upon the mountain. "Father in Heaven, what have I done to deserve
this?" he says when he has lost his pipe; and no man but he who lives
on the mountain can rival his language on a fair day over a bargain. He
is passionate and abrupt in his movements, and when angry tosses his
white beard about with his left hand.

One day I was dining with him when the servant-maid announced a
certain Mr. O'Donnell. A sudden silence fell upon the old man and upon
his two daughters. At last the eldest daughter said somewhat severely
to her father, "Go and ask him to come in and dine." The old man went
out, and then came in looking greatly relieved, and said, "He says he
will not dine with us." "Go out," said the daughter, "and ask him into
the back parlour, and give him some whiskey." Her father, who had just
finished his dinner, obeyed sullenly, and I heard the door of the back
parlour--a little room where the daughters sat and sewed during the
evening--shut to behind the men. The daughter then turned to me and
said, "Mr. O'Donnell is the tax-gatherer, and last year he raised our
taxes, and my father was very angry, and when he came, brought him into
the dairy, and sent the dairy-woman away on a message, and then swore
at him a great deal. 'I will teach you, sir,' O'Donnell replied, 'that
the law can protect its officers'; but my father reminded him that he
had no witness. At last my father got tired, and sorry too, and said he
would show him a short way home. When they were half-way to the main
road they came on a man of my father's who was ploughing, and this
somehow brought back remembrance of the wrong. He sent the man away on
a message, and began to swear at the tax-gatherer again. When I heard
of it I was disgusted that he should have made such a fuss over a
miserable creature like O'Donnell; and when I heard a few weeks ago
that O'Donnell's only son had died and left him heart-broken, I
resolved to make my father be kind to him next time he came."