“By the way, papa,” said Mary, “talking of that—­what has become of the pleasant man that goes under that name or nickname—­the pedlar that calls here occasionally?”

“I saw him in the market yesterday,” replied her father, “and a fine, hale fellow he is of his years.  For a man of fifty he’s a miracle of activity and energy.”

“They say he is wealthy,” observed John, “and I shouldn’t wonder.  You ought to give a good guess at that, father—­ha! ha! ha!”

“Right, John, I ought, and I think he is.  You don’t know how money gathers with a successful pedlar, who is up to his business.  I am inclined to think that the Cannie Soogah is the only man who can throw any light on the history of Buck English.”

“Who the devil is that impudent scoundrel, father? for it appears that, as regards his birth, family, and origin, nobody knows anything certain about him.”

“And that is just the position in which I stand,” replied his father.  “It is a subject on which he himself gives no satisfaction to any one.  When asked about it, he laughs in jour face, and replies that he doesn’t exactly know, but is of the opinion that he is the son of his father—­whoever that was; but that, he says, he is not wise enough to know either, and then, after another laugh at you, he leaves you.”

“How does he live?” asked John, “for he has no visible means of support—­he neither works nor is engaged in any profession, and yet he dresses well.”

“Well!  John;” exclaimed Julia.

“Perhaps I ought not to say—­well, Julia; but at all events, he is very fond of being considered a buck, and he certainly dresses up to that character.”

“He admits that he was eight years in England,” said his father; “although, for my part, it’s just as likely that he spent seven years of that time in Botany Bay; if not, I should have no objection that something should occur to make him spend the remainder of his life there.”

“Why should you wish the man so ill, papa’?” asked Mary.

“Why, Mary—­faith for a very good reason, my dear child; because I don’t wish to see your sister annoyed and persecuted by the scoundrel.  The fellow is so impudent that he will take no rebuff.”

“By the way, father, where does M’Carthy stop, now that he is in the country?” asked Alick, with some hesitation, and a brow a little heightened in color.

“For the present,” replied the other, “he stops with our friend, O’Driscol, the new magistrate.  Faith, it’s a shove-up for O’Driscol to get on the Bench.  Halloo! there’s M’Carthy’s knock—­I’m sure I know it.”

The proctor was right; but notwithstanding his quickness and sagacity, there was another individual in the room at that moment who recognized it sooner than he did.  Julia arose, and withdrew under some pretence which we cannot now remember, but I really because she felt that had she remained until M’Carthy’s entrance, her blushes would have betrayed her.