"Live here--out yonder--in he hut, in he wood--where he want. Make no
difference to Nick."

Michael now drew back a pace or two, keeping his eyes fastened on the
other intently, for he actually expected to see some prodigious and
sudden change in his appearance. When he thought he had got a good
position for manly defence or rapid retreat, as either might become
necessary the county Leitrim-man put on a bolder front and resumed the
discourse.

"If it's so indifferent to ye where ye dwell," asked Mike, "why can't
you keep at home, and let a body carry these cloaks and bundles of the
missuses, out yonder to the house wither she's gone?"

"Nick help carry 'em. Carry t'ing for dat squaw hundred time."

"That what! D'ye mane Madam Willoughby by yer blackguard name?"

"Yes; cap'in wife--cap'in squaw, mean him. Carry bundle, basket,
hundred time for him."

"The Lord preserve me, now, from sich atrocity and impudence!" laying
down the cloaks and bundles, and facing the Indian, with an appearance
of great indignation--"Did a body ever hear sich a liar! Why, Misther
Ould Nick, Madam Willoughby wouldn't let the likes of ye touch the ind
of her garments. You wouldn't get the liberty to walk in the same path
with her, much less to carry her bundles. I'll answer for it, ye're a
great liar, now, ould Nick, in the bottom of your heart."