have the forty pounds when you get back to
Paris. My agent there will see to it, and you shall have a letter to
him."

"Your honour's a gentleman," said Biddy with a courtesy. "Maybe you'll
make it a little more, to save a poor widow another journey over to see
you. Sure, forty pounds wouldn't keep me in France for six months."

"Well, well, we'll see. Come to Knockowen to-morrow evening, Biddy."

Biddy departed with a curious look in her eyes, and somewhat consoled
for my father's indifference to her charms.

"You sail to-morrow?" inquired his honour when she had gone.

"I do," said my father. "I'm away to Sheep Haven to join her at cock-
crow."

His honour turned and caught sight of me standing by the fire. He
beckoned me to him, as he had done once before, turned my face to the
light, and stared at me.

Then he looked up at father.

"He's no look of you, Mike."

"So you may say," replied my father, with a knowing glance at his
honour. "Tim's liker me, they say."

His honour looked up with a significant nod.

"Well, Mike, I've said I'll see after one of the lads, for their dead
mother's sake. Which will it be?"

"I'm thinking of taking Tim with me," said my father.

"Very good. I'll see to Barry then."

"Och, father," I cried, "take me to sea."

"Howld your tongue, ye puppy," said my father. "Can't you hear his
honour say he'll see to you? There's many a lad would be glad of the
chance."

"But Tim hates the sea, and I--"

"Be silent wid ye," roared my father, so angrily that he woke Tim.

"Tim," cried I, determined to make one more desperate effort, "you're to
go to sea, and I'm to be kept ashore at Knockowen."

"Sea, is it?" roared Tim. "I'll run away--no sea for me."

"And I'll run away too," shouted I. "No Knockowen for me."

But it was of no avail; protest as we would, we had to do as we were
bid. That very hour, with nothing but a little book that was once my
mother's, and a few poor clothes, and Con the dog at my heels, I
followed his honour down to the boat and left my old home behind me.
And before dawn of day Tim was trudging surlily at my father's heels
across country, on his way to join the _Cigale_ at Sheep Haven.

CHAPTER SIX.

MISS KIT.

His honour, saving his presence! was one of the meanest men I ever met,
and I have come across many a close-fisted one in my day. There was
nothing large about Maurice Gorman. His little eyes could never open
wide enoug