elay, crossed the Irish
Channel, and entered the office at Cork in about six minutes. Here
there was a short delay of half-an-hour, owing to other telegrams which
had prior claim to attention. Then it was flashed to the west coast,
which it reached long before the letter posted on the previous night,
and not long after May had seated herself at her own three-keyed
instrument. But there, telegraphic speed was thwarted by unavoidable
circumstances, the post-runner having already started on his morning
rounds, and it was afternoon before the telegram was delivered at Rocky
Cottage.

This was the telegram which had caused Philip Maylands so much anxiety.
He read it at last with great relief, and at the same time with some
degree of sadness, when he thought of leaving his mother "unprotected"
in her lonely cottage by the sea.

CHAPTER THREE.

BRILLIANT PROSPECTS.

Madge--whose proper name was Marjory Stevens--was absent when May's
letter arrived the following day. On her return to the cottage she was
taken into the committee which sat upon the subject of Phil's
appointment.

"It's not a very grand appointment," said Mrs Maylands, with a sigh.

"Sure it's not an appointment at all yet, mother," returned Phil, who
held in his hand the paper of instructions enclosed in May's letter.
"Beggars, you know, mustn't be choosers; an' if I'm not a beggar,
it's next thing to it I am. Besides, if the position of a
boy-telegraph-messenger isn't very exalted in itself, it's the first
step to better things. Isn't the first round of a ladder connected with
the top round?"

"That's true, Phil," said Madge; "there's nothing to prevent your
becoming Postmaster-General in course of time."

"Nothing whatever, that I know of," returned Phil.

"Perhaps somebody else knows of something that may prevent it," said his
mother with an amused smile.

"Perhaps!" exclaimed the boy, with a twinkle in his eye; "don't talk to
me of perhapses, I'm not to be damped by such things. Now, just
consider this," he continued, looking over the paper in his hand, "here
we have it all in print. I must apply for the situation in writin' no
less. Well, I can do it in copperplate, if they please. Then my age
must be not less than fourteen, and not more than fifteen."

"That suits to a T," said Madge.

"Yes; and, but hallo! what have we here?" said Phil, with a look of
dismay.

"What is it?" asked his mother and Madge in the same breath, with