ite the girl's bitter sorrow, was
a masterpiece. It was modelled on Joel Mazarine. It was the behemoth
transferred to Ireland, to the cromlechs and castles, to the causeways,
the caves, and the stony hillsides; to the bogs and the quicksands and
the Little Men; but it could not be recognized as a portrait, though
everyone felt how wonderful it was that a legend of a thousand years
should be so close to the life of Askatoon.

Patsy had no knowledge of what the mother of Louise was like, but the
likeness between her cruel, material, selfish spirit and Queen Moira, in
the sacrifice of their offspring, provoked the admiration of the Young
Doctor, whose philosophical mind had soon discovered that Patsy was
making up the tale.

That did not matter. Having got the thing started, Patsy gave reins to
his imagination; and storm, terror, danger, and the capture of Fiona by
Filion, from Black Brian's castle in the hills, was told with primitive
force and passion. But the most wonderful part of the story described
how a strange dwarfed Little Man came out of the hills in the East,
across the land, to the Western fastness of Black Brian, and there slew
that evil man, because of an ancient feud--slew him in a situation of
great indignity, and left him lying on the sands for the tide to wash
him out to the deep and hungry sea. Even here Patsy had his inspiration
from real life; and yet he disguised it all so well that no one except
the Young Doctor even imagined what he meant.

Under the tree Orlando listened with strained attention, absorbed and,
at times, almost overcome. His long sigh of relief was joined to the
sighs of the others when Patsy finished. The Young Doctor rose to go,
and the others rose also.

"That's a wonderful story, Patsy," said the Young Doctor to him; and he
added quizzically: "You tell it so well because you've told it so often
before, I suppose?"

"Aw, well, that's it, I expect," answered the Irishman coolly.

"I thought so," responded the Young Doctor. "Now, how many times do you
think you've told that story before, Patsy?"

"About a hundred, I should think; or no--I should think about two
hundred times," answered Patsy shamelessly.

"I thought so," said the Young Doctor, but before turning to go into
the house, he leaned and whispered in his ear: "Patsy, you're the most
beautiful liar that ever come out of Ireland."

"Aw, Doctor dear!" said Patsy softly.

They all moved towards the house, save Lou