what are you doing here all alone, young
lady?"

Mary Makebelieve's heart suddenly spurted to full speed. It seemed to
want more space than her bosom could afford. She looked up. Beside her
stood a prodigious man: one lifted hand curled his moustache, the
other carelessly twirled a long cane. He was dressed in ordinary
clothing, but Mary Makebelieve knew him at once for that great
policeman who guided the traffic at the Grafton Street crossing.

X

The policeman told her wonderful things. He informed her why the
Phoenix Park was called the Phoenix Park. He did not believe there
was a phoenix in the Zoological Gardens, although they probably had
every kind of bird in the world there. It had never struck him, now he
came to think of it, to look definitely for that bird, but he would do
so the next time he went into the Gardens. Perhaps the young lady
would allow him (it would be a much-appreciated privilege) to escort
her through the Gardens some fine day, the following day for
instance.... He rather inclined to the belief that the phoenix was
extinct--that is, died out; and then, again, when he called to mind
the singular habits with which this bird was credited, he conceived
that it had never had a real but only a mythical existence--that is,
it was a makebelieve bird, a kind of fairy tale.

He further informed Mary Makebelieve that this Park was the third
largest in the world, but the most beautiful. His evidence for this
statement was not only the local newspapers, whose opinion might be
biased by patriotism--that is, led away from the exact truth--but in
the more stable testimony of reputable English journals, such as
_Answers_ and _Tit-Bits_ and _Pearson's Weekly_, he found an
authoritative and gratifying confirmation--that is, they agreed. He
cited for Mary Makebelieve's incredulity the exact immensity of the
Park in miles, in yards, and in acres, and the number of head of
cattle which could be accommodated therein if it were to be utilized
for grazing--that is, turned into grass lands; or, if transformed into
tillage, the number of small farmers who would be the proprietors of
economic holdings--that is, a recondite--that is, an abstruse and a
difficult scientific and sociological term.

Mary Makebelieve scarcely dared lift her glance to his face. An
uncontrollable shyness had taken possession of her. Her eyes could not
lift without an effort: they fluttered vainly upwards, but before
reaching any h