smoke, I saw the pigs, that Shaneen forgot to
put up in their stye, making right, for the
mistress's flower-garden; so I just put my
dudheen, lighting as it was, into my pocket,
and ran after them. I caught them on the
grand walk under the end window, and
indeed, Ma'am, I had my own share of work
turning them back to their proper spear."

Gahan spoke with unusual volubility, but
without raising his eyes from the ground.

"Who were the people," asked his master,
"whom I saw moving through the western
grove?"

"People! your Honour — not a sign of any
people moving there, I 'll be bound, barring
the pigs."

"Then," said Mr. Hewson, smiling, to his
wife,  the miracle of Circe must have been
reversed, and swine turned into men; for,
undoubtedly, the dark figures I saw were
human beings."

"Come, Billy," said Gahan, anxious to turn
the conversation, " will you come home with
me now? I am sure 'twas very good of the
mistress to give you all them fine apples."

Mrs. Hewson was going to propose Billy's
remaining, but her husband whispered :--
"Wait till to-morrow." So Gahan and his
child were allowed to depart.

Next morning the magistrates of the
district were on the alert, and several
suspicious looking men found lurking about,
were taken up. A hat which fitted one of
them was picked up in Mr. Hewson's grove;
the gravel under the end window bore many
signs of trampling feet; and there were
marks on the wall as if guns had rested
against it. Gahan's information touching the
intended meeting at Kilcrean bog proved to
be totally without foundation; and after a
careful search not a single pike or weapon of
any description could be found there. All
these circumstances combined certainly looked
suspicious; but, after a prolonged investigation,
as no guilt could be actually brought
home to Gahan, he was dismissed. One of
his examiners, however, said privately, " I
advise you take care of that fellow, Hewson. If
I were in your place, I'd just trust him as far
as I could throw him, and not an inch beyond."

An indolent hospitable Irish country
gentleman, such as Mr. Hewson, is never without
an always shrewd and often roguish prime
minister, who saves his master the trouble of
looking after his own affairs, and manages
everything that is to be done in both the
home and foreign departments, from putting
a new door on the pig-stye, to letting a farm
of an hundred acres on lease. Now in this, or
rather these capacities, Gahan had long served
Mr. Hewson; and some seven years previous
to the evening on which our story commences,
he had strengthened the tie and increased his
influence considerably by marrying Mrs.
Hewson's favourite and faithful maid. One child
was the result of this union; and Mrs. Hewson,
who had no family of her own, took much
interest in little Billy, more especially after the
death of his mother, who, poor thing! the
neighbours said, was not very happy, and
would gladly, if she dared, have exchanged
her lonely cottage for the easy service of her
former mistress.

Thus, though for a time Mr. and Mrs.
Hewson regarded Gahan with some doubt, the
feeling gradually wore away, and the steward
regained his former influence.

After the lapse of a few stormy months the
rebellion was quelled: all the prisoners taken
up were severally disposed of by hanging,
transportation or acquittal, according to the
nature and amount of the evidence brought
against them; and the country became as
peaceful as it is in the volcanic nature of our
Irish soil ever to be.

The Hewsons' kindness towards Gahan's
child was steady and unchanged. They took
him into their house, and gave him a plain but
solid education; so that William, while yet a
boy, was enabled to be of some use to his
patron, and daily enjoyed more and more of
his confidence.

Another Evening, the twentieth anniversary
of that with which this narrative
commenced, came round. Mr. and Mrs. Hewson
were still hale and active, dwelling in their
hospitable home. About eight o'clock at
night, Tim Gahan, now a stooping, grey-haired
man, entered Mr. Hewson's kitchen, and took
his seat on the corner of the settle next the fire.

The cook, directing a silent significant
glance of compassion towards her fellow-
servants, said:

"Would you like a drink of cider, Tim, or
will you wait and take a cup of tay with
myself and Kitty?"

The old man's eyes were fixed on the fire,
and a wrinkled hand was planted firmly on
each knee, as if to check their involuntary
trembling. "I'll not drink anything this
night, thank you kindly, Nelly," he said, in a
slow musing manner, dwelling long on each
word.

"Where's Billy? " he asked, after a pause,
in a quick hurried tone, looking up suddenly
at the cook, with an expression in his eyes,
which, as she afterwards said, ' took away her
breath.'

"Oh, never heed Billy! I suppose he's
busy with the master."

""Where's the use, Nelly," said the coachman,
"in hiding it from him? Sure, sooner or
later he must know it. Tim," he continued,
"God knows 'tis sorrow to my heart this
blessed night to make yours sore—but the
truth is, that William has done what he
oughtn't to do to the man that was all one
as a father to him."

"What has he done? what will you dar say
again my boy?"

"Taken money, then," replied the coachman,
"that the master had marked and put by in
his desk; for he suspected this some time