rs. "Give me a sup of good old John Jameson in its
purity!"

"'Twas for Tishy I brought this out," replied the Doctor,
apologetically; "but I lost sight of her. She's back somewhere with
little Christian Lowry and young Coppinger."

"What sort of a lad is that?" asked Mr. Hallinan. "Is he as big a pup
as them young Lowrys?"

"Ah, they're not so bad altogether," said Dr. Mangan, indulgently.
"Young sprigs like them are none the worse for a little _tashpy_,
as the people say!" The Doctor's heavy voice relaxed a little over the
world _tashpy_ (which, it should perhaps be explained, is Irish,
and implies a blend of impudence and high spirits). He was quite aware
that his friend Hallinan and he regarded the Talbot-Lowrys from a
different standpoint.

"I was having a bit of lunch there the other day," he went on, "and I
thought they were nice boys enough."

"I hope you got enough to eat!" said Mr. Hallinan, disagreeably; "I'm
told that their butcher's sick and tired trying to get what he's owed,
out of them! There should be drink enough, anyway! I'm just after
sending in a case of whisky there. God knows when I'll be ped for it!"

At this moment the two gentlemen, whose horses were nibbling the grass
of the bank that surrounded the wood, were shaken by the sudden
appearance of the white nose of the Master's chestnut on the other
side of the bank.

"I'd be obliged if there was less noise!" said the Master's voice,
with threatening in it.

Mr. Hallinan's jaw dropped unaffectedly.

"Merciful God!" he murmured; "did he hear me, d'ye think?"

"Ah, no fear, man!" whispered the Doctor, encouragingly. "And if he
did itself, maybe you'd get your cheque a bit quicker!"

In the silence that followed, a whimpering whistle from a hound,
invisible, yet near at hand, sent a thrill through the waiting riders.
There followed the rustling rush of hounds through the undergrowth, as
they gathered to enquire into the whimper. Then another whimper,
merging into a squeal, and Cottingham's voice:

"Hark to Dulcet! Forrad to Dulcet!"

"Begad, they have him again," said Dr. Mangan, without enthusiasm. "I
wonder where is Tishy gone to? I suppose they'll run these blasted
hills now--"

The big grey horse, and his seventeen stone rider, moved off in the
opposite direction to the tread of the hunt, which was slowly and
steadily pushing upwards through the wood. Dr. Mangan was one of the
select company of followers of hounds who know whe