pectral shapes of the blackthorn hedges or the
motionless forms of the wayside donkeys, lying asleep in the ditches.
Perhaps this stoicism was the outcome of an innate power to endure;
perhaps it was a merely negative quality, illustrating the lack of that
doubtful blessing, imagination. But whatever its origin, it stood him
in good stead as he covered the long stretch of flat country that links
the south-eastern seaport of Muskeere with the remote fishing village
of Carrigmore and its outlying district of Orristown.

His outlook upon Ireland, like his outlook upon life, was untinged by
humour. He had seen no ground for amusement in the fact that he had
been the only passenger to alight from the train at the Muskeere
terminus, and consequently no ground for loneliness in the sight of the
solitary vehicle, dimly silhouetted against the murky sky, that had
awaited his coming. The ludicrous points of the scene: the primitive
railway station with its insufficient flickering lights, its little
knot of inquisitive idlers, its one porter--slovenly, amiable,
incorrigibly lazy--all contributing the unconscious background to his
own neat, conventional, totally alien personality, had left him
untouched.

The only individual to whom the picture had made its appeal had been
the solitary porter. As he relieved Milbanke of his valise and rug on
the step of the first-class carriage, an undeniable twinkle had gleamed
in his eyes.

"Fine, soft night, sir," he had volunteered. "Tim Burke is outside for
you."

For a second Milbanke had stared at him in a mixture of doubt and
displeasure. A month's pilgrimage to the ancient Celtic landmarks had
left him, as it has left many a Saxon before him, unlearned in that
most interesting and most inscrutable of all survivals--the Celt
himself. He had surveyed the face of the porter cautiously and half
distrustfully; then he had made a guarded reply.

"I am certainly expecting a--a conveyance," he had admitted. "But I
have never heard of Tim Burke."

"Why, thin Tim has heard of _you_!" the other had replied with unruffled
suavity. "Isn't it the English gintlemen that's goin' to stop wid Mr.
Asshlin over at Orristown that you are? Sure, Tim told me all about you;
an' I knew you the minute I sat eyes on you--let alone there was no wan
else in the train."

Without more ado he had hoisted Milbanke's belongings to his shoulder,
and lounged out of the station.

"Here you are, Tim, man!" he had ex