He was right.  Our friend the tipsy sergeant and his party were at the hall-door, which was opened as he went down, and he ordered lights into the back parlor.  In a few minutes they were ushered in, where they found him seated as magisterially as possible in a large arm-chair.

“Well, Johnston,” said he, assuming as much dignity as he could, “what has been your success?”

“A bad evening’s sport, sir; we bagged nothing—­didn’t see a feather.”

“Talk sense, Johnston,” said he sternly, “and none of this cant.  Did you see or hear any thing of the rebel?”

“Why, sir, we did; it would be a devilish nice business if a party led and commanded by George Johnston should go out without hearin’ and seein’ something.”

“Well, but what did you see and hear, sir?”

“Why, we saw Reilly’s house, and a very comfortable one it is; and we heard from the servants that he wasn’t at home.”

“You’re drunk, Johnston.”

“No, sir, begging your pardon, I’m only hearty; besides, I never discharge my duty half so well as when I’m drunk; If feel no colors then.”

“Johnston, if I ever know you to get drunk on duty again I shall have you reduced.”

“Reduced!” replied Johnston, “curse the fig I care whether you do or not; I’m actin’ as a volunteer, and I’ll resign.”

“Come, sir,” replied Sir Robert, “be quiet; I will overlook this, for you are a very good man if you could keep yourself sober.”

“I told you before, Sir Robert, that I’m a better man when I’m drunk.”

“Silence, sir, or I shall order you out of the room.”

“Please your honor,” observed Steen, “I have a charge to make against George Johnston.”

“A charge, Steen—­what is it?  You are a staunch, steady fellow, I know; what is this charge?”

“Why, sir, we met a suspicious character on the old bridle road beyond Reilly’s, and he refused to take him prisoner.”

“A poor half-Papist beggarman, sir,” replied Johnston, “who was on his way to my uncle’s to stop there for the night.  Divil a scarecrow in Europe would exchange clothes with him without boot.”

Steen then related the circumstances with which our readers are acquainted, adding that he suggested to Johnston the necessity of sending a couple of men up with him to ascertain whether what, he said was true or not; but that he flatly refused to do so—­and after some nonsense about a barn he let him off.

“I’ll tell you what, sir,” said Johnston, “I’ll hunt a priest or a Papish that breaks the law with any man livin’, but hang me if ever I’ll hunt a harmless beggarman lookin’ for his bit.”

At this period of the conversation the Red Rapparee, now in military uniform, entered the parlor, accompanied by some others of those violent men.

“Steen,” said the baronet, “what or who do you suppose this ragged ruffian was?”

“Either a Rapparee, sir, or Reilly himself.”