On arriving at Gerald Cavanagh’s, which was on their way to the auction, it appeared that in order to have his company it was necessary they should wait for a little, as he was not yet ready.  That worthy man they found in the act of shaving himself, seated very upright upon a chair in the kitchen, his eyes fixed with great steadiness upon the opposite wall, whilst lying between his legs upon the ground was a wooden dish half filled with water, and on a chair beside him a small looking-glass, with its backup, which, after feeling his face from time to time in an experimental manner, he occasionally peeped into, and again laid down to resume the operation.

In the mean time, Mrs. Cavanagh set forward a chair for Tom M’Mahon, and desired her daughter Hannah to place one for Bryan, which she did.  The two girls were spinning, and it might have been observed that Kathleen appeared to apply herself to that becoming and feminine employment with double industry after the appearance of the M’Mahons.  Kate Hogan was sitting in the chimney corner, smoking a pipe, and as she took it out of her mouth to whiff away the smoke from time to time, she turned her black piercing eyes alternately from Bryan M’Mahon to Kathleen with a peculiar keenness of scrutiny.

“An’ how are you all up at Carriglass?” asked Mrs. Cavanagh.

“Indeed we can’t complain, thank God, as the times goes,” replied M’Mahon.

“An’ the ould grandfather?—­musha, but I was glad to see him look so well on Sunday last!”

“Troth he’s as stout as e’er a one of us.”

“The Lord continue it to him!  I suppose you hard o’ this robbery that was done at honest Jemmy Burke’s?”

“I did, indeed, an’ I was sorry to hear it.”

“A hundre’ an’ fifty pounds is a terrible loss to anybody in such times.”

“A hundre’ an’ fifty!” exclaimed M’Mahon—­“hut, tut!—­no; I thought it was only seventy or eighty.  He did not lose so much, did he?”

“So I’m tould.”

“It was two—­um—­it was two—­urn—­urn—­it was—­um—­um—­it was two hundre’ itself,” observed Cavanagh, after he had finished a portion of the operation, and given himself an opportunity of speaking—­“it war two hundre’ itself, I’m tould, an’ that’s too much, by a hundre’ and ninety-nine pounds nineteen shillings an’ eleven pence three fardens, to be robbed of.”

“Troth it is, Gerald,” replied M’Mahon; “but any way there’s nothin’ but thievin’ and robbin’ goin’.  You didn’t hear that we came in for a visit?”

“You!” exclaimed Mrs. Cavanagh—­“is it robbed?  My goodness, no!”

“Why,” he proceeded, “we’ll be able to get over it afore we die, I hope.  On ere last night we had two of our fattest geese stolen.”

“Two!” exclaimed Mrs. Cavanagh—­“an’ at this saison of the! year, too.  Well, that same’s a loss.”

“Honest woman,” said M’Mahon, addressing Kate Hogan, “maybe you’d give me a draw o’ the pipe?”