“Thrue for ye, miss, indeed,” rejoined Billy. '“Tis wishing them far enough I am, them same elections; the bag does be a stone heavier every day till it's over.”
“Indeed!” said Mary, half smiling at the remark.
“Thrue as I 'm here, miss. I would n't wonder if it was the goold for bribin' the chaps makes it weigh so much.”
“And is there any other news stirring in the town, Billy?”
“Next to none, miss. They were talkin' of putting up ould Nelligan's son for the mimber; and more says the Magennis of Barnagheela will stand.”
“A most excellent choice that would be, certainly,” said Mary, laughing.
“Faix! I heerd of another that wasn't much better, miss.”
“And who could that be?” asked Mary, in astonishment.
“But sure you'd know better than me, if it was thrue, more by token it would be the master's own orders.”
“I mean, miss, that it's only his Honer, Mr. Martin, could have the power to make Maurice Scanlan a Parlimint man.”
“And has any one hinted at such a possibility?” said she, in astonishment.
“Indeed, then, it was the talk of the market this mornin', and many a one said he's the very fellow would get in.”
“Is he such a general favorite in Oughterard?”
“I'm not sure it's that, miss,” said Billy, thoughtfully.
“Maybe some likes him, and more is afraid of him; but he himself knows everybody and everybody's business. He can raise the rent upon this man, take it off that; 'tis his word can make a barony-constable or one of the watch. They say he has the taxes, too, in his power, and can cess you just as he likes. Be my conscience, he 's all as one as the Prime Minister.”
Just as Billy had delivered this sage reflection they had reached the hall door, where, having consigned the letter-bag to the hands of a servant, he turned his steps to the kitchen, to take an “air of the fire” before he set out homeward. Mary Martin had not advanced many steps within the hall when both her hands were cordially grasped, and a kind voice, which she at once recognized as Mr. Repton's, said, “Here I am, my dear Miss Martin; arrived in time, too, to welcome you home again. You paid me a visit yesterday--”
“Yes,” broke she in; “but you were shaking your ambrosial curls at the time, browbeating the bench, or cajoling the jury, or something of that sort.”