"Begor, as well as yer anner 'ud wish," said Darby. "Sure, it does our hearts good to see you."

"Yerra, is it the masther, Darby?" said the old woman, rising from her seat. "Yerra, why didn't you tell me? Oh, cead mile failte, a thousand times over, yer anner. Sure you're

welcome to our little cabin."

"Well, I see you've got the new coat of thatch," said Maxwell. "Does it keep out the rain?"

"Oh, yeh, that it does, sure enough. and dogs, not a dhrop ud come in now.

our prayers, night and day, for that same."

If it was peltin' cats

An' sure you have

"I'm afraid Darby doesn't kill himself with the prayers," said Maxwell. "Tell the honest truth now, Darby. Would you rather be saying your prayers, or snaring a rabbit ? "

Darby grinned, and blurted out:

"Begor, yer anner, I'd rather be snarin' the rabbit, cos why, me mudder keeps me too long on me knees with all the prayers she do be sayin'."

"I thought so. Well, look here! I'm comin' up again next month for a day or two; and I'll send on the tent. I won't bring Aleck this time, as it will be too short. But I'll leave it in your care, whilst I'm away."

Darby was in heaven.

"I have another bit of news for you. I'm afraid my tenting-days will soon be over. I'm getting married in the autumn."

"Ah, thin, wisha, may you be happy, and may your ondhertakin' thry with you; and may you get the sweetest and best young lady widin the four walls of Ireland," said the old

woman.

"Have you nothing to say, Darby, you scoundrel?" said Maxwell.

But Darby was silent. He had suddenly fallen to earth. His face was a picture of misery.

"An' must you give up the tint, yer anner, an' the fishin' an' the shootin'? Oh, tare an' ages," said he, breaking into tears, "to tink of giving up the gun an' the rod an' the boat an' the dog, an' all the fun! Oh, wisha, madrone, madrone, sure 'twas the bad day she crassed yer anner's path."

And Darby turned away weeping. The idea of any man

whirr of the partridge, and the pull on the rod, for the tame felicities of married life was incredible.

"Never mind, Darby," said the master. "Some day you'll be getting married yourself; and you and the old woman can come down with me, and I'll get you a lodge; and maybe," he added, "we'll have a crack at the woodcock, or a pull on the lake again."

Darby's face brightened. The old woman's was clouded. "Wisha, thin, yer anner," she said, "you shouldn't be puttin' thim thoughts into that omadan's head. What a nice father of a family he'd make, wouldn't he? Betther for him airn his bread, an' mind his ould mother, so long as she's wid him. An', sure, me time is short!"

"Never mind, never mind!" said Maxwell, who felt he was treading on dangerous ground. "But come along, Darby, and let us look around."

They descended the hill together. Darby evidently was preoccupied with deep thought. He tried to keep behind the master in the old way. He felt he was presuming too much in walking side by side.

"Is there anything the matter, Darby?" said Maxwell at last. "Are you sorry I'm coming back again ?"

"Oh, wisha, thin, 'tis I'm glad, yer anner. It lifts the cockles av my heart to see you in the owld place. But—” "Out with it, man," cried Maxwell. "Say anything you like." "Well, then, yer anner," said Darby, blushing till his face was as red as his bare chest, "were you in airnest, or only makin' game of me, whin you said: 'Maybe you'd be married too '?"

"Oh, is that the way the land lies, you villain ?" said Maxwell. "Come now. Of whom are you thinking?"

"Well, thin, yer anner, there's a purty little shlip of a colleen down there in the village, an' sure-"

"Yes, I know"; said Maxwell. "Your eyes are burnt out of your head looking at her?"

"Begor, they are, yer anner," said Darby, scratching his red locks.

"I suppose now," said Maxwell, "you look oftener on her than on the priest at Mass on Sunday?"

"Whinever he does be sayin' the hard words that I can't

"Noney Kavanagh," said Darby, "as purty a little-" "All right," said Maxwell. "We'll take that for granted. Now, what can I do for you?"

"I was thinkin', maybe, yer anner-"

"Out with it," said Maxwell. "What do you want?"

"I was thinkin', if I had a new pair of corduroy breeches, yer anner, an' brass buttons-" Darby stopped.

"Yes, I see; the corduroys would fetch her. "Well, you see, yer anner, she do be making sometimes, about these sthramers; an' since Phil

Is that it ?"

game of me Doody got a

new shuit wid money his sisther sint him from America, she won't look at me at all, at all.”

"Well, then, we'll beat that fellow hollow, Darby," said Maxwell. "What would you say to a whole new suit of tweed-?"

“Oh, tare an ages, that would be too much intirely, yer anner. An' sure if I turned out so grand, the nabors are bad enough to say I killed or robbed some wan."

"Well, then, I'll tell you what," said Maxwell. "We'll get the corduroys-and maybe they'd be more serviceable than the tweed up here; and we'll also get a new frieze coat with the biggest buttons that can be got for money; and, look here, Darby, you'll have to get some shirts-"

"Yerra, for what, yer anner?" asked Darby. "I don't be a bit cowld."

"I know that," said Maxwell. "And probably I'm putting you in for an attack of pneumonia, that may end in consumption. But you see, Darby, I'll have to introduce you to my wife; and when you come down to the lodge, you'll be meeting people that are hampered by civilization, and-somehow, you know, they like to see-well-a shirt-front."

"Do they thin?" said Darby in surprise. "Well, whatever yer anner likes. Sure, I'd do more than that for yer anner."

Maxwell smiled.

"I know you would," said he. "Although I admit you are making a sacrifice now. But, tell me, what about the wedding? Won't you want a gallon of whisky, and something to give Noney, and—?”

who began to fear that this generosity was too excessive to be genuine. "Maybe it ud be as well to ketch the hare fust!"

"Oh, never fear that," said Maxwell. "To make a long story short, I calculate you'll want about five pounds to win Noney, to furnish a little house, and to have a decent wedding. I'll give it to you-”

66

Oh, yer anner, that's too much out an' out. Yerra, what ud I be doin' wid all that money? An' sure, Noney tould me that her mudder ud give her a feather bed an' blankets an' half the chickens in her yard the day she was well married."

"So ye've been talking it over," said Maxwell. "That's right. I tell you, Darby, we'll settle Doody. We'll leave that fellow without a feather in his cap. Now, will you take the money now, or shall I send it?"

"Oh, begor, yer anner, I wouldn't tetch it for the wurruld. Where the divil could I hide it? The ould 'uman 'ud search me high and low for it.".

"You couldn't hide it?" said Maxwell.

"Av I swallowed it, she'd see it," said Darby. "She'll sarch every bit av me now whin I goes in to see did I get anythin' from yer anner."

"Can't you hide it outside, you omadan ?" said Maxwell. "Aren't there a hundred holes where you could put it?"

"Yerra, but yer anner, sure I'd never have a wink of shleep agin, thinkin' that some wan would shtale it. Oh, Lord, no; 'twould never do at all, at all."

"Well, then, I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll give the money to the priest to keep for you until the day you're married; and then you can snap your fingers at the old woman."

"The very thing, God bless yer anner. But"-his face fell, as a new difficulty presented itself-"Father Tom is the divil himself agin the dhrink. Av he thought we were goin' to have a sup of whisky at the wedding, he'd pull the chapel down an us."

"Well I'm not going to tell him; and sure you needn't say much about it. When 'tis all over, he can't do much harm." "N-no"; said Darby doubtingly. Then a bright thought struck him and he cheered up.

"Twill be worth a power an' all of money," he said, "wid the priest whin yer anner spakes for me; and maybe—”

"Maybe, if you axed him, he'd put in a good word for me wid Noney."

"I will, to be sure," said Maxwell, "though perhaps he won't care to be a matchmaker. Anything else?"

"Maybe yer anner ud give ordher for the corduroys?"

"All right. And the coat ? ment?"

Jack Clancy, the tailor, the

But what about the measure

"Ah, he needn't mind about that," said Darby. "Sure, yer anner can tell him make the shuit for a bye of eighteen; an' sure, av it is a couple of inches aither way, 'twill make no matther."

"All right, Darby. 'Twill be all right. Meantime I'll send up the tent. I'm only sorry I can't dance at your wedding. But, we'll settle Doody, won't we?"

"Begor, we will, yer anner. Long life to yer anner; and may you reign long."

The two conspirators parted, Maxwell for Brandon Hall, and Darby for home. But, before he reached it, he executed many a pas seul on the mountain road to the astonishment of sundry rooks and jackdaws, who gravely cawed their disapprobation. But he couldn't help it. His heart was as light as a feather; and now and again he stopped, whistled "The Wind that Shakes the Barley," or, "The Top of Cork Road," and danced to his own accompaniment, flicking his fingers in sheer delight above his head.

But when he entered the cabin he was as serious as an owl. "Is the masther gone?" said his mother.

"He is," said Darby sulkily.

"What did he give ye?"

"Divil a copper. Not a thraneen of a sixpence even!" "Don't be desavin' me, ma bouchal! I knows the masther betther. Come here, an' lemme thry you!"

"Here, thin," said Darby, " as you won't believe me worrd!" The good mother felt his pockets and his tattered sleeves and his trousers. She then made him open his mouth and show his teeth and gums. She found nothing.

"Lift up yer feet, you omadan!"

Darby raised his broad feet, the soles of which were as

thick as leather.

There was nothing there.

There was nothing there. She went back to