pion' I see, but divil a sign of any Polymathers."

"Ah, that was another thing was botherin' me, too," said old O'Beirne,
rather dejectedly, "a little while ago, when Dr. Hamilton was comin' to
see him. For th' ould gintleman tould him Campion was his name; and it
appairs Polymathers is some discripshin of thrade, and not rightly
called to anybody at all. So I was thinkin' he was maybe annoyed wid
our callin' him out of his name all the while; but he said all that
ailed it was it was a dale too good for him; and better plased he seemed
we would keep on wid it. Oh ay, 'John Campion's' right enough."

"I niver heard of any such a thrade as polymatherin'," said his
son-in-law; "would it be anythin' in the pedlarin' line?"

"Is it pedlarin'?" said old O'Beirne, "and he that took up wid larnin'
and litherature he couldn't ha' tould you the price of a pinny loaf.
Faix, man, if I was Maggie I'd just put a good dab of strong glue in
your place behind the counter down-below, and stick you standing steady
in it, for buyin' and sellin's all the notion you have in your head here
or there. Pedlarin', sez he."

"Well, at all events," said Peter Dooley, unperturbed, "he's got
together a dacint little fortin one way or the other. Maybe he didn't
come by it any worser; but sure that's no great odds now. And plain
enough he sez the young chap there's to have it--that's all the one
thing wid yourself. But, anyhow, I dunno who could aisy conthrive to be
takin' it off you, and he lavin' no one belongin' to him. You have it
safe enough. Grab all you can, and keep a hould of it when you've got
it, sez I. But you're safe enough, no fear."

Nicholas, watching his grandfather's face from his corner, would have
given ten years of his life to throttle his uncle's reassuring speech
midway.

"There's no mistake, I should say, about what he was intendin'," said
Terence Kilfoyle, in whose hands the paper was by this time; "and who'd
be apt to know better than himself what he had in his mind so long as he
was right in his head."

"And if he wasn't, it's little likely he'd be to ha' got that written.
Hard enough work it is, accordin' to what I can see, even when a body
has all his wits to the fore," said old Paddy Ryan, whose acquaintances
did as a rule get more out of breath over a letter than over a wrestling
match or the recapture of an active pig.

"Mad people do be surprisin' cute some whiles, mind you," said Mrs.
Carbery. "There was a de