e, and Hyacinth began
to feel a liking for the Captain.

'Do you know,' said Miss Goold, when their laughter had subsided, 'I
believe I know that identical tract. I once had an evangelical aunt, a
dear old lady who went about her house with a bunch of keys in a small
basket. She used to give me religious literature. I never was reduced to
reading it, but I distinctly remember a picture of Gideon with his mouth
open waving a torch on the front page. Could it have been the same?'

'It must have been,' said the Captain. 'Mine had that picture, too.
Gideon had nothing on but a sort of nightshirt with a belt to it, and
only one sleeve. By the way, if you are up in tracts, perhaps you know
one called "The Rock of Horeb "?'

Miss Goold shook her head.

'Ah, well,' said the Captain, after appealing to Mary O'Dwyer and
Hyacinth, 'it can't be helped, but I must say I should like to meet
someone who had read "The Rock of Horeb." I once sailed from Peru in
an exceedingly ill-found little barque loaded with guano. We had a very
dull time going through the tropics, and absolutely the only thing to
read on board was the first half of "The Rook of Horeb." There were at
least two pages missing. I read it until I nearly knew it off by heart,
and ever since I've been trying to get a complete copy to see how it
ended.'

Some of his stories dealt with more civilized life. He delighted Miss
Goold with an account, not at all unfriendly, of the humours of
the third battalion of the Connaught Rangers. He quoted one of Mary
O'Dwyer's poems to her, and pleased Hyacinth by his enthusiastic
admiration of the Connemara scenery. Good food, good wine, and a
companion like Captain Quinn, gladden the heart, and the little party
was very merry when Ginty deposited coffee and cigarettes and finally
departed.

In Miss Goold's house it was not the custom for the ladies to desert
the dinner-table by themselves. Very often the hostess was the only lady
present, and she had the greatest dislike to leaving a conversation just
when it was likely to become really interesting. Moreover, Miss Goold
smoked, not because it was a smart or emancipated thing to do, but
because she liked it, and--a curious note of femininity about her--she
objected to her drawing-room smelling of tobacco.

When Ginty had disappeared, and the serious business of enjoying the
food was completed, the talk of the party turned on the South African
campaign and the prospects of the Ir