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"If what you say is true," said Kathleen, "and sure enough you're no Irish, and very young for a tithe proctor, who must grow old before he can be such a villain, you are in no very pleasant way. The O'Tooles are here, and I've an idea they mean no good; for they sit with all their heads together, whispering to each other, and all their shillelaghs by their sides."
Yet history says so; and it is certain the O'Tooles and MacTooles, for centuries kings of all this region, lived here, or near here, in old-fashioned Irish state, and were buried generation after generation of them in the Church of Rhefeart. The two lakes are small and quiet; but the water seems very deep, and is remarkably dark-colored.
The mother then hastened down stairs, and arrived at the door just as they had succeeded in forcing it open, when in pounced a dozen men armed, with their faces blackened. "Holy Jesus! what is it that you want?" screamed the landlady. "The blood of the tithe proctor, and that's what we'll have," replied the O'Tooles. "Not in my house not in my house!" cried she.
"And who else did you see, Mickey?" "Oh hosts of the quality. First there was Fin MacCual, and Brian Boro, and old King Cormac and the O'Tooles with their crowns on, and the O'Neills, and the O'Connors, and the O'Meaghers, and the O'Malleys, and the O'Doghertys, and the O'Briens, and no end of O'Donoghues, and the Dermods, and Desmonds, and my ancestor, the great MacCarty-Mor himself."
The mother then hastened downstairs, and arrived at the door just as they had succeeded in forcing it open, when in pounced a dozen men armed, with their faces blackened. "Holy Jesus! what is it that you want?" screamed the landlady. "The blood of the tithe proctor, and that's what we'll have," replied the O'Tooles. "Not in my house not in my house!" cried she.
O'Tooles and O'Byrnes from their wild Wicklow mountains; the McMurroughs from Carlow, the O'Connor, the O'Dunn, the O'Moore; the terrible McGillapatrick from his forests of Upper Ossory all the great O's and Macs in fact of Ireland were called together to meet the Butlers, the Desmonds, the Barrys, the Fitzmaurices their hereditary enemies now for four long centuries.
There's the O'Tooles all come in, and your own Corny is with them." "My Corny, indeed!" replied Kathleen; "he's not quite so sure of that." In a short time Kathleen returned, and brought some dry peat and a measure of whisky.
The captain thought so too; for he said to Mr Farmer, very coldly, "I think you should have ascertained the quality of the sand before you sent for it; and I don't think that you should have sent for it at all towards nightfall, and at the beginning of ebb tide. Youngster, you shall dine with me to-day, and give me a history of the O'Tooles."
"If what you say is true," said Kathleen, "and sure enough you're no Irish, and very young for a tithe proctor, who must grow old before he can be such a villain, you are in no very pleasant way. The O'Tooles are here, and I've an idea they mean no good; for they sit with all their heads together, whispering to each other, and all their shillelaghs by their sides."
"With the two Misses O'Tooles," said I; for really the young ladies were uppermost in my thoughts. "You young reprobate! What, with both?" said the captain, grinning. "Yes sir," for I now began to feel myself safe; "and Mr and Mrs O'Toole, and Mr Cornelius O'Toole, who has red hair, and Mr Phelim O'Toole, who has a black eye, and the poultry, and the pigs, and the boat's crew."
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