“Mrs. Mooney,” said he, addressing a pale, mild-featured woman in a widow's cap and black gown, “you can't expect to hear from Dublin for a week or ten days to come. It takes some time to administer; but if you are in want of a few pounds—”
“No, sir, thank you,” said she, in a low voice; “but as I can't go back to the place again,—as I 'll never be able to live there now—”
“Don't be in a hurry, Mrs. Mooney, do nothing rash. None of us know what we can do till we 're tried. There's Miles Dogherty never thought he 'd be paying me that eight pound fifteen he owes me, and see now if he is n't come with it to-day.”
“Faix, and I am not,” sturdily responded a very powerfully built man in the comfortable dress of a substantial farmer. “I don't owe it, and I 'll never pay it; and what's more, if you get a decree against me to-morrow, I'd sell every stick and stone in the place and go to 'Quay bec'.”
“Indeed you would n't, Miles, not a bit more than I'd go and take the law of an old friend and neighbor.”
“Faix, I never thought you would,” said the stout man, wiping his forehead, and appearing as if he had forgotten his wrath.
“And now, Miles, what about that water-course?” said Nelligan, good-humoredly; “are you content to leave it to any two fair men—”
As he got thus far, his eye for the first time fell upon Massingbred, who, with folded arms, was leaning against a wall, an attentive spectator of the whole scene.
“That is a stranger yonder! what can he want here?” said Nelligan, who watched the attentive look of Massingbred's face with considerable distrust. He whispered a few words into the ear of a man beside him, who, making his way through the crowd, addressed the young man with—
“It's the master, sir, wants to know if he could do anything for your honor?”