“What do you mean, you cowardly villain?” asked Purcel, once more raising his whip. “You are threatening, are you.”
“No, Misther John, not a bit o' that—divil a threat—me! I wouldn't threaten you if there wasn't niver another man in Europe. Let me out, if you plaise—let me out, and may the div—the Lord lov you!”
“Now,” said the other, raising the blinds and afterwards opening the door, “you may go about your business, and mark me, Mr Hourigan—”
“I do, sir,” replied the other, bolting out “oh, God knows I do—you have marked me, Misther Purcel, and I will mark you, sir—for—” he added muttering in a low voice to those who stood about him—“one good turn desarves another, anyhow.”
We shall not now dwell upon the comments which young Purcel's violence drew from the defaulters on their way home. Our reader, however, may easily imagine them, and form for themselves a presentiment of the length to which “the tithe insurrection,” as they termed it, was likely to proceed throughout the country at large, with the exception only of the northern provinces.
CHAPTER V.—A Hang-Choice Shot—The “Garrison” on Short Commons.
When our merry friend the pedlar left the proctor's parlor, he proceeded at a brisk pace in the direction of the highway, which, however, was not less than three-quarters of a mile from Longshot Lodge, which was the name Purcel had given to his residence. He had only got clear of the offices, however, and was passing the garden wall, which ran between him and the proctor's whole premises, when he was arrested by Mogue Moylan.
“Ah! merry Mogue,” exclaimed the pedlar, ironically, “I was missin' you. Where were you, my cherub?”
“I was in the barn 'ithin,” replied Mogue, “just offerin' up a little pathernavy for the protection o' this house and place, and of the daicent, kind-hearted peeople that's in it.”