I stand here. I wouldn’t – ”

      “Weel, weel, I’m content. There’s half the money; tak’ it, but never let’s hear anither word about her here: bring her awa wi’ ye; sell or shoot her, do what ye please wi’ her; but, mind me, man” – here, his voice became full, strong, and commanding – “tak’ care that ye meddle not wi’ that young callant, Herbert. Dinna fill his head wi’ ranting thoughts of dogs and horses. Let there be one of the house wi’ a soul above a scullion or a groom. Ye have brought ruin enough here; you can spare the boy, I trow: there, sir, tak’ your money.”

      For a second or two, Lanty seemed undecided whether to reject or accept a proposal so humiliating in its terms; and when at length he acceded, it was rather from his dread of the consequences of refusal, than from any satisfaction the bargain gave him.

      “I’m afraid, Sir Archibald,” said he, half timidly, “I’m afraid you don’t understand me well.”

      “I’m afraid I do,” rejoined the old man, with a bitter smile on his lip; “but it’s better we should understand each other. Good night.”

      “Well, good night to you, any how,” said Lanty, with a slight sigh, as he dropped the money into his pocket, and left the room.

      “I have bought the scoundrel cheap!” muttered Sir Archy, as the door closed.

      “Begorra, I thought he was twice as knowing!” was Lanty’s reflection, as he entered his own chamber.

      CHAPTER IV. KERRY O’LEARY

      Lanty Lawler was stirring the first in the house. The late sitting of the preceding evening, and the deep potations he had indulged in, left little trace of weariness on his well-accustomed frame. Few contracts were ratified in those days without the solemnity of a drinking bout, and the habits of the O’Donoghue household were none of the most abstemious. All was still and silent then as the horse-dealer descended the stairs, and took the path towards the stable, where he had left his hackney the night before.

      It was Lanty’s intention to take possession of his new purchase, and set out on his journey before the others were stirring; and with this object he wended his way across the weed-grown garden, and into the wide and dreary court-yard of the building.

      Had he been disposed to moralize – assuredly an occupation he was little given to – he might have indulged the vein naturally enough, as he surveyed on every side the remains of long past greatness and present decay. Beautifully proportioned columns, with florid capitals, supplied the place of gate piers. Richly carved armorial bearings were seen upon the stones used to repair the breaches in the walls. Fragments of inscriptions and half obliterated dates appeared amid the moss-grown ruins; and the very, door of the stable had been a portal of dark oak, studded with large nails, its native strength having preserved it when even the masonry was crumbling

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