“Sure, this isn’t the way to Castle Knock!” cried Patsy, drawing back.
“And who said it was?” replied Con, seizing him by the hand. “Is it geography you’d be teachin’ me, or what ails you at all, at all? Come on wid you now, or it’s the knock without the castle you’ll be getting in a minit.”
“Uncle Con,” said Patsy, when they had gone some distance, “where are you taking me?”
“Come along and you’ll see,” replied Con.
A moment later, to the boy’s relief, Con struck into a path to the left, and they found themselves in a little glade in the centre of which stood the remains of a great oak.
“Here we are,” said Con; “I’ve brought you to see Paddy Murphy, who’s hidin’ from the police.”
All the branches of the oak were gone and just ten feet of the bole remained, and it looked like a great stilton cheese the centre of which has been scooped out and eaten.
“Are you there?” cried Con, halting about ten paces from the oak.
“Faith, and I b’lave I am,” replied a voice.
“Well, the coast’s clear,” replied Con, “so out you may come.”