breast of it?"

"Sure I must give myself up," said the Philosopher.

"If you must, you must, and that's an end of it. Wipe your feet on the
rail there and come in--I'll take your deposition."

"I have no deposition for you," said the Philosopher, "for I didn't do a
thing at all."

The policeman stared at him again.

"If that's so," said he, "you needn't come in at all, and you needn't
have wakened me out of my sleep either. Maybe, tho', you are the man
that fought the badger on the Naas Road--Eh?"

"I am not," replied the Philosopher: "but I was arrested for killing my
brother and his wife, although I never touched them."

"Is that who you are?" said the policeman; and then, briskly, "You're as
welcome as the cuckoo, you are so. Come in and make yourself comfortable
till the men awaken, and they are the lads that'll be glad to see you.
I couldn't make head or tail of what they said when they came in last
night, and no one else either, for they did nothing but fight each other
and curse the banshees and cluricauns of Leinster. Sit down there on the
settle by the fire and, maybe, you'll be able to get a sleep; you look
as if you were tired, and the mud of every county in Ireland is on your
boots."

The Philosopher thanked him and stretched out on the settle. In a short
time, for he was very weary, he fell asleep.

Many hours later he was awakened by the sound of voices, and found on
rising, that the men who had captured him on the previous evening were
standing by the bed. The sergeant's face beamed with joy. He was dressed
only in his trousers and shirt. His hair was sticking up in some places
and sticking out in others which gave a certain wild look to him, and
his feet were bare. He took the Philosopher's two hands in his own and
swore if ever there was anything he could do to comfort him he would do
that and more. Shawn, in a similar state of unclothedness, greeted the
Philosopher and proclaimed himself his friend and follower for ever.
Shawn further announced that he did not believe the Philosopher had
killed the two people, that if he had killed them they must have richly
deserved it, and that if he was hung he would plant flowers on his
grave; for a decenter, quieter, and wiser man he had never met and never
would meet in the world.

These professions of esteem comforted the Philosopher, and he replied to
them in terms which made the red-haired policeman gape in astonishment
and approval.

He was giv