‘“Yes, I knew him well; and he’s alive? He must be very old by this time.”
‘“He ‘s something about eighty-six or seven; but he doesn’t let on to more nor sixty, I believe; but, sure, talk of——- God preserve us, here he is!”
‘As he spoke, a thin, withered-looking old man, bent double with age, and walking with great difficulty, came to the door, and, in a cracked voice, called out—
‘“Ned M’Evoy; here’s the paper for you; plenty of news in it, too, about Mister O’Connell and the meetings in Dublin. If Cavanagh takes any fish, buy a sole or a whiting for me, and send me the paper back.”
‘“There’s a gentleman, inside here, was just asking for you, sir,” said the host.
‘“Who is he? Is it Mr. Creagh? At your service, sir,” said the old man, sitting down on a chair near me, and looking at me from under the shadow of his hand spread over his brow. “You ‘re Mr. Studdart, I ‘m thinking?”
‘“No, sir; I do not suspect you know me; and, indeed, I merely mentioned your name as one I had heard of many years ago when I was here, but not as being personally known to you.”
‘“Oh, troth, and so you might, for I ‘m well known in these parts—eh, Ned?” said he, with a chuckling cackle, that sounded very like hopeless dotage. “I was in the army—in the ‘Buffs’; maybe you knew one Clancy who was in them?”
‘“No, sir; I have not many military acquaintances. I came here this morning on my way to Dublin, and thought I would just ask a few questions about some people I knew a little about. Miss O’Kelly——”
‘“Ah, dear! Poor Miss Judy—she’s gone these two or three years.”