is world should be ready!" snapped Sean O'Donohue accusingly. "It
should be waitin' for the Caseys and Bradys and Fitzpatricks and other
fine Erse people to move to and thrive on while the rest of the galaxy
goes to pot with its new-fangled notions. That's the reason for this
world's very existence. What set aside Erin on Earth, where our
ancestors lived an' where their descendants are breathin' down each
other's necks because there's so many of them? There was no snakes
there! St. Patrick drove them out. What sets this world apart from all
the other livable planets men have put down their smelly spaceships on?
There's no snakes here! St. Patrick has great influence up in Heaven.
He knew his fine Erse people would presently need more room than there
was on Earth for them. So he'd a world set aside, and marked by the
sign that no least trace of a serpent could exist on it. No creature
like the one that blarneyed Mother Eve could be here! No----"

"Our trouble's been dinies," began the president apologetically.

But he froze. Something dark and sinuous and complacent oozed around
the corner of the presidential mansion. The president of Eire sweated.
He recognized the dark object. He'd believed it safely put away in
pleasant confinement until the Dail Committee went away. But it wasn't.
It was Timothy, the amiable six-foot black snake who faithfully and
cordially did his best to keep the presidential mansion from falling
down. Without him innumerable mouse-sized holes, gnawed by mouse-sized
dinies, would assuredly have brought about its collapse. The president
was grateful, but he'd meant to keep Timothy out of sight. Timothy must
have escaped and as a faithful snake, loyal to his duty, he'd wriggled
straight back to the presidential mansion.

Like all Eire, he undoubtedly knew of the pious tradition that St.
Patrick had brought the snakes to Eire, and he wasn't one to let St.
Patrick down. So he'd returned and doubtless patrolled all the diny
tunnels in the sagging structure. He'd cleaned out any miniature,
dinosaurlike creatures who might be planning to eat some more nails. He
now prepared to nap, with a clear conscience. But if Sean O'Donohue saw
him--!

Perspiration stood out on President O'Hanrahan's forehead. The droplets
joined and ran down his nose.

"It's evident," said the chairman of the Dail Committee, with
truculence, "that we're a pack of worthless, finagling' and maybe even
Protestant renegades from the