One evening, about this period, our worthy agent was sitting in his back parlor, enjoying with Phil the comforts of a warm tumbler of punch, when the old knock already described was heard at the hall door.

“How the devil does that rascal contrive to give such a knock?” said Phil—­“upon my honor and reputation, father, I could know it out of a thousand.”

“It’s very difficult to say,” replied the other; “but I agree with you in its character—­and yet, I am convinced that Master Darby by no means entertains the terror of me which he affects.  However, be this as it may, he is invaluable for his attachment to our interests, and the trust which we can repose in him.  I intend to make him a sergeant in our new corps—­and talking of that, Phil, you are not aware that I received this morning a letter from Lord Cumber, in which he thanks me for the hint, and says he will do everything in his power to forward the business.  I have proposed that he shall be colonel, and that the corps be named the Castle Cumber Yeomanry.  I shall myself be captain and paymaster, and you shall have a slice of something off it, Phil, my boy.”

“I have no objection in life,” replied Phil, “and let the slice be a good one; only I am rather quakerly as to actual fighting, which may God of his infinite mercy prevent!”

“There will be no fighting, my hero,” replied the father, laughing; “if there were, Phil, I would myself rise above all claims for military glory; but here there will be nothing but a healthy chase across the country after an occasional rebel or whiteboy, or perhaps the seizing of a still, and the capture of many a keg of neat poteen, Phil—­eh?  What do you say to that my boy?”

“I have no objection to that,” said Phil, “provided everything is done in an open, manly manner—­in broad day-light.  These scoundrel whiteboys have such devilish good practice at hedge-firing, that I have already made up my mind to decline all warfare that won’t be sanctioned by the sun.  I believe in my soul they see better without light than with it, so that the darkness which would be a protection to them, could be none to me.”

At this moment, a tap—­such as a thief would give when ascertaining if the master of the house were asleep, in order that he might rob him—­came to the door, and upon being desired to “come in and be d——­d”

Darby entered.

“You’re an hour late, you scoundrel,” said Val; “what have you to say for yourself?”

“Yes,” added Phil, who was a perfect Achilles to every bailiff and driver on the estate—­“what have you to say for yourself?  If I served you right, upon my honor and reputation, I would kick you out.  I would, you scoundrel, and I ought.”

“I know you ought, squire, for I desarve it; but, any how, sure it was the floods that sent me round.  The stick was covered above three feet, and I had to go round by the bridge.  Throth his honor there ought to make the Grand Jury put a bridge acrass it, and I wish to goodness, Square Phil, you would spake to him to get them to do it next summer.”