'Sure it is,' replied I; 'and how is he, and all the noble family of the O'Briens ?" 'All well enough, bating the boy Tim, who caught a bit of confusion in his head the other night at the fair, and now lies at home in bed quite insensible to mate or drink; but the doctors give hopes of his recovery, as all the O'Briens are known to have such thick heads.' 'What do you mane by that, bad manners to you ?' said I, 'but poor Tim--how did it happen--was there a fight ?' 'Not much of a fight--only a bit of a skrummage--three crowners' inquests, no more.' 'But you are not going the straight road, you thief,' said I, seeing that he had turned off to the left.

'I've my reasons for that, your honour,' replied he; 'I always turn away from the Castle out of principle--I lost a friend there, and it makes me melancholy.' 'How came that for to happen ?' 'All by accident, your honour; they hung my poor brother Patrick there, because he was a bad hand at arithmetic.' 'He should have gone to a better school then,' said I.'I've an idea that it was a bad school that he was brought up in,' replied he, with a sigh.

'He was a cattle-dealer, your honour, and one day, somehow or another, he'd a cow too much--all for not knowing how to count, your honour,--bad luck to his school-master.' 'All that may be very true,' said I, 'and pace be to his soul; but I don't see why you are to drag me, that's in such a hurry, two miles out of my way, out of principle.' 'Is your honour in a hurry to get home?
Then I'll be thinking they'll not be in such a hurry to see you.' 'And who told you that my name was O'Brien, you baste ?--and do you dare to say that my friends won't be glad to see me ?' 'Plase your honour, it's all an idea of mine--so say no more about it.

Only this I know: Father M'Grath, who gives me absolution, tould me the other day that I ought to pay him, and not run in debt, and then run away like Terence O'Brien, who went to say without paying for his shirts, and his shoes, and his stockings, nor anything else, and who would live to be hanged as sure as St Patrick swam over the Liffey with his head under his arm.' 'Bad luck to that Father McGrath,' cried I; 'devil burn me, but I'll be revenged upon him!' "By that time we had arrived at the door of my father's house.

I paid the rapparee, and in I popped.