"Will, sor, it was jist after Oi had delivered thoy missage, and was walkin' along the hall on moy way to look after moy horse, which was sore toired, that Oi mit his honour, Sor William Catesby. As Oi took off moy cap to him, he stops me, and sez he:—'Whare didst thou come from?'
"'From Oireland, yer honour,' sez Oi. This Oi said that Oi moight have toime to git a good loie through moy thick skull.
"'Thou needst not have tould me that,' sez he, and he began to laugh, though fer the loife o' me Oi know not yit what so playzed him."
I glanced at Harleston. His head was thrown back in his chair, as was his habit whilst sitting and listening to anything that interested him. I could see by his amused smile that he was not surprised at Catesby's laughter. No more was I.
"What said you then?" asked I, as I saw Michael looking at me in surprise. No doubt he was wondering what I saw to so amuse me.
"Uh! thin Oi said:—'But yer honour axed me, so Oi had to till thee.'
"'Oi mint not whare wast thou born, but whare hast thou come from jist now?' sez he.
"'Uh! yer honour manes whare am Oi jist after lavin', this minit?' sez Oi.
"Thin he nodded, and still kipt on a smoilin'.
"'Bad luck to me fer a stoopid clown,' sez Oi. 'Oi moight have known what yer honour mint, without kapin' ye standin, explainin' the houle o' this toime.'