so we went to
bed by moonlight, and slept on pillows of soft sand, between two sheets
of water."

"Ah, Mickey!" cried out Mrs. Bridget, in alarm, "why didn't you excuse
yourself, and come home before bed-time, for you know you always take
cowld from sleeping in damp sheets."

Michael burst into a laugh at this--"Why Biddy, woman," said he,--"sure
you forget it's all a drame."

"Arrah, and so it is," replied his wife, sadly, "and we know no more
about our poor Kathleen than we did the day she was spirited away. Ah,
Mickey dear, I often think that if I had her back, in my ould arms
again, I'd have no more such high notions for her, and I'd niver cross
her in any way."

Michael said nothing, but sighed heavily, and turned his face toward
the wall.

A short time after this conversation, while Michael More was stirring
up the peat fire in the little kitchen, to boil the potatoes for
breakfast, and his wife was milking the cow, just outside the door, he
was startled by her calling put to him, in a tone of joyful
excitement--"Mickey, oh, Mickey! they're coming!"

"Who are coming?" cried he, rushing to the door.

"The O'Donoghue and our Kathleen. Don't you see them? Sure it's the
morning for them--only they are in a boat, instead of on horseback.
Hark, don't you hear the fairy music? and that's our Kathleen's voice
calling!"

"Faith, you are right, for once," replied Michael, running with her
down to the shore. Yes, a boat came dancing over the bright waters of
the bay; containing a tall young man, quite proud, and happy looking
enough for a Prince, though not dressed in silver armor,--and a very
beautiful lady, holding a child in her arms. The "fairy music" was
made by the bugle of old Stephen Spillane, the Killarney guide.

In a few moments, there leaped to land, not the enchanted Irish
chieftain, but a better man, Barry O'Donoghue, who had as good a right
to call himself "_the_ O'Donoghue" as any other member of that numerous
family. Then he handed out his wife, Kathleen, who three years before
he had been obliged to steal away from her unkind and foolish
parents,--and little Master Harry O'Donoghue, a handsome, curly-headed
little rogue, who jumped at once with a merry laugh, into the arms and
into the hearts of his grandparents.

After a great deal of embracing and kissing, Barry said, in reply to a
host of wondering exclamations and questions: "We have come back from
Australia, where we were getting ri