"Now all this whoile, sor, Oi was warein' out what little brains the good Lord gave me (and Oi think he moight have bin moure liberal or ilse kape me out o' the way o' sich confusin' quistions) to troy and foind a somethin' raisonable excuse fer bein' thare. At last Oi saw that Oi had gained all the toime that moight be, without makin' him angry, so Oi said the first thing that came to moy tongue.
"'Uh! sor,' sez Oi, 'some wan's stray dawg came in at the oupen door, so Oi came after to troy and put the baste out.'
"'Thou lookest strangely besmeared with mud. Didst thou git that with chasin' of the dawg?' sez he, and he oyed me loike the divil.
"'Uh! sure, yer honour, Oi was jist a gittin off o' moy horse whin Oi saw the baste inter,' sez Oi.
"'And whare moight you have bin on thoy horse?' sez he.
"'Whoy, upon his back, sor,' sez Oi.
"'Nay, nay,' sez he, 'Oi mane from whare didst thou roide to-day, fer from thoy looks thou hast bin beyond the city gates?'
"'Yis, yer honour,' sez Oi, 'thou hast found me out; but Oi pray thee do not report me to moy master, whin he returns.'
"'And who is thoy master?' sez he.
"'Sor Walter Bradley, and it playze yer honour,' sez Oi.