“How did you happen to turn musician?” asked the other.

“Why, sir, I was always fond of a jingle; but, to tell you the truth, I would rather have the same jingle in my purse than in my instrument.  Divil such an unmusical purse ever a man was cursed with than I have been doomed to carry during my whole life.”

“Then it was a natural love of music that sent you abroad as a performer?”

“Partly only, sir; for there were three causes went to it.  There is a certain man named Dandy Dulcimer, that I had a very loving regard for, and I thought it against his aise and comfort to ask him to strain his poor bones by hard work.  I accordingly substituted pure idleness for it, which is a delightful thing in its way.  There, sir, is two of the causes—­love of melody and a strong but virtuous disinclination to work.  The third—­” but here he paused and his face darkened.

“Well,” inquired the stranger, “the third?  What about the third?”

Dandy significantly pointed back with his thumb over his shoulder, in the direction of Red Hall.  “It was him,” he said; “the Black Baronet—­or rather the incarnate divil.”

“That’s truth, at all events,” observed Pat corroborating the incomplete assertion.

“It was he, sir,” continued Dandy, “that thrust us out of our comfortable farm—­he best knows why and wherefore—­and like a true friend of liberty, he set us at large from our comfortable place, to enjoy it.”

“Well,” replied the stranger, “if that be true it was hard; but you know every story has two sides; or, as the proverb goes, one story is well until the other is told.  Let us dismiss this.  If I engage you to attend me, can you be faithful, honest, and cautious?”

“To an honest man, sir, I can; but to no other.  I grant I have acted the knave very often, but it was always in self-defence, and toward far greater knaves than myself.  An honest man did once ax me to serve him in an honest way; but as I was then in a roguish state of mind I tould him I couldn’t conscientiously do it.”

“If you were intrusted with a secret, for instance, could you undertake to keep it?”

“I was several times in Dublin, sir, and I saw over the door of some public office a big, brazen fellow, with the world on his back; and you know that from what he seemed to suffer I thought he looked very like a man that was keeping a secret.  To tell God’s truth, sir, I never like a burden of any kind; and whenever I can get a man that will carry a share of it, I—­”

“Tut! your honor, never mind him,” said Pat.  “What the deuce are you at, Dandy?  Do you want to prevent the gintleman from engagin’ you?  Never mind him, sir; he’s as honest as the sun.”

“It matters not, Pat,” said the stranger; “I like him.  Are you willing to take service with me for a short time, my good fellow?”

“If you could get any one to give you a caracther, sir, perhaps I might,” replied Dandy.