He seized a stick and went into the passage, followed by his wife, murmuring, ‘Oh, David, bach,’ and by Netta as far as the door, from which she peeped down the passage.

‘Who’s there?’ roared the farmer in a voice of thunder.

’May it please yer honour, I’m cowld and hungry.  Long life to yer honour and her leddyship, if yell only give the loan o’ yer barn, or maybe yer loft, or—­’

‘I’ll show you the way to my barn, you idle, good-for-nothing scamp,’ cried Mr Prothero, opening the door, and levelling a blow with his stick into the moonlight, that must infallibly have knocked down any one less agile than the man for whom it was intended.  As it was, the unwelcome visitor jumped aside, whilst the portly farmer tripped himself up by his own impetuosity, and fell upon the threshold.  Mrs Prothero and Netta screamed, and Shanno took hold of the beggar’s arm, to prevent his escape.  But the beggar had pulled Mr Prothero up, and was beginning to sympathise with him in broad brogue, when that valiant anti-Irishman got hold of his stick again, and began to belabour the unoffending party’s back most manfully.

‘Enough’s as good as a faist, yer honour,’ cried the stranger, skipping from side to side, and evading the blows very skilfully; ’pon my sowl, yer honour ’ud do for a fair or a wake.  ‘Tis madam as has the heart an’ the conscience for the poor Irish, an’ miss, too, asthore!’

The impudent fellow ran round to where Netta stood, who, in terror, went into the house, followed by the man, and after him, the rest in full hue and cry.

‘Tin thousand pardons, miss,’ said the man, taking off his hat and confronting Netta.

‘Owen!  Owen!’ screamed Netta.  ‘For shame upon you, you naughty boy,’ and therewith Netta and the unexpected guest were hugging one another, most lovingly.

‘’Tis the mother will give the poor Irisher a lodgin’ and a drop o’ the cratur,’ cried that mother’s well-beloved eldest born almost catching her up in his arms, and smothering her with kisses.  ’And the masther isn’t so hard-hearted as he looks,’ he added, shaking the astonished farmer by the hand.

‘Owen! oughtn’t you to be ashamed of yourself?’ cried the farmer, laughing aloud, and rubbing his right leg.

‘Not kilt intirely, yer honour! didn’t I take you all in, that’s all!’

’Where did you come from?  How did you come?  When did you leave your ship?’ were the questions reiterated on all sides of the welcome guest.

’I’ll tell you all that to-morrow.  At present I am dying of cowld and hunger, and haven’t broke me fast since morning.  Let me show you how the locker stands.’

Owen emptied his pockets, and from a corner of one of them turned out a solitary halfpenny.

’I shouldn’t have had that if old Nanny Cwmgwyn hadn’t given it to me just now.  But I’ll tell you my story to-morrow in character.’

‘Not an improved one anyhow,’ said Mr Prothero with a gathering frown.