a window opened above me and a head appeared.

“What’s the noise about at all, at all?” called Mr Callan.

“’Deed that’s just what I’m asking him,” said the watchman. “And since you’re awake, Mr Callan, you may see to it. To my thinking the noise is not worth the turnips. So good-night to you.”

I was never more glad to see a man’s back. In due time Mr Callan came down in his night-cap, lantern in hand.

“Turnips,” said he, as he looked first at me, then at the cart. “Whose turnips are they?”

“They’re from Knockowen, sir,” said I. “My father, Mike Gallagher, bade me tell you there’s more where they came from.”

He pulled the bolt of his yard gate without a word, and signed to me to back in the cart; which I did, dreading every moment lest the watchman should return.

When we were inside, the gate was shut, and Mr Callan turned his lantern towards me.

“You’re a young lad to send with a load like this,” said he. “Did no one overhaul you on the road?”

I told him about the two soldiers, and what the man at the inn had said.

He said nothing, but bade me unload.

The turnips were soon taken out. Under them was a layer of sacking, and under that some thirty or forty muskets, with a box or two of ammunition.

These Mr Callan and I carefully carried up to a loft and deposited in a hollow space which had been prepared in a pile of hay, which was carefully covered up again, so as to leave no trace of the murderous fodder it hid.

“Tell Mr Gorman—tell your father, I mean, that his turnips are in great demand, and I can sell all he’s got.”

“I will,” said I.

“Now put in the horse and take your rest, for you must start back betimes in the morning.”

“Plaze, sir,” I ventured to say, “I’d sooner eat than sleep, by your leave.”

“You shall do both,” said he, for he was in great good-humour.

So I got a bite of pork and a scone, and curled myself up in the warm hay and slept like a top.

Before daybreak Mr Callan roused me.

“Make haste now,” said he, “or you’ll not be home by night. And see here, I’ve a message for Mr Gorman.”

“Mr Gorman?” said I, remembering what I had been told.

“You are right, sonnie. You do not know Mr Gorman,” said the tradesman, slapping me on the back and laughing. “If you did know him, I would have bid you tell him that people talk of him here, and say he lacks zeal in a good cause. If lie is resolved to deal in turnips, he must deal in them largely, and not go behind our backs to them that deal in other trades. Mark that.”

I confess it sounded very like a riddle, and I had to say the words over many times to myself before I could be sure of carrying them.

Then, my cart being loaded with straw, I bade Mr Callan good-day, and started on my long journey back to Knockowen.