Handy Andy, vol 2 | Page 8

her, clapt the dogs at her heels, and away they went for the
bare life. Never was there seen such running as that day--the cat made
for a shaking bog, the loneliest place in the whole country, and there
the riders were all thrown out, barrin' the huntsman, who had a
web-footed horse on purpose for soft places; and the priest, whose
horse could go anywhere by reason of the priest's blessing; and, sure
enough, the huntsman and his riverence stuck to the hunt like wax; and
just as the cat got on the border of the bog, they saw her give a twist as
the foremost dog closed with her, for he gave her a nip in the flank.
Still she went on, however, and headed them well, towards an old mud
cabin in the middle of the bog, and there they saw her jump in at the
window, and up came the dogs the next minit, and gathered round the
house with the most horrid howling ever was heard. The huntsman
alighted, and went into the house to turn the cat out again, when what
should he see but an old hag lying in bed in the corner?
"'Did you see a cat come in here?' says he.
"'Oh, no--o--o--o!' squealed the old hag, in a trembling voice; 'there's
no cat here,' says she.
"'Yelp, yelp, yelp!' went the dogs outside.
"'Oh, keep the dogs out o' this,' says the old hag--'oh--o--o--o!' and the
huntsman saw her eyes glare under the blanket, just like a cat's.
"'Hillo!' says the huntsman, pulling down the blanket--and what should
he see but the old hag's flank all in a gore of blood.
"'Ow, ow! you old divil--is it you? you ould cat!' says he, opening the
door.
"In rushed the dogs--up jumped the old hag, and changing into a cat
before their eyes, out she darted through the window again, and made

another run for it; but she couldn't escape, and the dogs gobbled her
while you could say 'Jack Robinson.' But the most remarkable part of
this extraordinary story, gentlemen, is, that the pack was ruined from
that day out; for after having eaten the enchanted cat, _the devil a thing
they would ever hunt afterwards but mice._"

CHAPTER XXIV
Murphy's story was received with acclamation by all but the little man.
"That is all a pack of nonsense," said he.
"Well, you're welcome to it, sir," said Murphy, "and if I had greater
nonsense you should have it; but seriously, sir, I again must beg you to
remember that the country all around here abounds in enchantment;
scarcely a night passes without some fairy frolic; but, however you may
doubt the wonderful fact of the cat speaking, I wonder you are not
impressed with the points of moral in which the story abounds--"
"Fiddlestick!" said the miniature snarler.
"First, the little touch about the corn monopoly [1]--then maternal
vanity chastised by the loss of the child's toe--then Tom's familiarity
with his cat, showing the danger arising from a man making too free
with his female domestics--the historical point about the penal
laws--the fatal results of letting the cat out o' the bag, with the curious
final fact in natural history."
[1][Footnote: Handy Andy was written when the "vexed question" of
the "Corn Laws" was the all-absorbing subject of discussion.]
"It's all nonsense," said the little man, "and I am ashamed of myself for
being such a fool as to sit--alistening to such stuff instead of going to
bed, after the fatigue of my journey and the necessity of rising early
to-morrow, to be in good time at the polling."
"Oh! then you're going to the election, sir?" said Murphy.

"Yes, sir--there's some sense in _that_--and you, gentlemen, remember
we must be all up early--and I recommend you to follow my example."
The little man rang the bell--the bootjack and slippers were called for,
and, after some delay, a very sleepy-looking gossoon entered with a
bootjack under his arm, but no slippers.
"Didn't I say slippers?" said the little man.
"You did, sir."
"Where are they, sir?"
"The masther says there isn't any, if you plaze, sir."
"No slippers! and you call this an inn? Oh!--well, 'what can't be cured
must be endured'--hold me the bootjack, sir."
The gossoon obeyed--the little man inserted his heel in the cleft, but, on
attempting to pull his foot from the boot, he nearly went heels over
head backward. Murphy caught him and put him on his legs again.
"Heads up, soldiers," exclaimed Murtough; "I thought you were
drinking too much."
"Sir, I'm not intoxicated!" said the mannikin, snappishly. "It is the fault
of that vile bootjack--what sort of a thing is that you have brought?"
added he in a rage to the gossoon.
"It's