“Would you think, now,” he proceeded, with a sinister grin that sent his yellow tusk half an inch out of his mouth, “that if a man was jealous of his wife, or a wife of her husband, I couldn’t give either o’ them a dose that ’ud cure them?”

“Faith, I dare say you could,” replied Woodward; “a dose that would free them from care of all sorts, as well as jealousy.”

“I don’t mane that,” said the skeleton; “ha, ha! you’re a funny gentleman, and maybe I—­but no—­I don’t mane that; but widout injurin’ a hair in either o’ their heads.”

“I am not married,” said the other, “but I expect to be soon, and when I am I will pay you well for the knowledge of that herb—­for my wife, I mean.  Where do you live?”

“In Rathfillan, sir.  I’m a well-known man there, and for many a long mile about it.”

“You must be very useful to the country people hereabouts?”

“Ay,” he exclaimed, “you mane to the poor, I suppose, and you’re right; but maybe I’m of sarvice to the rich, too.  Many a face I save from—­I could save from shame, I mane—­if I liked, and could get well ped for it, too.  Some young, extravagant people that have rich ould fathers do be spakin’ to me, too; but thin, you know, I have a sowl to be saved, and am a religious man, I hope, and do my duty as sich, and that every one that has a sowl to be saved, may! Amin, acheernah!

“I am glad to find that your sense of duty preserves you against such strong temptations.”

“Then, there’s another set of men—­these outlaws that do be robbin’ rich people’s houses, and they, too, try to tempt me.”

“Why should they tempt you?”

“Bekaise the people, now knowin’ that they’re abroad, keep watch-dogs, bloodhounds, and sich useful animals, that give the alarm at night, and the robbers wishin’, you see, to get them out of the way, do be temptin’ me about wishin’ me to pison them.”

“Of course you resist them?”

“Well, I hope I do; but sometimes it’s hard to get over them, especially when they plant a skean or a middogue to one’s navel, and swear great oaths that they’ll make a scabbard for it of my poor ould bulg (belly)—­I say, when the thieves do the business that way, it requires a grate dale of the grace o’ God to deny them.  But what’s any Chr’sthen ‘idout the grace o’ God?  May we all have it! Amin, acheernah!”

“Well, when I marry, as I will soon, I’ll call upon you; I dare say my wife will get jealous, for I love the ladies, if that’s a fault.”

Another grin was his first reply to this, after which he said: 

“Well, sir, if she does, come to me.”

“Where in Rathfillan do you live?”

“O, anybody will tell you; inquire for ould Sol Donnel, the yarrib man, and you’ll soon find me out.”

“But ’suppose I shouldn’t wish it to be known that I called on you?”

“Eh?” said the old villain, giving him another significant grin that once more projected the fang; “well, maybe you wouldn’t.  If you want my sarvices then, come to the cottage that’s built agin the church-yard wall, on the north side; and if you don’t wish to be seen, why you can come about midnight, when every one’s asleep.”