te here, was he with
you?"

"Yes, sir, I was," said Martin, answering for himself; "and I had once
the pleasure of your acquaintance. Perhaps if you look steadily in my
face you may--"

"Ah, then! don't try to bamboozle him. He might as well look at a bit
o' mahogany as at your faygur-head. Tell him at wance, Martin, dear."

"Martin?" exclaimed the puzzled old gentleman, seizing the young sailor
by the shoulders and gazing intently into his face. "Martin! Martin!
Surely not--yes! eh! Martin Rattler?"

"Ay that am I, dear Mr Jollyboy, safe and sound, and--"

Martin's speech was cut short in consequence of his being violently
throttled by Mr Jollyboy, who flung his arms round his neck and
staggered recklessly about the office with him! This was the great
point which Barney had expected; it was the climax to which he had been
looking forward all the morning: and it did not come short of his
anticipations; for Mr Jollyboy danced round Martin and embraced him for
at least ten minutes, asking him at the same time a shower of questions
which he gave him no time to answer. In the excess of his delight
Barney smote his thigh with his broad hand so forcibly that it burst
upon the startled clerk like a pistol-shot, and caused him to spring off
his stool!

"Don't be afeared, young un," said Barney, winking and poking the small
clerk jocosely in the ribs with his thumb. "Isn't it beautiful to see
them? Arrah, now! isn't it purty?"

"Keep your thumbs to yourself, you sea monster," said the small clerk,
angrily, and laying his hand on the ruler. But Barney minded him not,
and continued to smite his thigh and rub his hands, while he performed a
sort of gigantic war-dance round Mr Jollyboy and Martin.

In a few minutes the old gentleman subsided sufficiently to understand
questions.

"But, my aunt," said Martin, anxiously; "you have said nothing about
Aunt Dorothy. How is she? where is she? is she well?"

To these questions Mr Jollyboy returned no answer, but sitting suddenly
down on a chair, he covered his face with his hands.

"She is not ill?" inquired Martin in a husky voice, while his heart beat
violently. "Speak, Mr Jollyboy, is she--is she--"

"No, she's not ill," returned the old gentleman; "but she's--"

"She is dead!" said Martin, in a tone so deep and sorrowful that the old
gentleman started up.

"No, no, not dead, my dear boy; I did not mean that. Forgive my
stupidity, Martin. Aunt Dorothy is