kinsman filled him not only with anxiety but alarm. A very slight charge
indeed brought forward by a man of rank and property--such a charge, for
instance, as the possession of firearms--was quite sufficient to get a
Roman Catholic banished the country.

On the third evening after this our friend Tom Steeple was met by its
proprietor in the avenue leading to Corbo Castle.

"Well, Tom," said the squire, "are you for the Big House?" for such is
the general term applied to all the ancestral mansions of the country.

Tom stopped and looked at him--for we need scarcely observe here that
with poor Tom there was no respect of persons; he then shook his head
and replied, "Me don't know whether you tall or not. Tom tall--will Tom
go to Big House--get bully dinnel--and Tom sleep under the stairs--eh?
Say aye, an' you be tall too."

"To be sure, Tom; go into the house, and your cousin Larry Lanigan, the
cook, will give you a bully dinner; and sleep where you like."

The squire walked up and down the avenue in a thoughtful mood for some
moments until another of our characters met him on his way towards the
entrance gate. This person was no other than Molly Mahon.

"Ha!" said he, "here is another of them--well, poor devils, they must
live. This, though, is the great fortune-teller. I will try her."

"God save your honor," said Molly, as she approached him and dropped a
courtesy.