so they sat in silence while the
driver turned corners and dodged carts and cars till at last he turned
abruptly into a side-street, and, driving slowly along over a rotting
block pavement, drew up before a small, two-story frame house--a relic
of the old-time city.

The yards were full of children, who all stopped their play to stare at
this carriage, especially impressed by Lucius, who sat very erect on the
seat beside the driver, resolutely doing a very disagreeable duty. At
the door he got down and said: "Now, Captain, you give me a pointer or
two, and I'll find out whether this is your McArdle or not."

"Just ask if Mrs. McArdle was Fan Haney, of Troy. That'll cover the
specification," he answered.

By this time a large, fair-haired, slovenly woman had opened the door,
and, with truculent voice, called out: "Who do you want to find?"

"Fan Haney, of Troy," answered the Captain.

"That's me," the woman retorted.

"Ye are so! Very well, thin, consider yourself under arrest this
minute," said Haney, beginning to clamber out of the carriage.

The woman stared a moment; then a slow grin developed on her face so
like to Haney's own that Bertha laughed. The lost sister was found.

As Haney neared her, he called out: "Well, Fan, ye're the same old
sloven ye were when I used to kick your shins in Troy for soapin' me
mouth."

"Mart Haney, by the piper!" she exclaimed, wiping her lips and hands in
anticipation of a caress. "Where did ye borry the funeral wagon?"

He shook her hand--the kiss was out of his inclination--and responded in
the same vein of mockery: "A friend of mine died the day, and I broke
out of the procession to pay a call. Divil a bit the dead man cares."

"Who's with you in the carriage?"

"Mrs. Haney, bedad."

"Naw, it is not!"

"Sure thing!"

"She's too young and pretty--and Mart, ye're lame! And, howly saints,
man, ye look old! I wouldn't have known ye but fer the mouth and the
eyes of ye. Ye have the same old grin."

"The same to you."

"I get little chance to practise it these days."

"'Tis the same here."

"But how came ye hurt?"

"A felly with a grievance poured a load of buckshot into me side, and
one of them lodged in me spine, so they say."

She clicked her tongue in ready sympathy. "Dear, dear! But come in and
sit ye down. Ask yer girl to come in--I'm not perticular."

"She's me lawful wife," he said, and his tone changed her manner into
something like sweetness and d