with a pleasing elderly bashfulness through his spectacles, gave
it as his opinion that though gorsoon was a term usually applied to the
male child, it was equally applicable to the female. "But, indeed," he
concluded, "the Bench has as good Irish as I have myself, and better."

"The law requires that the thransactions of this coort shall take place
in English," the Chairman responded, "and we have also the public to
consider."

As it was pretty certain that we were the only persons in the court who
did not understand Irish, it was borne in upon us that we were the
public, and we appreciated the consideration.

"We may assume, then, that the children that set on the dog wor' of both
sexes," proceeded Mr. Heraty. "Well, now, as to the dog-- William, ask
Darcy what sort of dog was it."

The monotonous and quiet Irish sentences followed one another again.

"That'll do. Now, William--"

"He says, yer worship, that he was a big lump of a yalla dog, an' very
cross, by reason of he r'arin' a pup."

"And 'twas to make mutton-broth for the pup she dhrove Darcy's sheep in
the lake, I suppose?"

A contemptuous smile passed over Darcy's face as the Chairman's sally
was duly translated to him, and he made a rapid reply.

"He says there isn't one of the neighbours but got great annoyance by
the same dog, yer worship, and that when the dog'd be out by night
hunting, there wouldn't be a yard o' wather in the lakes but he'd have
it barked over."

"It appears," observed Dr. Lyden serenely, "that the dog, like the
gorsoons, was of both sexes."

"Well, well, no matther now; we'll hear what the defendant has to say.
Swear Sweeny!" said Mr. Heraty, smoothing his long grey beard, with
suddenly remembered judicial severity and looking menacingly over his
spectacles at Sweeny. "Here, now! you don't want an interpreter! You
that has a sisther married to a stationmaster and a brother in the
Connaught Rangers!"

"I have as good English as anny man in this coort," said Sweeny
morosely.

"Well, show it off man! What defence have ye?"

"I say that the sheep wasn't Darcy's at all," said Sweeny firmly,
standing as straight as a ramrod, with his hands behind his back, a
picture of surly, wronged integrity. "And there's no man livin' can
prove she was. Ask him now what way did he know her?"

The question evidently touched Darcy on a tender point. He squared his
big shoulders in his white flannel jacket, and turning his face for the
f