Now it happened that, during the time Mr. Hill was putting the foregoing
queries to Bampfylde the Second, there came to the door or entrance of
the audience chamber an Irish haymaker who wanted to consult the cunning
man about a little leathern purse which he had lost whilst he was making
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.
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