mutely up at the beautiful
face above them. It was Blagden who broke the silence.

"What do you think happened?" he asked slowly.

"I do not know," said the monk.

There was another pause, then Blagden spoke again.

"Anyway," he said, brushing his hand across his eyes, "she paid in part
the debt Giovanni owed his God."

"Yes?" said the monk softly. "I wonder, Signor! For I am Giovanni."

THE WHALE AND THE GRASSHOPPER[14]

BY SEUMAS O'BRIEN

From _The Illustrated Sunday Magazine_

[14] Copyright, 1915, by The Illustrated Sunday Magazine. Copyright,
1916, by Seumas O'Brien.

When Standish McNeill started talking to his friend Felix O'Dowd as they
walked at a leisurely pace towards the town of Castlegregory on a June
morning, what he said was: "The world is a wonderful place when you come
to think about it, an' Ireland is a wonderful place an' so is America,
an' though there are lots of places like each other there's no place
like Ballysantamalo. When there's not sunshine there, there's moonshine
an' the handsomest women in the world live there, an' nowhere else
except in Ireland or the churchyards could you find such decent people."

"Decency," said Felix, "when you're poor is extravagance, and bad
example when you're rich."

"And why?" said Standish.

"Well," said Felix, "because the poor imitate the rich an' the rich give
to the poor an' when the poor give to each other they have nothing of
their own."

"That's communism you're talking," said Standish. "an' that always comes
from education an' enlightenment. Sure if the poor weren't dacent they'd
be rich an' if the rich were dacent they'd be poor an' if everyone had a
conscience they'd be less millionaires."

"'Tis a poor bird that can't pick for himself."

"But suppose a bird had a broken wing an' couldn't fly to where the
pickings were?" said Felix.

"Well, then bring the pickings to him. That would be charity."

"But charity is decency and wisdom is holding your tongue when you don't
know what you're talking about."

"If the people of Ballysantamalo are so decent, how is it that there are
so many bachelors there? Do you think it right to have all the young
women worrying their heads off reading trashy novels an' doin' all sorts
of silly things like fixin' their hair in a way that was never intended
by nature an' doin' so for years an' years an' havin' nothin' in the end
but the trouble of it all."

"Well, 'tis hard blamin' the