“Mr. Brown—­inspector dear—­O darling, listen to me for a moment,” cried out our Irish friend.

“Well, what is wanting?” inquired our chief, halting.

“And what is ye taking me off for?” asked Regan, indignantly.

“For non-payment of taxes.”

“And who refused to pay taxes?—­tell me that, Mr. Brown.”

“You declined paying; so of course you will have to devote the next three days to work on the road.  Move on.”

“Hold a minute, Mr. Brown, for here’s the money; but it’s little good it will do ye, mind what I say, for to-night I shall write to my friend the governor-general, and relate the circumstance of this arrest, and me money will be sent back with many an apology, let me tell ye.  It’s a relation I am of the governor’s, his wife being a Regan on the side of me grandfather; and it’s many a time I’ve talked with her ladyship when we went to school together in the county of Cork.”

This speech was also received with shouts of laughter by those assembled, and even while Pat was paying over his dust he continued to grumble and threaten; and when we got clear of him he bade us adieu with a mocking smile, perfectly satisfied to think that he had delayed us all that he was able to, and that if he did ultimately have to pay over the money, he afforded sport enough for his companions to last a week.

“Is that a sample of the difficulties that you have to encounter?” I asked of the inspector, as we left a portion of the Irish district behind us, and approached another quarter, where the inhabitants did not appear to be doing so well in their operations.

“If we never encountered worse cases than that I should be contented,” Mr. Brown replied.  “I knew that Pat had the money, for he had served me in that manner half a dozen times; but I also knew that he had a great reluctance against working on the road, and that to save himself he would even sell a portion of his claim, if that was necessary.  He has made money since he has worked in the mines, and I will do Pat the justice of saying that, with the exception of celebrating St. Patrick’s Day, he knows how to save it.”

As he ceased speaking, we drew up before a ragged hut, at the entrance of which stood a stout Irishwoman, with a terrible dirty-faced child in her arms.

“It’s little ye’ll get here,” she shouted, shaking her huge fists at the inspector, and spanking the child, who set up a roar of fright.  “Go on, an’ the divil be wid ye, for not a ha’penny do ye get.”

“Now we shall hear lying,” muttered the inspector, when he saw a grin upon our faces.  “Of all the she devils in the mines, she is the worst.”

“Tell Mike that we want his license fee,” Mr. Brown said, addressing the huge female, who varied her time in spanking her child and making faces at the police force.

“To the divil wid ye and yer fees, ye lazy spalpeens.  There’s no money in the house, and if there was ye shouldn’t have it.  Do ye think that I can pick up goold like dirt? or what do ye think?”