“Very well, Molly, that will do; I may want them wanst more,” he replied, pointing again with his thumb over his shoulder towards Whitecraft's residence; “so goodnight; be a good girl, and take care of yourself.”
“No,” she replied, “but do you be a good boy, and take care of yourself.” And so they parted for the night.
The next day Fergus, possessed of very important evidence against the Rapparee, was travelling along the public road, not more than half a mile from the residence of Sir Robert Whitecraft, when whom should he meet but the identical sheriff, on horseback, that the Rapparee had robbed. He put his hand to his hat, and asked him for charity.
“Help a poor ould man, for the love and honor of God.”
“Why don't you go to work—why don't you go to work?” replied the sheriff.
“I am not able, sir,” returned Fergus; “it wouldn't be good for my health, your honor.”
“Well, pass on and don't trouble me; I have nothing for you.”
“Ah! thin, sir, if you'd give me a trifle, maybe I'd make it worth your while.”
“What do you mean?” asked the sheriff, who knew that persons like him had opportunities of hearing and knowing more about local circumstances, in consequence of their vagrant life, than any other class of persons in society.
“What do you mean by what you have just said?”