y resembles a caterpillar. Without pausing to consider
this, Dirty Dan, taking the license of a more or less privileged
character, queried impudently:

"An' are ye glad they sint for ye to come back?"

She decided that Mr. O'Leary was inclined to be familiar; so she
merely looked at him and her cool glance chilled him.

"Becuz if ye are," he continued, embarrassed, "ye have me to thank for
it. 'Tis meself that knows a thing or two wit'out bein' told. Have ye
not been surprised that they knew so well where to find ye whin they
wanted ye?"

She stared at him in frank amazement.

"Yes, I have been tremendously interested in learning the secret of
their marvelous perspicacity."

"I supplied Misther Daney wit' your address, allanah."

"How did you know it? Did The Laird--"

"He did not. I did it all be mesel'. Ah, 'tis the romantic divil I am,
Miss Brint. Sure I got a notion ye were runnin' away an' says I to
meself, says I: 'I don't like this idjee at all, at all. These
mysterious disappearances are always leadin' to throuble.' Sure, what
if somebody should die an' lave ye a fortun'? What good would it be to
ye if nobody could find ye? An' in back o' that agin," he assured her
cunningly, "I realized what a popular laddy buck I'd be wit' Misther
Donald if I knew what he didn't know but was wishful o' knowin'?"

"But how did you procure my address in New York?" she demanded.

"Now, I'm a wise man, but if I towld ye that, ye'd be as wise as I am.
An' since 'twould break me heart to think anybody in Port Agnew could
be as wise as mesel', ye'll have to excuse me from blatherin' all I
know."

"Oh, but you must tell me, Dan. There are reasons why I should know,
and you wouldn't refuse to set my mind at ease, would you?"

Dirty Dan grinned and played his ace.

"If ye'll sing 'The Low-backed Car' an' 'She Moved Through the Fair'
I'll tell ye," he promised. "Sure I listened to ye the night o' the
battle, an' so close to death was I, sure I fought 'twas an angel from
glory singing'. Troth, I did."

She sat down, laughing, at the antiquated piano, and sang him the
songs he loved; then, because she owed him a great debt she sang for
him "Kathleen Mavourneen," "Pretty Molly Brannigan," "The Harp That
Once Thro' Tara's Halls," and "Killarney." Dan stood just outside the
kitchen door, not presuming to enter, and when the last song was
finished, he had tears in his piggy little eyes; so he fled with the
posies, nor tarried