It would be very unjust to say that Ned M'Grane was insufferably vain on account of his storytelling abilities, or that he was a bore who insisted, whenever he could find an audience, on relating some of his wonderful and thrilling experiences, as a goodly number of those who pose as storytellers are in the habit of doing. That wasn't the way with Ned at all: he had acquired all his pleasant stories, or most of them, while he was a boy, unspoiled by travel or by contact with the "clever" world; and it never struck him that he occupied a unique or exalted position in the Glen on account of this, because the gift had come to him naturally, and had been cultivated at a time when there was a seanchaidhe by every hearth, and life and vivacity in the country to provide plenty of material for stories. And in reference to the second matter—the supposition or suspicion in the minds of my readers that Ned was a bore—if such a suspicion exists, there is no foundation whatever for it. Ned M'Grane was not a bore by any means: I never knew him to volunteer the telling of a story, and I think that if we were to remain in the forge for hours each evening and not ask for a story we should never have heard one. I firmly believe that if Ned were to think for a moment that while we listened to his stories we were under the impression, in our own minds, that he was "showin' off" all he knew—I firmly believe that then and there he would have made a vow never again to tell us a story, and I know he would have kept that vow, because Ned M'Grane was a man of his word. Whenever an occasion arose that would suggest a story (we never asked him direct for one) we cautiously felt our way, and then, if we saw that we were on safe ground, we asked him as delicately as we could, to give us the pleasure of listening to one of his stories, and I have never known him to deny us that pleasure. He knew that we hungered for the tales, and his heart was too big and too kind to allow him to refrain from an act that was likely to give pleasure to anyone. There never beat a warmer, kinder heart than that which throbbed beneath Ned M'Grane's torn and soot-stained coat.

Joe Clinton was telling us one evening about a narrow escape he and Tom Brangan and a couple more of the boys had the night before in Rowan's demesne when they went to set their rabbit-snares, and very nearly fell into the hands of the police from Castletown, who had been told by the old Major to keep a look-out for poachers.

"We were just gettin' across the wall below at the dark avenue," Joe told us; "Tom was inside in the wood an' I was on top o' the wall, an' Phil Geraghty an' Andy Reilly was on the road, when we heard the sprigs cracklin' an' breakin' in the wood an' out comes a sheep, runnin' like from the lawn as if somethin' was after frightenin' her, an' then when the moon came out a bit from behind a cloud, didn't we see the two boyos tryin' to steal unknownst to us, along the brink o' the wood. I'm sure they heard me talkin' down to the lads on the road—an' Tom had only time to climb up the wall an' jump down after me, when we heard them tearin' in thro' the leaves an' brosna, an' sure we ran like a go-as-you-please race, an' the dickens a one of us was to be seen when they got as far as the wall."

"Only for the sheep you'd be nabbed," said Seumas Shanley.

"Oh, they had us as neat as could be, an' our darlin' han'ful o' new snares along with us," said Joe, "only that they frightened the sheep in the right time. She was a lucky sheep for us anyway."

"Sheep an' goats must be good to poachers always," said Ned M'Grane, as he let the hammer rest on the anvil, and cast the horse-shoe on which he had been working into the trough, "for 'twas Tim Brogan's old white goat that nearly thumped the life out o' the Scotch game-keeper that was in Archdale's, an' he runnin' after young Joe Magee long ago, an' 'twas a ram that saved Jimmy the Thrick when the Sojer M'Keon came at him an' he after killin' the two hares above on the Mullagh. The sheep an' goats must have a grÂdh for the poachers, I'm thinkin'."

At the mention of "Jimmy the Thrick" we cocked our ears, because we knew that whenever Ned spoke of Jimmy he had a story to tell about him, and we knew that a story in which Jimmy figured was sure to be a good one. So we cocked our ears while Joe Clinton was asking Ned how the ram managed to save Jimmy from his enemies, and we were, I need hardly say, delighted when we noticed that Ned took out his pipe and commenced to fill it before he made any reply.

"There wasn't in all Ireland, I think, a poacher that had as much darin' in him as Jimmy the Thrick when he was a young fellow. There wasn't a hare or a rabbit in the country safe from him, an' neither gamekeeper nor peeler could ever lay hands on him. He was within an ace o' bein' caught as often as he has fingers an' toes on his body, an' every time, by hook or by crook, he'd dodge the peelers an' get away from them, an' every gamekeeper in the country 'd swear to you at the time that if there ever was a divil in Ireland that divil was Jimmy Malone. A hundred times they set traps for him an' failed to catch him. He'd take the hares an' rabbits from under their very noses almost, an' he often had a snare set above at Rowan's hall-door, but catch or catch they couldn't do on him. He could run as fast as a hare himself, an' he had more tricks an' dodges an' plans in his head than any hare that ever lay in a form. Sure one day an' the huntsmen an' the beagles in full cry after a hare below in Hoey's Bottom, didn't he watch beside a little gap in the wall that he knew she'd go through, and had a sack opened, with the mouth of it round the hole, an' when the poor hare came along at full speed thro' the gap, where did she go only right into the sack, an' Jimmy had her at home in his own house before the huntsmen knew that the hounds were after losin' the trail. Oh, he was a holy terror, the same Jimmy, but he was that lively an' full o' divilment an' fun, but with no bad turn in him, that the dickens a one in the country 'd say a word against him or give a hint o' where he'd be to peeler or anyone else.

"Well, one summer there came home a fellow that was after bein' a sojer out in India or somewhere—his name was Jack M'Keon, but no one called him anythin' only the Sojer M'Keon—an' o' course none o' the young fellows about 'd be seen in his company an' he after takin' John Bull's shillin' an' fightin' against them that never done him or his country any harm, so who did he get in with only Tony Smith that was gamekeeper in Rowan's at the time, an' it seems Tony promised to get him a job as a sort of under-gamekeeper after a while, because he used to do anythin' Tony 'd ask him to do; an' one o' the things was to pimp after and watch Jimmy Malone, an' to nab him in the act o' poachin' if he could.

"'Twas easy enough to make the Sojer do that, because he hated Jimmy from the time they used to be goin' to school in Kilfane together, an' had some row or other, an' along with that, too, M'Keon began skulkin' after a girl that Jimmy was fond of—Julia Dermody, that's his wife this thirty years nearly—an' that made the two o' them bitter enemies. M'Keon had some money after comin' home, wherever he got it—some used to say he robbed it, but no one was certain—an' old Hugh Dermody was more inclined to give him Julia than he was to give her to Jimmy Malone, because Jimmy was poor, an' old Dermody was a miser always. Julia 'd marry no one only Jimmy, but M'Keon thought that if he got him into jail for poachin' she'd be so much ashamed of it that she'd give him up an' marry himself. So you might say it was a bitter bit o' dodgin' between the peelers an' old Tony Smith an' the Sojer M'Keon against poor Jimmy the Thrick, an' only for he was the man he was, he'd spend many a long day in jail for his poachin'. But it was easier to catch a hare than to catch Jimmy Malone, so it was, an' many a hard run the Sojer M'Keon had after him for nothin', an' many a laugh there was through the country over Jimmy an' his tricks. An' the best of it was that the Sojer himself used to be poachin' as much as Jimmy, an' well the peelers knew that, an' the dickens a much of a grÁdh they had for him.

"Well, one fine July mornin' about four o'clock, Jimmy went over to the off side o' the Mullaghs to the farthest field next to Appleby's land—'twas called the Sheep Field that time as well as now, an' the Mullaghs belonged to the Rowans o' course—to look at a few snares he was after settin' in it the night before, an' didn't he get two darlin' fine hares an' they just nearly dead with the pullin' an' tuggin' they had to get away. Jimmy wasn't long finishin' them, and he was crossin' back next the wood again when all of a sudden he heard the racin' up behind him, an' before he could turn round he got a bump that lifted him off his feet, and then another, an' the next minute he was sprawlin' on the ground an' a big black-faced ram o' the old Major's standin' over him an' lookin' at him as much as to say, 'You're downed at last, Jimmy Malone!' Jimmy used to tell me after that he could read the very words in the ram's eyes the same as if he was sayin' them.

"'Your behaviour was very unfair, sir,' says Jimmy to the boyo, an' he risin' to his feet, 'but I'll be expectin' your salute the next time, an' I don't think you'll have the pleasure o' givin' it. Just gi'me a fair start, an' see which of us'll be at the wood first. Now, one, two, three, an' off we go.' An' Jimmy started to run quicker nor ever he went before, but he wasn't two minutes runnin' when he got the thump again an' down he had to flop a second time in spite of himself, an' there was the ram standin' over him an' his eyes sayin', 'It's not the Sojer M'Keon or the peelers that's in it this time, Jimmy,' an' all my poor Jimmy could do was groan an' feel himself where he was sore.

"'This won't do for Jimmy Malone, if he doesn't want to be caught, so you'll allow me to lead you to the ditch,' says Jimmy, catchin' hold o' the ram's horns, an' startin' to drag him along as well as he could, an' the bucko draggin' against him. If he got him as far as the wood he knew he'd be all right, because he could manage to get away from him, but in the open field there was no chance. So there was Jimmy with his two hands grippin' the ram's horns, an' the hares tied round his waist, an' he tryin' to coax the lad over to the edge o' the wood till he'd get away from him.

"He was about three hundred yards from the wood, an' the ram stickin' his feet in the ground an' refusin' to budge an inch, when who did he see comin' across the field at full trot only the Sojer M'Keon an' he leerin' like a monkey. Jimmy got a bit of a start when he saw him first, because he thought the peelers 'd be with him, but when he knew there was only the Sojer in it, he was delighted instead o' bein' afraid.

"The Sojer came up to him, an' a big stick in his hand an' he chucklin' an' grinnin' with delight.

"'Ha, ha, Mister Malone,' says he to Jimmy, 'you're nabbed at last. 'Twasn't enough to be snarin' the Major's hares an' rabbits, but you must turn to stealin' his mountainy sheep. Gettin' a likin' for mutton, is that it, Mister Malone? They'll hardly give you any mutton in jail, though, unless Julia an' myself sends you a bit o' what we'll have at the weddin'. No girl 'd like to marry a sheep-stealer; would she, Mister Malone?'

"Jimmy was ragin', but he knew that if it came to a fight with M'Keon the Sojer 'd beat him, because he was a powerful big man, an' along with that if the peelers came an' they squabblin', M'Keon 'd accuse him o' sheep-stealin' an' poachin' an' he'd be done for. So he kept his temper, an' says he, real quiet an' humble like:

"'You have me this time, Jack,' says he, 'but what's the use o' tormentin' a fellow. I gave the whole lot o' you a good run for it, anyway, an' I'm not goin' to cry over it. An' sure if Julia Dermody doesn't want me she can have the man that caught me, an' welcome. There's your friends, the peelers, comin', an' you can call them to arrest me.'

"'Where?—where are they? Where are they?' says the Sojer, turnin' round, an' he real excited an' like as if he was frightened.

"As soon as he turned round, Jimmy let go his hold o' the ram's horns an' away with him for the wood, racin' faster than ever he went in his life before. M'Keon got as big a surprise as the 'sheep,' as he took Jimmy's gentleman friend to be, but as soon as he saw the dodge, off he started after him an' he shoutin' to him to stop. He couldn't run well, though, because he was stiff an' lazy, an' the dickens a very far he went when he got a thump from the ram's horns that made him yell, an' the next minute there he was stretched at full length on the grass, an' the ram standin' over him as mild as you please. The Sojer gave him a string of army curses an' up he jumps again an' after Jimmy—the boyo was within a few perch o' the wood an' he runnin' for the bare life an' never lookin' behind him—but the dickens a far Mister M'Keon went till the ram was up with him an' had him stretched on the grass the same as before, an' he cursin' for all he was worth.

"When Jimmy got into the shelter o' the wood he drew his breath an' looked round, an' there he saw my brave Sojer an' he havin' a hold o' the ram's horns the same as he was himself a few minutes before that an' he pullin' at his best an' the ram pullin' against him, an' risin' with every jump now an' again that nearly lifted the Sojer off his feet.

"Jimmy couldn't help laughin' if all the peelers in Ireland was in the wood behind him, when he saw the way the ram had the life frightened out o' the Sojer.

"'So you're goin' to have mutton at the weddin', Mister M'Keon,' says he, 'an' you'll maybe send a bit to the sheep-stealer an' he in jail? That's very kind o' you entirely, an' I must tell Julia when I see her, in case you'd forget it. I'm afraid a ram 'd be middlin' tough eatin' though—even for a sojer. Will you stay there till I go home for my camera, an' I'll take your photograph an' show it to Julia? Ah! can't you let the poor old ram go; sure he can't give evidence against the notorious sheep-stealer, Jimmy Malone. Let him go, an' come over here, an' I'll give you the hares. You won't? Well, I'll have to be sayin' good mornin', Mister M'Keon, an' I hope you'll enjoy the game-keepin' if you get it. If I see your friends, the peelers, I'll send them to your assistance. Good mornin', Mister M'Keon.'

"An' off went Jimmy as fast as he could leg it, an' 'twas well for him he did, because the peelers wasn't as far away as he thought they were. The Major sent for them to come over early that mornin' to see where some one tore up a lot o' young trees that he was after gettin' planted above on the side o' the Mullagh, an' when himself an' them came into the Sheep Field didn't they see the Sojer M'Keon an' he beatin' the Major's prize ram with a big stick an' tryin' to drag him over to the ditch. The Sojer was in such a temper with the ram that he never saw them until they were up beside him, an' sure he nearly fell with the start he got when the Major roared at him to let go the ram. Only for the peelers the Major 'd kill him. The Sojer went to tell the story o' catchin' Jimmy Malone, but sure they thought it was all a make-up, an' they arrested him on the spot for abusin' the ram, an' along with that he had a couple o' score o' snares tied round his waist an' a fine big hare under his coat. It was found out, too, that it was him rooted up the young trees an' sold them to a man in Castletown, an' 'gorra if he didn't get six months in jail, an' only he was a sojer they'd give him five years. He never came back here again, an' the dickens a one was sorry for him, because he was a bad weed.

"An' that's how Jimmy settled the Sojer."