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and, partly on this account, partly on account of his being a young fellow, and partly on account of Miss King, the governess, Martin set him. Now, there was just one man within a hundred miles who knew less of Irish History than Martin, and that man was Moriarty; consequently, the two jostled each other as they rushed into that branch of learning where scholars fear to tread—each repeatedly appealing to me for confirmation of his outlandish myths and clumsy fabrications. I listlessly confirmed anything and everything. Having lost all mental, as well as physical, energy where King John lost his regalia, namely, in the Wash, the line of least resistance was the line for me.

After a hearty lunch, I made my way back to the seat against the wall, while Moriarty lounged across to the store, and Martin went to speak to the High Priest at the door of the Sanctum Sanctorum. Then Martin mounted his horse, and rode away; and presently the tribesman, Jerry, brought a buggy and pair to the front door. Montgomery and Folkestone—the latter in knickerbockers—took their seats in the buggy, and whirled away down the horse-paddock fence. Then all was still, save for the faint pling-plong of a piano in the Holy of Holies.

Whom have we here? Moriarty to disturb me. Let him come. It is meat and drink to me to see a clown; by my faith, we that have good wits have much to answer for; we shall be flouting; we cannot hold.——

The young Levite, closing the door of the store behind him, advanced with the indescribably weary step of a station man when the day is warm and the boss absent, and seated himself by my side.

"Why ain't you in the barracks having one of your quiet palavers with Mrs Beaudesart?" he asked.

"Prithee be silent, boy; I profit not by thy talk," I murmured.

"Something I wanted to ask you, Collins," he resumed; "but I'm beggared if I can think what it is. Slipped away like a snake, while you're looking round for a stick. Singular how a person can't remember a thing for the life of them, when once they forget it; and suddenly it crops up of its own accord when you're not thinking of it."

"Parse that," said I, listlessly.

"Parse your granny!" he retorted. "I don't believe you could parse it yourself, as clever as you think you are. Beggar conceitedness; beggar everything. I wish I was about forty."

"And know as much as you do now?" I barely articulated.

"Yes—and know as much as I do now," he repeated doggedly. "In fact, I never met anyone that knows as much as I do; but people won't pay any attention to a young fellow, no matter if he was Solomon. That Martin wants a lift under the ear."

"Does he?" I asked faintly. "I did n't hear him express the desire."

"Gosh! you've been on the turkey; you'll be cutting yourself some of these times. I wish Toby was back with the mail. I hope he'll forget to ask for your letters."

"Now the Lord lighten thee; thou art a great fool," I sighed. "What time does Toby generally get back?"

"Any time between two in the afternoon and sunrise next morning,