It occurred now to the widow that it was a service of great danger Andy was called on to perform; and with all her abuse of “omadhaun” she did not like the notion of putting him in the way of losing his life, perhaps.
“They'll murdher the boy, maybe, when they find out the chate,” said the widow.
“Not a bit,” said Nance.
“And suppose they did,” said Andy, “I'd rather die, sure, than the disgrace should fall upon Oonah, there.”
“God bless you, Andy dear!” said Oonah. “Sure, you have the kind heart, anyhow; but I wouldn't for the world hurt or harm should come to you on my account.”
“Oh, don't be afeard!” said Andy, cheerily; “divil a hair I value all they can do; so dhress me up at once.”
After some more objections on the part of his mother, which Andy overruled, the women all joined in making up Andy into as tempting an imitation of feminality as they could contrive; but to bestow the roundness of outline on the angular form of Andy was no easy matter, and required more rags than the house afforded, so some straw was indispensable, which the pig's bed only could supply. In the midst of their fears, the women could not help laughing as they effected some likeness to their own forms, with their stuffing and padding; but to carry off the width of Andy's shoulders required a very ample and voluptuous outline indeed, and Andy could not help wishing the straw was a little sweeter which they were packing under his nose. At last, however, after soaping down his straggling hair on his forehead, and tying a bonnet upon his head to shade his face as much as possible, the disguise was completed, and the next move was to put Oonah in a place of safety.
“Get upon the hurdle in the corner, under the thatch,” said Nance.
“Oh, I'd be afeard o' my life to stay in the house at all.”
“You'd be safe enough, I tell you,” said Nance; “for once they see that fine young woman there,” pointing to Andy, and laughing, “they'll be satisfied with the lob we've made for them.”