He accordingly did so, and in some twenty minutes reached a small cabin that stood about a couple of hundred yards from the high-road.  A little bridle way led to it, as did several minor pathways, each radiating from a different direction.  It was surrounded by four or five acres of common, where the children played from twelve to one, at which hour Mr. O’Finigan went to the house of some wealthy benefactor to dine.  The little village of Ballydruthy, at a short distance from which it stood, was composed of a couple dozen dwelling-houses, a chapel, a small grocer’s and publican’s, together with a Pound at the entrance, through which ran a little stream necessary to enable the imprisoned cattle to drink.

On riding up to the school, Hycy, as he approached the door, heard his own name repeated by at least two dozen voices.

“Here’s a gintleman, masther”—­“It’s Misther Hycy Burke, sir “—­“It is, bedad, sir, Hycy the sportheen—­”

“Him that rides the race, masther”—­“Ay, an’ he has on top-boots and buckskins, an’s as gran’ as a gintleman—­”

“Silence!” said Finigan, “silence!  I say; is this proper scholastic decorum in the presence of a stranger?  Industry and taciturnity, you reptiles, or castigation shall result.  Here, Paddy Sparable,” he added, rising up—­“here, you nailroad, assume my office, and rule the establishment till I return; and, mark me, as the son of a nailer, sirra, I expect that you will rule them with a rod of iron—­ha! ha! ha!”

“Ay, but Paddy Pancake’s here to-day, sir, an’ he’s able to welt me; so that’s it’s only leathered I’d get, sir, i’ you plase.”

“But have you no officers?  Call in aid, I ordher you.  Can’t you make Sam Scaddhan and Phiddher Mackleswig there two policeman get Pancake down—­flatten him—­if he prove contumacious during my absence.  Pancake, mark me, obedience is your cue, or, if not, the castigator here is your alternative; there it is, freshly cut—­ripe and ready—­and you are not to be told, at this time o’ day, what portion of your corpus will catch it.  Whish-h-h!—­silence!  I say.  How do you do, Mr. Burke?  I am proud of a visit from you, sir; perhaps you would light down and examine a class.  My Greeks are all absent to-day; but I have a beautiful class o’ Romans in the Fourth Book of Virgil—­immortal Maro.  Do try them, Mr. Hycy; if they don’t do Dido’s death in a truly congenial spirit I am no classic.  Of one thing I can assure you, that they ought; for I pledge my reputation it is not the first time I’ve made them practice the Irish cry over it.  This, however, was but natural; for it is now well known to the learned that, if Dido herself was not a fair Hibernian, she at least spoke excellent Irish.  Ah, Mr. Hycy,” he added, with a grin, “the birch is the only pathetic switch growing!  Will you come in, sir?”

“No, thank you, Mr. Finigan; but perhaps you would have the goodness to come out for a little;” and, as he spoke, he nodded towards the public-house.  “I know the boys will be quiet until you return.”