To the usher of the black counterpane's question, whether Andy was the “Honourable's messenger,” Andy replied in the affirmative; but to the desire expressed, that he would ride back to the town, Andy returned a decided negative.
“My ordhers is not to go back without you,” said Andy.
“But we have no shoes,” said the usher; “and cannot go until we get some.”
“My ordher is not to go back without you.”
“But if we can't go?”
“Well, then, I can't go back, that's all,” said Andy.
The usher, the landlord, and the landlady all hammered away at Andy for a long time, in vain trying to convince him he ought to return, as he was desired; still Andy stuck to the letter of his orders, and said he often got into trouble for not doing exactly what he was bid, and that he was bid “not to go back without them, and he would not—so he wouldn't—divil a fut.”
At last, however, Andy was made to understand the propriety of riding back to the town; and was desired to go as fast as his horse could carry him, to gallop every foot of the way; but Andy did no such thing; he had received a good thrashing once for being caught galloping his master's horse on the road, and he had no intention of running the risk a second time, because “the stranger” told him to do so. “What does he know about it?” said Andy to himself; “'faith, it's fair and aisy I'll go, and not disthress the horse to plaze any one.” So he went back his ten miles at a reasonable pace only; and when he appeared without the electors, a storm burst on poor Andy.
“There! I knew how it would be,” said he, “and not my fault at all.”
“Weren't you told not to return without them?”