“We’ll go to the squire,” sobbed Mrs. Rooney.  “The villain durst not!”

“He’s got the squire under his thumb, I tell you,” replied Ragged Nance.  “You must look after yourselves.  I’ve got it,” she said, turning to Andy.  “We’ll dress him as a girl, and let the smugglers take him.”

Andy roared with laughter at the notion of being made a girl of.  Though Shan More was the blackguardly leader of the smugglers who were giving the squire trouble, Andy was too taken up with the fun of being transformed into the very rough likeness of a pleasing young woman to think of the danger.  It was difficult to give his angular form the necessary roundness of outline; but Ragged Nance at last padded him out with straw, and tied a bonnet on his head to shade his face, saying, “That’ll deceive them.  Shan More won’t come himself.  He’ll send some of his men, and they’re all dhrunk already.”

“But they’ll murdher my boy when they find out the chate,” said Mrs. Rooney.

“Suppose they did,” exclaimed Andy stoutly; “I’d rather die, sure, than the disgrace should fall upon Oonah there.”

“God bless you, Andy dear!” said Oonah.

The tramp of approaching horses rang through the stillness of the night, and Oonah and Nance ran out and crouched in the potato tops in the garden.  Four drunken vagabonds broke into the cottage, and, seeing Andy in the dim light clinging to his mother, they dragged him away and lifted him on a horse, and galloped off with him.

As it happened, luck favoured Andy.  When he came to the smugglers’ den, Shan More was lying on the ground stunned, and his sister, Red Bridget, was tending him; in going up the ladder from the underground whisky-still, he had fallen backward.  The upshot was that Andy was left in charge of Red Bridget.  But, alas! just as he was hoping to escape, she penetrated through his disguise.  More unfortunately still, Andy was, with all his faults, a rather good-looking young fellow, and Red Bridget took a fancy to him, and the “Couple-Beggar” was waiting for a job.

Smugglers’ whisky is very strong, and Bridget artfully plied him with it.  Andy was still rather dazed when he reached home next morning.

“I’ve married again,” he said to his mother.

“Married?” interrupted Oonah, growing pale.  “Who to?”

“Shan More’s sister,” said Andy.

“Wirasthru!” screamed Mrs. Rooney, tearing her cap off her head.  “You got the worst woman in Ireland.”

“Then I’ll go and ’list for a sojer,” said he.

V.—­Andy Gets Married a Third Time

It was Father Phil that brought the extraordinary news to Squire Egan.

“Do you remember those two letters that Andy stole from the post-office, and that someone burnt?” he asked, with a smile.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you, father, that one was for you,” said the squire, looking very uncomfortable.

“Oh, Andy let it out long ago,” said the kindly old priest.  “But the joke is that by stealing my letter Andy nearly lost a title and a great fortune.  Ever heard of Lord Scatterbrain?  He died a little time ago, confessing in his will that it was he that married Mrs. Rooney, and deserted her.”