y they put the O before the name, instead of to the
tail-end of it. My mother was an O'Connor. But it's likely ivery country
has its own ways."

Phil knew very little of Ireland, and did not fully understand Mrs.
McGuire's philosophical remarks. Otherwise they might have amused him,
as they may possibly amuse my readers.

I cannot undertake to chronicle the conversation that took place between
Phil and his hostess. She made numerous inquiries, to some of which he
was able to give satisfactory replies, to others not. But in half
an hour there was an interruption, and a noisy one. Three stout,
freckled-faced children ran in at the back door, dripping as if they had
just emerged from a shower-bath. Phil moved aside to let them approach
the stove.

Forthwith Mrs. McGuire was engaged in motherly care, removing a part
of the wet clothing, and lamenting for the state in which her sturdy
offspring had returned. But presently order was restored, and the bustle
was succeeded by quiet.

"Play us a tune," said Pat, the oldest.

Phil complied with the request, and played tune after tune, to the great
delight of the children, as well as of Mrs. McGuire herself. The result
was that when, shortly after, on the storm subsiding, Phil proposed
to go, the children clamored to have him stay, and he received such
a cordial invitation to stop till the next morning that he accepted,
nothing loath. So till the next morning our young hero is provided for.

CHAPTER XXIII

A PITCHED BATTLE

Has my youthful reader ever seen a dog slinking home with downcast
look and tall between his legs? It was with very much the same air
that Pietro in the evening entered the presence of the padrone. He had
received a mortifying defeat, and now he had before him the difficult
task of acknowledging it.

"Well, Pietro," said the padrone, harshly, "where is Filippo?"

"He is not with me," answered Pietro, in an embarrassed manner.

"Didn't you see him then?" demanded his uncle, hastily.

For an instant Pietro was inclined to reply in the negative, knowing
that the censure he would incur would be less. But Phil might yet be
taken--he probably would be, sooner or later, Pietro thought--and then
his falsehood would be found out, and he would in consequence lose the
confidence of the padrone. So, difficult though it was, he thought it
politic to tell the truth.

"Si, signore, I saw him," said he.

"Then why didn't you drag him home?" demanded his u