“So much the betther; be the livin’ I’ll try whether he has any ould coins about him.  Many a time—­no, I don’t say many a time—­but twic’t I did it, and found it well worth my while, too.  Some of these ould scamers lie wid a purse o’ goolden guineas under their head, and won’t confess it till the last moment.  Who knows what this ould lad may have about him?  I’ll thry anyhow,” said the drunken ruffian; “It’s not aisy to give up an ould custom, Molly—­the sheriff, my darlin’, for that.  I aised him of his fines, and was near strikin’ a double blow—­I secured his pocket-book, and made a good attempt to hang Willy Reilly for the robbery into the bargain.  Now, hang it, Molly, didn’t I look a gentleman in his’ clothes, shoes, silver buckles, and all; wasn’t it well we secured them before the house was burned?  Here,” he added, “take a sneeshin of this,” pulling at the same time a pint bottle of whiskey out of his pocket; “it’ll rise your spirits, an’ I’ll see what cash this ould codger has about him; an’, by the way, how the devil do we know that he doesn’t understand every word we say.  Suppose, now—­(hiccup)—­that he heard me say I robbed the sheriff, wouldn’t I be in a nice pickle?  But, tell me, can you get no trace of Reilly?”

“Devil a trace; they say he has left the country.”

“If I had what that scoundrel has promised me for findin’ him out or securin’ him—­here’s—­here’s—­here’s to you—­I say, if I had, you and I would”—­Here he pointed with his thumb over his shoulder, as much as to say they would try another climate.

“And now,” he proceeded, “for a search on the shake-down.  Who knows but the ould fellow has the yellow boys (guineas) about him? “—­and he was proceeding to search Fergus, when Mary flew at him like a tigress.

“Stop, you cowardly robber!” she exclaimed; “would you bring down the curse and the vengeance of God upon both of us.  We have enough and too much to answer for, let alone to rob the ould an’ the poor.”

“Be aisy now,” said he, “I’ll make the search; sure I’m undher the scoundrel Whitecraft’s protection.”

“Yes, you are, and you’re undher my protection too; and I tell you, if you lay a hand upon him it’ll be worse for you.”

“What—­what do you mane?”

“It’s no matther what I mane; find it out.”

“How do I know but he has heard us?”

We must now observe that Fergus’s style of sleeping was admirably adapted for his purpose.  It was not accompanied by a loud and unbroken snore; on the contrary, after it had risen to the highest and most disagreeable intonations, it stopped short, with a loud and indescribable backsnort in his nose, and then, after a lull of some length, during which he groaned and muttered to himself, he again resumed his sternutations in a manner so natural as would have imposed upon Satan himself, if he had been present, as there is little doubt he was, though not exactly visible to the eyes of his two precious agents.