"Why, sir," replied the man, "not much, I'm afeard--only if you had let
me speak, which you didn't, God pardon you, I was going to say, that
if you knew the way to heaven as well as I do to Misther Lindsay's you
might call yourself a happy man, and born to luck."

Woodward looked with something of curiosity at his new companion, and
was a good deal struck with his appearance. His age might be about
twenty-eight or from that to thirty; his figure stout and well-made;
his features were decidedly Milesian, but then they were Milesian of
the best character; his mouth was firm, but his lips full, red, and
handsome; his clear, merry eyes would puzzle one to determine whether
they were gray or blue, so equally were the two colors blended in them.
After a very brief conversation with him, no one could doubt that humor
formed a predominant trait in his disposition. In fact, the spirit of
the forthcoming jest was visible in his countenance before the jest
itself came forth; but although his whole features bore a careless
and buoyant expression, yet there was no mistaking in them the
unquestionable evidences of great shrewdness and good sense. He also
indulged occasionally in an ironical and comic sarcasm, which, however,
was never directed against his friends; this he reserved for certain
individuals whose character entitled them to it at his hands. He
also drew the long-bow, when he wished, with great skill and effect.
Woodward, after having scrutinized his countenance for some time, was
about to make some inquiries, as a stranger, concerning his family and
the reputation they bore in the neighborhood, when he found himself,
considerably to his surprise, placed in the witness-box for a rather
brisk fire of cross-examination.

"You are no stranger in this part of the country, I presume" said