The fact was this:  Whenever Ned found that his speculation was gone a shaughran, (Gone astray) as he termed it, he fixed himself in some favorite public house, from whence he seldom stirred while his money lasted, except when dislodged by Nancy, who usually, upon learning where he had taken cover, paid him an unceremonious visit, to which Ned’s indefensible delinquency gave the color of legitimate authority.  Upon these occasions, Nancy, accompanied by two sturdy “servant-boys,” would sally forth to the next market-town, for the purpose of bringing home “graceless Ned,” as she called him.  And then you might see Ned between the two servants, a few paces in advance of Nancy, having very much the appearance of a man performing a pilgrimage to the gallows, or of a deserter guarded back to his barrack, in order to become a target for the muskets of his comrades.  Ned’s compulsory return always became a matter of some notoriety; for Nancy’s excursion in quest of the “graceless” was not made without frequent denunciations of wrath against him, and many melancholy apologies to the neighbors for entering upon the task of personally securing him.  By this means her enterprise was sure to get wind, and a mob of the idle young men and barefooted urchins of the village, with Bob M’Cann, “a three-quarter clift" of a fellow—­half knave, half fool, was to be found, a little below the village, upon an elevation of the road, that commanded a level stretch of half a mile or so, in anxious expectation of the procession.  No sooner had this arrived at the point of observation, than the little squadron would fall rearward of the principal group, for the purpose of extracting from Nancy a full and particular account of the capture.

[Illustration:  Page 656—­ Bringing home “graceless Ned,”]

* This is equal to the proverb—­“he wants a square,” that is, though knavish not thoroughly rational; in other words, a combination of knave and fool.  Bob, in consequence of his accomplishments, was always a great favorite in the village.  Upon some odd occasions he was a ready and willing drudge at everything, and as strong as a ditch.  Give him only a good fog-meal—­which was merely a trifle, just what would serve three men or so—­give him, we say, a fog-meal of this kind, about five times a day, with a liberal promise of more, and never was there a Scotch Brownie who could get through so much work.  He knew no fatigue; frost and cold had no power over him; wind, sleet, and hail he laughed at; rain! it stretched his skin, he said, after a meal—­and that, he added, was a comfort.  Notwithstanding all this, he was neither more nor less than an impersonation of laziness, craft, and gluttony.  The truth is, that unless in the hope of being gorged he would do nothing; and the only way to get anything out of him was, never to let the gorge precede the labor, but always, on the contrary, to follow it.  Bob’s accomplishments were not only varied, but of a very elevated order, and