d lonely too,' said Hyacinth.

'You are a stranger no longer, then. We are all of us friends with each
other. You speak our own dear tongue, and that is enough to make us
friends.'

The tobacconist, it appeared, also spoke Irish of a kind. He cast
occasional remarks into the conversation which followed, less, it seemed
to Hyacinth, with a view of giving expression to any thought than for
the sake of airing some phrases which he had somewhat inadequately
learned. Indeed, it struck Hyacinth very soon that his new friend was
getting rather out of his depth in his 'own dear tongue.' At last the
tobacconist said with a smile:

'I'm afraid we must ask Mr. Conneally--didn't you say that Conneally was
your name?--to speak the Beurla. I'm clean beaten with the Gaelic, and
you can't go much further yourself, Cahal. Isn't that the truth, now.'

'And small blame to me,' said Cahal--in English, Charles--Maguire.
'After all, what am I but a learner? And it's clear that Mr. Conneally
has spoken it since ever he spoke at all.'

Hyacinth smiled and nodded. Maguire went on:

'What are you doing this afternoon? What do you say to coming round with
me to see Mary O'Dwyer? It's her "at home" day, and I'm just on my way
there.'

'But,' said Hyacinth, 'I don't know her. I can hardly go to her house,
can I?'

'Oh, I'll introduce you,' said Maguire cheerfully. 'She allows me to
bring anyone I like to see her. She likes to know anyone who loves
Ireland and speaks Gaelic. Perhaps we'll meet Finola too; she's often
there.'

'Meet who?'

'Finola. That's what we call Miss Goold--Augusta Goold, you know. We
call her Finola because she shelters the rest of us under her wings when
the Moyle gets tempestuous. You remember the story?'

'Of course I do,' said Hyacinth, who had learnt the tale of Lir's
daughter as other children do Jack the Giant-Killer. 'And who is Miss
O'Dwyer?'

'Oh, she writes verses. Surely you know them?'

Hyacinth shook his head.

'What a pity! We all admire them immensely. She has something nearly
every week in the _Croppy_. She has just brought out a volume of lyrics.
Her brother worked the publishing of it in New York. He is mixed up with
literary people there. You must have heard of him at all events. He's
Patrick O'Dwyer, one of the few who stood by O'Neill when he fought the
priests. He gave up the Parliamentary people after that. No honest man
could do anything else.'

He conducted Hyacinth to one of the