local history. There lived scarcely a family within a very wide circle
about her, of whom she did not know every thing that could possibly be
known; a fact of which she judiciously availed herself by allusions
in general conversations that were understood only by those whom they
concerned. These mysterious hints, oracularly thrown out, gained her the
reputation of knowing more than mere human agency could acquire, and of
course she was openly conciliated and secretly hated.

Her conversation with the menials of the inn was very short and
decisive.

"Sheemus," said she to the person who acted in the capacity of waiter,
"where's Meehaul Neil?"

"Troth, Nell, dacent woman," replied the other, "myself can't exactly
say that. I'll be bound he's on the _Esker_, looking afther the sheep,
poor crathurs, durin' Andy Connor's illness in the small-pock. Poor
Andy's very ill, Nell, an' if God hasn't sed it, not expected; glory be
to his name!"

"Is Andy ill?" inquired Nell; "and how long?"

"Bedad, going on ten days."

"Well," said the woman, "I knew nothin' about that; but I want to see
Meehaul Neil, and I know he's in the house."

"Faix he's not, Nelly, an' you know I wouldn't tell you a lie about it."

"Did you get the linen that was stolen from your masther?" inquired Nell