The very next afternoon—for Shanvilla did not sleep on its resolve— there was no lion in the street for them;—the same deputation walked up to Emon's house at dinner-hour, when they knew he would be at home. He had just finished, and was on his way out, to continue a job of planting "a few gets" of early potatoes on the hill behind the house, when he met them near the door.
M'Dermott carried a paper parcel in his hand.
"Well, boys," said Emon, "what's the matter now? I thought we settled everything yesterday morning."
"You did, Emon a-wochal; but we had a trifle to do after we left you. I hope you done nothing about your own sleeves as yet."
"No, Phil, I did not; but never fear, I'll be up to time. But I don't wish to change the color, if that's what brought you."
"The sorra change Emon; it is almost too late for that now. But some of the boys heerd that Tom Murdock is givin' his men, every man of 'em, sleeves an' ribbon for this match. We don't expect the likes from you, Emon; and we don't mind that fellow's puffery and pride. We think it better that the Shanvilla boys should present their leader with one pair of sleeves than that he should give a hundred pairs to them. We have them here, Emon a-wochal; an' there isn't a boy in the parish of Shanvilla, or a man, woman, or child, that won't cheer to see you win in them."
"An' maybe some one in the parish of Rathcash," whispered Solon to Phil.
Here Phil M'Dermott untied his parcel and exhibited the sleeves, finished off in the best style by his sister Peggy. What would fit Phil would fit Emon; and she was at no loss upon that point.
"Here they are, made and all, Emon. Peggy made them on my fit; and we wish you luck to win in them. Faix, if you don't, it won't be your fault nor ours. Here's your hankicher; you see there isn't the differ of a milthiogue's wing in the two colors."
Perhaps it was the proximity to Boher-na-milthiogue that had suggested the comparison.