"When McGonigle came in the Lodge was on its feet and they were in the solemn act of repeating three times: 'To hell with the Pope.'
"There was some little excitement when McGonigle came in without knockin', and he was fairly on his way to being thrown through the window before the Grand Master could rap for order.
"There was but one of two things to be done. Either McGonigle must be killed outright. Or he must repeat: 'To hell with the Pope,' as they did.
"McGonigle bein' an agreeable man be nature, an' his principles bein' far demoralized in drink, agreed to say it.
"Had they watched him closer they might have seen that he stopped a little before the last word.
"But, after all, McGonigle was a good neighbor, and, barrin' the Seventeenth of March an' the Twelvth of July, a good friend. Along with that, he was the only journeyman farrier in the town. I misdoubt they were only too glad to have him say it any way at all, and be rid of him.
"When McGonigle came down past the drawn sword into the sunshine he was thirsty, for water. He went down to the lough, thinkin' to drink at least the half of it.
"In the middle of the first dhrink, the Divil leapt down to the brink of the lough and stood forninst McGonigle.
"'A word with you, Misther McGonigle,' says the Divil, polite, but firm.
"McGonigle lifted one eye from his dhrinkin' and saw the Divil confrontin him in the shape of a big black horse with saddle and stirrups on him, but no bridle.