one in all the Ulster border land
ever held the principle of the Orange Society more firmly or opposed any
form of Home Rule more bitterly than old MacManaway.

And Dan Gallaher was a Roman Catholic and a Nationalist of the extremest
kind.

"They tell me," said Dan Gallaher, in a pleasant conversational tone,
"that it's to be yourself, James McNiece, that's to be the head of the
Orangemen in the parish now that MacManaway is gone."

James looked at him sideways out of the corners of his eyes. Dan spoke
in a friendly tone, but it is never wise to give any information to
"Papishes and rebels."

"The Colonel," he said, "is the Grand Master of the Orangemen in these
parts."

Colonel Eden, a J.P., and the principal landlord in the parish, drove
into the yard in his motor. A police sergeant slipped his pipe into his
pocket, stepped forward and took the number of the Colonel's car. It has
never been decided in Ireland whether motor cars may or may not be used,
under the provisions of D.O.R.A., for attending auctions.

We know that the safety of the empire is compromised by driving to a
race meeting. We know that the King and his Army are in no way injured
by our driving to market. Attendance at an auction stands midway
between pleasure and business; and the use of motors in such matters is
debatable.

"It's the D.I's orders, sir," said the sergeant apologetically.

"All right," said the Colonel, "but if the D.I. expects me to fine
myself at the next Petty Sessions hell be disappointed."

James McNiece and Dan Gallaher touched their hats to the Colonel.

"Morning, James," said the Colonel. "Morning, Dan. Fine day for the
sale, and a good gathering of people. I don't know that I ever saw a
bigger crowd at an auction."

He looked round as he spoke. The whole parish and many people from
outside the parish had assembled. The yard was full of men, handling and
appraising the outdoor effects. Women passed in and out of the house,
poked mattresses with their fingers, felt the fabrics of sheets and
curtains, examined china and kitchen utensils warily.

"There's the doctor over there," said the Colonel, "looking at the
stable buckets, and who's that young fellow in the yellow leggings,
James?"

"I'm not rightly sure," said James McNiece, "but I'm thinking he'll be
the new D.I. from Curraghfin."

"It is him," said Dan Gallaher. "I was asking the sergeant this minute
and he told me. What's more he said he was a terrible