“Wigs on the green over cold potatoes?” I repeated, in bewilderment.

“Tst! tst! little Saxon!  I mean we’d have had a row over the provisions.  It wasn’t too hours’ run round to Tim Brady’s, and I found the old man stowing away half-a-peck of cold boiled potatoes, and big bottles of tea, and goodness knows what.  ’Is it for ballast ye’re using the potatoes, Barney?’ says I.  ’Mind your own business, Master Dennis’—­(and I could see he was cross as two sticks),—­’and leave the provisioning to them that understands it,’ says he.  ’How many meals d’ye reckon to eat between this and Tim Brady’s?’ I went on, just poking my fun at him, when—­would ye believe it?—­the old fellow fired up like a sky-rocket, and asked me if I grudged him the bit of food he ate, and Heaven knows what besides.  ‘Is it Dennis O’Moore you’re speaking to?’ says I, for I’ve not got the squire’s easy temper, GOD forgive me!  We were mighty near to a quarrel, Jack, I can tell ye, but some shadow of a notion flitting across my brain that the dear soul was not responsible entirely, stopped my tongue, and something else stopped his which I didn’t know till we got to Tim Brady’s, and found that all we wanted with him was to borrow his boat, and that the sea-weed business was no better than a blind; for Barney had planned it all out that we were to go down to Galway and fetch the new ploughs home in the hooker, to save the cost of the land-carriage.  ’Sure it’s bad enough for the squire to be soiling his hands with trumpery made by them English thieves, that’s no more conscience over bothering a gentleman for money nor if he was one of themselves,’ said Barney; ’sorra a halfpenny shall the railway rogues rob him of.’  Ah, little stowaway, ye may guess my delight!  And hadn’t we glorious weather at first, and wasn’t the dear old man happy and proud!  I can tell ye I yelled, and I sang, and I laughed, when I felt the old hooker begin to bound on the swell when we got into the open, but not a look would Barney turn on me for minding the boat; but I could hear him chuckling to himself and muttering about the railway rogues.  It wasn’t much time we either of us had for talking, by and by.  I steered and saw to the main sheet, and Barney did look-out and minded the foresail, Tim Brady’s boat towing astern, getting such a dance as it never had before, and at last dragging upside down.  We’d one thing in our favour, anyhow.  There was no disputing or disturbing of our minds as to whether we’d turn back or not, for the gale was at our backs; and the old hooker was like my father’s black mare—­you might guide her, but she was neither to stop nor turn.  How the gallant old boat held out as she did, Heaven knows!  It was not till the main-sail had split into ribbons with a noise like a gun going off, and every seam was strained to leaking, and the sea came in faster than we could bale it out, that we righted Tim Brady’s tub and got into her, and bade the old hooker good-bye.  The boat was weather-tight enough—­it was a false move of Barney’s capsized her,—­and I’d a good hold of her with one hand when I gripped him with the other.  Oh!  Barney dear!  Why would ye always have your own way?  Oh, why—­why did ye lose your hold?  Ye thought all hope was over, darling, didn’t ye?  Ah, if ye had but known the brave hearts that—­”