"A pritty hut, then, ye must have of it! Why do ye tolerate the
vagabond? He's not fit for Christian society."

"Oh! he's good company, sometimes, Mike. When you know him better,
you'll like him better. Come; up with the bundles, and let us follow.
The captain is looking after us, as you see."

"Well may he look, to see us in sich company!--Will he har-r-m the
missus?"

"Not he. I tell you, you'll like him yourself when you come to know
him."

"If I do, burn me! Why, he says _himself_, that he's Ould Nick,
and I'm sure I never fancied the crathure but it was in just some such
for-r-m. Och! he's ill-looking enough, for twenty Ould Nicks."

Lest the reader get an exaggerated notion of Michael's credulity, it
may be well to say that Nick had painted a few days before, in a fit of
caprice, and that one-half of his face was black, and the other a deep
red, while each of his eyes was surrounded with a circle of white, all
of which had got to be a little confused in consequence of a night or
two of orgies, succeeded by mornings in which the toilet had been
altogether neglected. His dress, too, a blanket with tawdry red and
yellow trimmings, with ornamented leggings and moccasins to correspond,
had all aided in maintaining the accidental mystification. Mike
followed his companion, growling out his discontent, and watching the
form of the Indian, as the latter still went loping over the flat,
having passed the captain, with a message to the barns.