hay in a field near Hereford. This haymaker was the same person who, as
we have related, spoke so advantageously of our hero O'Neill to the widow
Smith. As this man, whose name was Paddy M'Cormack, stood at the
entrance of the gipsies' hut, his attention was caught by the name of
O'Neill; and he lost not a word of all that pasted. He had reason to be
somewhat surprised at hearing Bampfylde assert it was O'Neill who had
pulled down the rick of bark. "By the holy poker!" said he to himself,
"the old fellow now is out there. I know more o' that matter than he
does--no offence to his majesty; he knows no more of my purse, I'll
engage now, than he does of this man's rick of bark and his dog: so I'll
keep my tester in my pocket, and not be giving it to this king o' the
gipsies, as they call him: who, as near as I can guess, is no better than
a cheat. But there is one secret which I can be telling this conjuror
himself: he shall not find it such an easy matter to do all what he
thinks; he shall not be after ruining an innocent countryman of my own
whilst Paddy M'Cormack has a tongue and brains."

Now, Paddy M'Cormack had the best reason possible for knowing that Mr.
O'Neill did not pull down Mr. Hill's rick of bark; it was M'Cormack
himself who, in the heat of his resentment for the insulting arrest of
his countryman in the streets of Hereford, had instigated his fellow
haymakers to this mischief; he headed them, and thought he was doing a
clever, spirited action.

There is a strange mixture of virtue and vice in the minds of the lower
class of Irish: or rather, a strange confusion in their ideas of right
and wrong, from want of proper education. As soon as poor Paddy found
out that his spirited action of pulling down the rick of bark was likely
to be the ruin of his countryman, he resolved to make all the amends in
his power for his folly--he went to collect his fellow haymakers, and