“But what do you mane, Mogue, when you say you aren’t your own man!”

“I can’t tell you; but the thruth is, Jerry—­poor, good-natured Jerry—­that every man ought to look high, especially when he sees the regard that’s for him, and especially, too, when God—­blessed be his name—­has gifted him as some people is gifted.  There’s a man hereabouts that thinks he could put my nose out o’ joint.  Oh! it’s a great thing, Jerry, to have nice, ginteel, thin features, that won’t spoil by the weather.  Throth, red cheeks or a white skin in a man isn’t becomin’; an’ as for larnin’, Jerry, it may require a long time to take it in, but a very little hole would soon let it all out.  May I never do harm but I’m glad that job’s over,” alluding to the employment at which they were engaged.  “Oh! then, but that’s a fine cast o’ whate!”

“It is,” replied Jerry; “but in regard to the larnin’ I don’t undherstand you.”

“No matther for that, Jerry, I may be a good friend to you yet; ay, indeed may I—­poor good-natured Jerry; an’ when that time comes, if you have any scruple in axin’ Misther Moylan to countenance you and befriend you, why it’ll be your own fault my poor, good-natured Jerry.”

“Many thanks, Misther Moylan,” replied Jerry, assuming a gravity which he could scarcely maintain, “remember that you don’t forget your promise.  I’m goin’ over to get the sacks from Misther John; an’ by the way, aren’t you goin’ out to-day to shoot wid Misther M’Carthy?”

“Well, I declare, I believe I am; I know the mountains well, an’ I’m fond of seein’ fun, or of hearin’ of it, any way.”

Jerry then departed, and Mogue, now left to himself, exclaimed in a soliloquy, “Ay, an’ if I don’t see it this night, I’ll hear of it to-morrow, I hope.  Mr. M’Carthy, you’re in my way; but as I said to that poor omadhawn, although it took many a year to get the larnin’ into that head of yours, one little hole will soon let it out again.”  As Mogue uttered the last words, the ear of Letty Lenehan was somewhat nearer him than he imagined.  She had come to call them to breakfast, and seeing that the back-door of the barn was open, she approached it, as being nearest to her, and on peeping in, half disposed for a piece of frolic, she heard Mogue utter the soliloquy we have just repeated; but as he stood with his back towards her, he was not at all aware that she was present, or had heard him.

Immediately after breakfast, Mogue and M’Carthy set out for the mountains, the latter furnished with all the necessary equipments for the sport, and the former carrying a game-bag and refreshments; for as M’Carthy knew that it must be the last day he could devote to such amusements, he resolved to have a good day’s sport, if possible.

“Now, Mogue,” said his companion, “you are much better acquainted with these mountains than I am, and with those places where we may be likely to find most game.  I, therefore, place myself in your hands for the day.”