case--she clothed
her attenuated form in a faded brown silk gown, her resemblance to that
lively insect was remarkable.

And, as on this morning she crackled into Brian's sitting-room with the
ARGUS and his coffee, a look of dismay at his altered appearance, came
over her stony little countenance.

"Dear me, sir," she chirped out in her shrill voice, as she placed her
burden on the table, "are you took bad?"

Brian shook his head.

"Want of sleep, that's all, Mrs. Sampson," he answered, unfolding the
ARGUS.

"Ah! that's because ye ain't got enough blood in yer 'ead," said Mrs.
Sampson, wisely, for she had her own ideas on the subject of health.
"If you ain't got blood you ain't got sleep."

Brian looked at her as she said this, for there seemed such an obvious
want of blood in her veins that he wondered if she had ever slept in
all her life.

"There was my father's brother, which, of course, makes 'im my uncle,"
went on the landlady, pouring out a cup of coffee for Brian, "an' the
blood 'e 'ad was somethin' astoundin', which it made 'im sleep that
long as they 'ad to draw pints from 'im afore 'e'd wake in the mornin'."

Brian had the ARGUS before his face, and under its friendly cover he
laughed quietly to himself.

"His blood poured out like a river," went on the landlady, still
drawing from the rich stores of her imagination, "and the doctor was
struck dumb with astonishment at seein' the Nigagerer which burst from
'im--but I'm not so full-blooded myself."

Fitzgerald again stifled a laugh, and wondered that Mrs. Sampson was
not afraid of being treated as were Ananias and Sapphira. However, he
said nothing, but merely intimated that if she would leave the room he
would take his breakfast.

"An' if you wants anythin' else, Mr. Fitzgerald," she said, going to
the door, "you knows your way to the bell as easily as I do to the
kitching," and, with a final chirrup, she crackled out of the room.

As soon as the door was closed, Brian put down his paper and roared, in
spite of his worries. He had that extraordinary vivacious Irish
temperament, which enables a man to put all trouble behind his back,
and thoroughly enjoy the present. His landlady, with her Arabian
Nightlike romances, was a source of great amusement to him, and he felt
considerably cheered by the odd turn her humour had taken this morning.
After a time, however, his laughter ceased, and his troubles came
crowding on him again. He drank his coff