On advancing, he found himself in one of his father’s fields, under the shelter of an elder-hedge.  Here he paused, and seemed still somewhat uncertain as to the direction in which he should proceed.  At length he decided; the way towards Peggy Gartland’s was that which he took, and as he walked rapidly, he soon found himself at the village in which she lived.

It was now a little after twilight; the night was clear the moon being in her first quarter, and the clouds through which she appeared to struggle, were light and fleecy, but rather cold-looking, such, in short, as would seem to promise a sudden fall of snow.  Frank had passed the two first cabins of the village, and was in the act of parrying the attacks of some yelping cur that assailed him, when he received a slap on the back, accompanied by a gho manhi Dhea gliud, a Franchas, co wul thu guilh a nish, a rogora duh?*

     * God save you, Frank! where are you going now, you
     black rogue?

“Who’s this?” exclaimed Frank:  “eh! why, Darby More, you sullin’ thief o’ the world, is this you?”

“Ay, indeed; an’ you’re goin’ down to Peggy’s?” said the the other, pointing significantly towards Peggy Gartland’s house.  “Well, man, what’s the harm?  She may get worse, that is, hopin’ still that you’ll mend your manners, a bouchal:  but isn’t your nose out o’ joint there, Frank, darlin’?”

“No sich thing at all, Darby,” replied Frank, gulping down his indignation, which rose afresh on hearing that the terms on which he stood with Peggy were so notorious.

“Throth but it is,” said Darby, “an’ to tell the blessed thruth, I’m not sarry that it’s out o’ joint; for when I tould you to lave the case in my hands, along wid a small thrifle o’ silver that didn’t signify much to you—­whoo! not at all:  you’d rather play it at cards, or dhrink it, or spind it wid no good.  Out o’ joint! nrasha, if ever a man’s nose was to be pitied, and yours is:  why, didn’t Mike Reillaghan put it out o’ joint, twist? first in regard to Peggy, and secondly by the batin’ he gave you an it.”

“It’s well known, Darby,” replied Frank, “that ’twas by a chance blow he did it; and, you know, a chance blow might kill the devil.”

“But there was no danger of Mike’s gettin’ the chance blow,” observed the sarcastic vagrant, for such he was.

“Maybe it’s afore him,” replied his companion:  “we’ll have another thrial for it, any how; but where are you goin’, Darby?  Is it to the dance?”

Me!  Is it a man “wid two holy ordhers an him?* No, no!  I might go up, may be, as far as your father’s, merely to see the family, only for the night that’s in it; but I’m goin’ to another frind’s place to spind my Chris’mas, an’ over an’ above, I must go to the Midnight Mass.  Frank, change your coorses, an’ mend your life, an’ don’t be the talk o’ the parish.  Remimber me to the family, an’ say I’ll see them soon.”

* The religious orders, as they are termed, most commonly entered into by the peasantry, are those of the Scapular and St. Francis.  The order of Jesus—­or that of the Jesuits, is only entered into by the clergy and the higher lay classes.

“How long will you stop in the neighborhood?” inquired Frank.