“What do you want here, my good man?” inquired the farmer.

“Do you wish to say anything to me?” asked the bishop.

“A few words,” replied Reilly; but, on consideration, he changed his purpose of playing off a good-humored joke on his lordship and the farmer.  For the melancholy prelate he felt the deepest compassion and respect, and apprehended that any tampering with his feelings might be attended with dangerous consequences to his intellect.  He consequently changed his purpose, and added, “My lord, don’t you know me?”

The bishop looked at him, and it was not without considerable scrutiny that he recognized him.

In the meantime the farmer, who had left the room previous to this explanation, and who looked upon Reilly as an impostor or a spy, returned with a stout oaken cudgel, exclaiming, “Now, you damned desaver, I will give you a jacketful of sore bones for comin’ to pry about here.  This gintleman is a doctor; three of my family are lying ill of faver, and that you may catch it I pray gorra this day! but if you won’t catch that, you’ll catch this,” and he whirled the cudgel about his head, and most unquestionably it would have descended on Reilly s cranium were it not for the bishop, who interposed and prevented the meditated violence.

“Be quiet, Kelly,” said he, “be quiet, sir; this is Mr. Reilly disguised.”

“Troth, I must look closely at him first,” replied Kelly; “who knows but he’s imposin’ upon you, Dr. Wilson?”

Kelly then looked closely into his face, still holding a firm grip of the cudgel.

“Why, Kelly,” said Reilly, “what the deuce are you at?  Don’t you know my voice at least?”

“Well,” replied Kelly, “bad luck to the like o’ that ever I see.  Holy Moses, Mr. Reilly, but you had a narrow escape, Devil a man in the barony can handle a cudgel as I can, and it was a miracle, and you may thank his lordship here for it that you hadn’t a shirtful of sore bones.”

“Well, my dear friend,” said Reilly, “put up your cudgel; I really don’t covet a shirtful of sore bones; but, after all, perhaps you would have found my fist a match for your cudgel.”

“Nonsense!” replied Kelly; “but God be praised that you escaped the welting anyhow; I would never forgive myself, and you the friend of his lordship.”

He then left the room, his terrific cudgel under his arm, and Reilly, after his absence, related to the bishop the events of the day, involving, as they did, the two narrow escapes which he had had.  The bishop thanked God, and told Reilly to be of good courage, for that he thought the hand of Providence was protecting him.