the truth is, I’m goin’ to have my revenge as well as yourself; but when one does take his revenge, Con, it’s always best to take it like a Christian.  So now that we understand, one another, let us go up to the glebe—­otherwise I’ll drop.—­However, salvation to me!” he exclaimed with a smile, “if we’ll bear their burthens much longer!  I have a butt of meal here, I saw his son to-day, too, without a stitch to his foot, poor boy.”

“And so did I,” replied M’Mahon; “he sent one o’ them over to me for the loan of a lock o’ praties.”

“Oh, God help them!” exclaimed the priest.  “Come, Con, let us hurry—­but why didn’t you send them then?”

“Why, sir—­why, bekaise I daren’t send them in open daylight.”

“True enough,” said the other; “and it was stupid of me to ask.  I myself would have sent what I’m carrying to him by Barney Brennan, but that I feared it would take wind, in which case the people might withdraw their confidence from me, from an apprehension that I wanted to curry favor with the parson of the parish, which I assure you, Condy, I do not.  But listen to me, now; you’re never to brathe a syllable of this adventure.”

“Ill give you my oath of it, sir, if you wish, takin’ it for granted, at the same time, that I’m safe with you.”

“Never fear that; I’m not the man to play the traitor on any poor fellow that I might catch at any illegal work of the kind.”

Both were now within a few perches of the hall-door, when the priest, who was scarcely able to speak from fatigue, said with some difficulty:—­

“Con, as we have met, I think you must take the responsibility of this night’s adventure on yourself.  Here, now,” said he, depositing his burden against the door as he spoke, “I think the best thing to do, in order to spare their feelings—­for I need not tell you, that they are, by all accounts, a delicately-minded and highly-educated family—­and it will be well to tax them as little as possible; I say then,—­let us place, these sacks against the hall-door, and as soon as it is opened, they will tumble in heels foremost upon them, and then you can cut.  So now I leave you to manage it, only, on any earthly account, don’t name me to a living soul in the business.  Good night, now, and God bless you—­as He will,” he added, retreating from the hall-door—­“as He will, you kind-hearted, good-natured ringleader you.”

The matter, however, did not end here, for, as Burns says, “the best-laid schemes of mice and men may gang agree.”  The aid received by the venerable Mr. Goodigon and his family had escaped through the children, in the early part of the next day, and had spread through the neighborhood; and sooth to say, there was scarcely a voice among them louder in condemnation of the fact than that of Con M’Mahon, who said it was a bad way to banish tithes by assistin’ the parsons.  So far as he was concerned, however, the secret did not at all transpire.  His reverence,