M’Carthy, on reaching O’Driscol’s the night before, had come to the conclusion of not making any allusion whatsoever to the incident which had just occurred to him.  O’Driscol, who was only a newly-fledged magistrate, would, he knew, have made it the ground-work of a fresh communication to government, or to his friend the Castle, as he called it, especially as he had many other circumstances of less importance since his elevation to the magistracy.  One indeed would imagine that the peace and welfare of that portion of the country had been altogether left to his sole and individual management, and that nothing at all of any consequence could get on properly in it without his co-operation or interference in some way.  For this reason, as well as for others, M’Carthy prudently hesitated either to arouse his loyalty or disturb the tranquility of his family, and after joining him in a tumbler of punch, or what O’Driscol termed his nightcap, he retired to bed, where, however, he could not for a considerable time prevent himself from ruminating, with a good deal of seriousness, upon the extraordinary interview he had had with the friendly stranger.

After breakfast the next morning he resolved, however, to communicate to his friends, the Purcels, who were at all events no alarmists, and would not be apt to make him, whether he would or not, the instrument of a selfish communication with the government, a kind of honor for which the quiet and unassuming student had no relish whatsoever.  He sauntered towards the proctor’s, at whose house he arrived a few minutes before the return from the kitchen of our friend the Connie Soogah, who had been treated there with an excellent and abundant breakfast, to which, in spite of the murder of Murray, he did ample justice.

“Now, Mr. Purcel,” he exclaimed, tossing down his pack as if it had been a schoolboy’s satchel, “by the lomenty-tarry you have made a new man of me!  Whoo!” he proceeded, cutting a caper more than a yard high, “show me the man now, that would dar to say bow to your—­beg pardon, ladies, I must be jinteel for your sakes—­that would dar, I say, to look crucked at you or one a’ your family, and maybe the Cannie Soogah wouldn’t rise the lap of his liver.  Come, young ladies, shall I make my display?  I know you’ll buy lot o’ things and plenty besides; I can praise my goods, thank God, for you see, Miss Mary, when the world comes to an end it’ll be found that the man who couldn’t say three words for himself, and one for his friend, must be sent down stairs to keep the fire in.  Miss Julia, I have a shawl here that ’ud make you look worse than you do.”

“Worse, Cannie!” replied Julia, “do you call that a recommendation?”

“Certainly, Miss Julia, you look so well that nothing on airth could make you look batther, and by way of variety, I’ve gone to the Well o’ the world’s end to get something to make you look worse.  God knows whether I’ve succeeded or not, but at all events, we’ll thry.”