“Will your Lordship buy the horse?” he added; “I don’t want him, and you, maybe, do?”

“I do not want him,” said the Bishop, “and if I did, I would not, under the present circumstances, purchase him from you.”

“Then my boy won’t get in, your lordship.  And you’ll neither buy the horse, nor take him as a present.  My curse upon him for a horse!  The first thing I’ll do when I get home will be to put a bullet through him, for he has been an unlucky thief to us.  Is my son aquil to the others, that came to pass your lordship?” asked Denis.

“There is none of them properly qualified,” said the Bishop.  “If there be any superiority among them your son has it.  He is not without natural talent, Mr. Finnerty; his translations are strong and fluent, but ridiculously pedantic.  That, however, is perhaps less his fault than the fault of those who instructed him.”

“Are you anxious to dispose of the horse?” said the Counsellor.

“A single day, sir, he’ll never pass in my stable,” said Denis; “he has been an unlucky baste to me an’ mine, an’ to all that had anything to do wid him.”

“Pray what age is he?”

“Risin’ four, sir; ‘deed I believe he’s four all out, an’ a purty devil’s clip he is, as you’d wish to see.”

“Come,” said the Counsellor, rising, “let us have a look at him.  Mr. Finnerty, you’re an excellent judge; will you favor me with your opinion?”

The priest and he, accompanied by the two O’Shaughnessys, passed out to the stable yard, where their horses stood.  As they went, Father Finnerty whispered to O’Shaughnessy:—­

“Now, Denis, is your time.  Strike while the iron is hot.  Don’t take a penny!—­don’t take a fraction!  Get into a passion, and swear you’ll shoot him unless he accepts him as a present.  If he does, all’s right; he can twine the Bishop round his finger.”

“I see, sir,” said Denis; “I see!  Let me alone for managin’ him.”

The barrister was already engaged in examining the horse’s mouth, as is usual, when the priest accosted him with—­

“You are transgressing etiquette in this instance, Counsellor.  You know the proverb—­never look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“How, Mr. Finnerty?—­a gift horse!”

“His Reverence is right!” exclaimed Denis:  “the sorra penny ever will cross my pocket for the same horse.  You must take him as he stands, sir, barrin’ the bridle an’ saddle, that’s not my own.”

“He will take no money,” said the priest.

“Nonsense, my dear sir!  Why not take a fair price for him?”

“Divil the penny will cross my pocket for him, the unlucky thief!” replied the shrewd farmer.

“Then in that case the negotiation is ended,” replied the barrister.  “I certainly will not accept him as a present.  Why should I?  What claim have I on Mr. O’Shaughnessy?”

“I don’t want you to take him,” said Denis; “I want nobody to take him:  but I know the dogs of the parish ‘ll be pickin’ his bones afore night.  You may as well have him, sir, as not.”