Paddy Finn

Paddy Finn
by W H G Kingston
CHAPTER ONE.
THE HOME OF MY ANCESTORS.
"The top of the morning to you, Terence," cried the major, looking
down upon me from the window of his bedroom.
I was standing in front of the castle of Ballinahone--the seat of the
O'Finnahans, my ancestors--on the banks of the beautiful Shannon,
enjoying the fresh air of the early morning.
"Send Larry up, will you, with a jug of warm water for shaving; and,
while I think of it, tell Biddy to brew me a cup of hot coffee. It will be
some time before breakfast is ready, and my hand isn't as steady as it
once was till I've put something into my inside."
The old house had not been provided with bells for summoning the
attendants; a loud shout, a clap of the hands, or the clatter of fire-irons,
answering the purpose.
"Shure, Larry was sent to meet the postboy, uncle, and I'll be after
taking you up the warm water; but Biddy maybe will not have come in
from milking the cows, so if Dan Bourke is awake, and will give me
the key of the cellar, mightn't I be bringing you up a glass of whisky?" I
asked, knowing the taste of most of the guests at the castle.
"Arrah, boy, don't be tempting me!" cried the major in a half-angry
tone; "that morning nip is the bane of too many of us. Go and do as I
bid you."
I was about entering the house to perform the duty I had undertaken,

when I caught sight of my foster-brother, Larry Harrigan, galloping up
the avenue, mounted on the bare back of a shaggy little pony, its mane
and tail streaming in the breeze.
"Hurrah! hurrah! yer honour; I've got it," he cried, as he waved a letter
above his carroty and hatless pate. "I wouldn't have been after getting it
at all, at all, for the spalpeen of a postboy wanted tinpence before he
would give it me, but sorra a copper had I in my pocket, and I should
have had to come away without it, if Mr McCarthy, the bailiff, hadn't
been riding by, and paid the money for me."
I took the letter; and telling Larry, after he had turned the pony into the
yard, to bring up the warm water and the cup of hot coffee, I hurried,
with the official-looking document in my hand, up to my uncle's room.
He met me at the door, dressed in his trousers and shirt, his
shirt-sleeves tucked up in order to perform his ablutions, exhibiting his
brawny arms, scarred with many a wound,--his grizzled hair uncombed,
his tall figure looking even more gaunt than usual without the military
coat in which I was accustomed to see him. He eagerly took the letter.
"Come in, my boy, and sit down on the foot of the bed while I see what
my friend Macnamara writes in answer to my request," he said, as he
broke the seal, and with a deliberation which didn't suit my eagerness,
opened a large sheet of foolscap paper, which he held up to the light
that he might read it more easily.
While he was thus engaged, Larry brought up the warm water and the
cup of steaming coffee, and, with a look at the major's back which
betokened anything but respect, because it was not a glass of whisky,
placed the jug and cup on the table. Larry was, I must own, as
odd-looking an individual as ever played the part of valet. His shock
head of hair was unacquainted with comb or brush; his grey coat
reached to his calves; his breeches were open at the knees; his green
waistcoat, too short to reach the latter garment, was buttoned awry;
huge brogues encased his feet, and a red handkerchief, big enough to
serve as the royal of a frigate, was tied loosely round his neck. He stood
waiting for further orders, when the major, turning round to take a sip
of coffee, by a sign bade him begone, and he vanished.

Major McMahon, my mother's uncle, was an old officer, who, having
seen much service for the better part of half a century,--his sword being
his only patrimony,--on retiring from the army had come to live with us
at Castle Ballinahone when I was a mere slip of a boy. Knowing the
world well,--having been taught prudence by experience, though he had
never managed to save any of his pay or prize-money, and was as poor
as when he first carried the colours,--he was of the greatest service to
my father, who, like many another Irish gentleman of those days, knew
nothing of the world, and possessed but a small modicum of the quality
I