Like many others of his unhappy class, Poll Doolin’s son, “Raymond-na-hattha,” for it was he, and so had he been nick-named, in consequence of his wearing such a number of hats, had a remarkable mixture of humor, simplicity, and cunning.  He entertained a great penchant, or rather a passion for cock-fighting, and on the present occasion carried a game one under his arm.  Throughout the country no man possessed a bird of that species, with whose pedigree he was not thoroughly acquainted; and, truth to tell, he proved himself as great a thief as he was a genealogist among them.  Many a time the unfortunate foxes from some neighboring cover were cursed and banned, when, if the truth had been known, the only fox that despoiled the roost was Raymond-na-hattha.  One thing, however, was certain, that unless the cock was thoroughly game he might enjoy his liberty and ease long enough without molestation from Raymond.  We had well nigh forgotten to say that he wore on the right side of his topmost hat a cockade of yellow cloth, from which two or three ribbons of a scarlet color fluttered down to his shoulder, a bit of vanity which added very much to the fantastic nature of his general costume.

“Ha!  Raymond, my good boy,” said the priest, “how does it happen that you are so early up this stormy morning? would you not be more comfortable in your bed?”

“Airly up,” replied Raymond, “airly up! that’s good—­to be sure you’re a priest, but you don’t know everything.”

“Why, what am I ignorant of now, Raymond?”

“Why, that I didn’t go to bed yet—­so that it’s up late, instead of early, I am—­d’ye hear? ha, ha, now take that.”

“When, where, and how did you spend the night then, Raymond; but you seem in a hurry—­surely if you trot on at this fate we cannot keep up with you.”  The truth is, Raymond’s general rate of travelling was very rapid.  “Where did you spend the night, Raymond,” continued the priest.

“Wid a set o’ jolly cocks—­ha, ha,—­now make money of that, d’ye hear.”

“You’re a riddle, Raymond; you’re a riddle; there’s no understanding you—­where did you get the cock?—­but I needn’t ask; of course you stole him.”

“Then why do you ax if you think so?”

“Because you’re notorious for stealing cocks—­every one knows as much.”

“No, never steal ’em,—­fond o’ me—­come wid me themselves.  Look.”  The words were scarcely uttered when he tossed the bird up into the air, and certainly, after flying about for a few yards, he alit, and tottering against the wind towards Raymond, stretched out his neck, as if he wished to be again taken up by him.

“I see,” said the priest, “but answer me—­where did you spend last night now?”

“I tould you,” said Raymond, “wid de jolly cocks—­sure I mostly roost it; an’ better company too than most people, for they’re fond o’ me.  Didn’t you see? ha, ha!”

“I believe I understand you now,” said Father Roche; “you’ve slept near somebody’s hen roost, and have stolen the cock—­to whom are you carrying it?”