Listen--but wait--I hear somebody's foot.

No matter--I'll surprise you both by an' by." "Godsave all here," said the voice of our friend, Jemmy Branigan, who immediately entered.

"In troth, this change is for the betther, at any rate," said he, looking at the house; "I gave you a lift wid the masther yestherday," he added, turning to the woman.

"I think I'll get him to throw the ten shillings off--he as good as promised me he would." "Masther!" exclaimed the pedlar, bitterly--"oh, thin, it's he that's the divil's masther, by all accounts, an' the divil's landlord, too.

Be me sowl, he'll get a warm corner down here;" and as he uttered the words, he very significantly stamped with his heel, to intimate the geographical position of the place alluded to.
"It would be only manners to wait till your opinion is axed of him," replied Jemmy; "so mind your pack, you poor sprissaun, or when you do spake, endeavor to know something of what you're discoorsin' about.
Masther, indeed! Divil take your impidence!" "He's a scourge to the counthry," continued the pedlar; "a worse landlord never faced the sun." "That's what we call in this part of the counthry--a lie," replied Jemmy.