bbord?"

"I'll bet dhrinks all round she's level as the althar," said a third.

"'Twill take six min to navigate her," cried an old salt, who had been
around the world.

"'T is aisy to get 'em for the big wages the priest is offering."

"How much?" cried a mariner from Moydore.

"Fifteen shillings a week, an' a share in the profits."

"Here's the capt'n and the priests. Now, boys, for a cheer."

And there was a cheer that made the ocean shiver, and fluttered the
flags over the tents, and made even the trick-o'-the-loop men pause in
their honest avocation, and the orange-sellers hold their wares
suspended in midair.

"Is that him?" was the cry, as Father Letheby, his face aglow with
excitement and pride, came down the by-path to the pier.

"That's him, God bless him!" said the Kilronan men. "'Twas a lucky day
brought him among us. What are yere priests doing?"

"Divil a bit!" said the strangers, who felt themselves humiliated.

There was a ring of merchants around Father Letheby, the shopkeepers
over from Kilkeel and Loughboro' who had subscribed to the balance of
local aid required by the Board of Works. They scanned the boat
critically, and shuffled, in imagination, the boundless profits that
were to accrue.

A light breeze blew off the land, which was another favorable omen; and
it was reported that the coast-guards had seen that morning the Manx
fishing-fleet about twelve miles to the south'ard.

There had been a slight dispute between Father Letheby and Campion about
the naming of the craft, the latter demanding that she should be called
the "Bittra Campion of Kilronan," and Father Letheby being equally
determined that she should be called the "Star of the Sea." Bittra
herself settled the dispute, as, standing in the prow of the boat, she
flung a bottle of champagne on the deck, and said tremulously: "I name
her the 'Star of the Sea.'"

But she grew pale, and almost fainted, as the heavy bottle, without a
break, pirouetted down between sails and cordage, and seeking an opening
in the gunwale of the boat flopped into six fathoms of sea-water.

It was a dread omen, and all felt it. Nothing could have been more
inauspicious or unlucky. But the Celtic wit and kindness came to her
aid.

"Never mind, Miss; 't isn't you, but the d----d old hulk that's
unlucky."

"Thim bottles are made of sheet-iron; they're so tick they don't hould a
glassful."

"One big cheer, byes, for the 'Star of the Say.'"

It