“Jist come in, Brady,” said Traynor, as he dragged him along; “walk in, man alive; sure, and sich an honest man as you are needn’t be afeard of lookin’ his friends in the face!  Ho!—­an’ be me sowl, is it a spy we’ve got; and, I suppose, would be an informer’ too, if he had heard anything to tell!”

“What’s the manin’ of this, boys?” exclaimed the others, feigning ignorance.  “Let the honest man go, Traynor.  What do ye hawl him that way for, ye gallis pet’?”

“Honest!” replied Traynor; “how very honest he is, the desavin’ villain, to be stand-in’ at the windy there, wantin’ to overhear the little harmless talk we had.”

“Come, Traynor,” said Brady, seizing him in his turn by the neck, “take your hands off of me, or, bad fate to me, but I’ll lave ye a mark.”

Traynor, in his turn, had his hand twisted in Brady’s cravat, which he drew tightly about his neck, until the other got nearly black in the face.

“Let me go you villain!” exclaimed Brady, “or, by this blessed night that’s in it, it’ll be worse for you.”

“Villain, is it?” replied Traynor, making a blow at him, whilst Brady snatched, at a penknife, which one of the others had placed on the table, after picking the tobacco out of his pipe—­intending either to stab Traynor, or to cut the knot of the cravat by which he was held.  The others, however, interfered, and presented further mischief.

“Brady,” said Traynor, “you’ll rue this night, if ever a man did, you tracherous in-formin’ villian.  What an honest spy we have among us!—­and a short coorse to you!”

“O, hould yer tongue, Traynor!” replied Brady:  “I believe it’s best known who is both the spy and the informer.  The divil a pint of poteen ever you’ll run in this parish, until you clear yourself of bringing the gauger on the Tracys, bekase they tuck Mick M’Kew, in preference to yourself, to run it for them.”

Traynor made another attempt to strike him, but was prevented.  The rest now interfered; and, in the course of an hour or so, an adjustment took place.

Brady took up the tongs, and swore “by that blessed iron,” that he neither heard, nor intended to hear, anything they said; and this exculpation was followed by a fresh bottle at his own expense.

“You omadhawn,” said he to Traynor, “I was only puttin’ up a dozen o’ bottles into the tatch of the house, when you thought I was listenin’;” and, as a proof of the truth of this, he brought them out, and showed them some bottles of poteen, neatly covered up under the thatch.

Before their separation they finally planned the abduction of Kavanagh from the Patron, on the Saturday following, and after drinking another round went home to their respective dwellings.

In this speculation, however, they experienced a fresh disappointment; for, ere Saturday arrived, whether in consequence of secret intimation of their intention from Brady, or some friend, or in compliance with the offer of a better situation, the fact was, that Mat Kavanagh had removed to another school, distant about eighteen miles from Findramore.  But they were not to be outdone; a new plan was laid, and in the course of the next week a dozen of the most enterprising and intrepid of the “boys,” mounted each upon a good horse, went to Mat’s new residence for the express purpose of securing him.