"I never heard of you in my life before," he stormed.

"And then, sir, you may blame the _ommadhauns_ that sent me; for, by
this and by that, they tould me at the wood-yard, foreninst, that your
honor was inquiring for me," replied the man, slinging his saw up over
his shoulder.

"At the wood-yard? I remember; but it is too late, now--it makes no
difference," said Mr. Stillinghast, speaking slowly, and frowning.

"I'd have come before, only the day afther the young lady took me to
saw wood for the ould nagur, I got the pleurisy, and didn't lave my bed
these five weeks," said the man, lingering about the door.

"Come in here, and close the door," said Mr. Stillinghast, while his
stern, forbidding countenance wore a strange look of anxiety; "do you
remember the young lady; and can you direct me to the place where you
sawed the wood?"

"Oh, yes, your honor. I shall never forget her to my dying day. She
was a little, bright-eyed lady, with a smile of an angel on her, by
dad!"

"May," muttered the old man, "there is only one May. But I have a
reason," he said, turning to the man, "for wishing to see this old
woman; can you conduct me to the place?"

"I'm at your service intirely, sir. It's a good stretch, though," said
the man, who looked weak from his recent illness.