eing whose
presence the squire could endure when the gout was on him. In short, Sir
Willoughby and Desmond were very good friends.

Desmond had almost reached the gate of the Hall when, at a sudden turn of
the road, he came upon a man seated upon a low hillock by the roadside,
idly swishing at the long ripe grass with a cane. At the first glance
Desmond noticed the strangely-clad right hand of his overnight
acquaintance; the shabby clothes, the red feather, the flaming neckcloth.

The man looked up at his approach; the winning smile settled upon his
swarthy face, which daylight now revealed as seamed and scarred; and,
without stirring from his seat or desisting from his occupation, he
looked in the boy's face and said softly:

"You are early afoot, like the son of Anchises, my young friend. If I
mistake not, when Aeneas met the son of Evander they joined their right
hands. We have met; let us also join hands and bid each other a very good
morning."

Desmond shook hands; he did not know what to make of this remarkable
fellow who must always be quoting from his school books; but there was no
harm in shaking hands. He could not in politeness ask the question that
rose to his lips--why the stranger wore a mitten on one hand; and if the
man observed his curiosity he let it pass.

"You are on business bent, I wot," continued the stranger. "Not for the
world would I delay you. But since the handclasp is but part of the
ceremony of introduction, might we not complete it by exchanging names?"

"My name is Desmond Burke," said the boy.

"A good name, a pleasant name, a name that I know."

Desmond was conscious that the man was looking keenly at him.

"There is a gentleman of the same name--I chanced to meet him in
London--cultivating literature in the Temple; his praenomen, I bethink
me, is Edmund. And I bethink me, too, that in the course of my
peregrinations on this planet I have more than once heard the name of one
Captain Richard Burke, a notable seaman, in the service of our great
Company. I repeat, my young friend, your name is a good one; may you live
to add luster to it!"

"Captain Burke was my father."

"My prophetic soul!" exclaimed the stranger. "But surely you are somewhat
late in following the paternal craft; you do not learn seamanship in this
sylvan sphere."

"True," responded Desmond, with a smile. "My father turned farmer; he
died when I was a little fellow, and I live with my mother. B