The evening world. Newspaper, June 14, 1915, Page 15

—— Author of aThe Evening World: Daily Magaz t “DRUMS OF WAR,” Bt, —— 2 (oprright, 1900, by Duffield & On) ou CHAPTER I. Moriarty, and his jockey, Violet Grimshaw was a Massachusetts girl, twenty-two years old, forced by family fortunes to leave her American home and ecek @ living in ‘Thus, in course of time, she came to the old Irish country seat of Drum- Goole, as governess for crippled little Effie French, Mr. Michael French, Effe’s father, was a widower He wae also in perpetual financial hot water; Pe water from which he (and his factotum, Andy Meehan) fondly hoped his new colt l- owen, would some day resoue him. For Garryowen had abn speed, To rackrent old Drumgoole came Violet. An Englishman named Bobby Dashwood, who was fishing at the nearby village of Cloyne, had helped to Degutle the last part of her long journey thither. And Effie and old Mra, Drigcoll, the Frenches’ housekeeper, made her welcome at the end of it, French that day had just returned from a visit to Dublin, and his first aot on reaching home was to go to Garryowen’s stable. A lovely head was thrust out. It was Garryowen's. The eye so full of kindliness and fire, the mobile nostrils telling of delicate sensibilities and fine f the nobility and intelligence that spoke in every line of that dell- cately cut head—these had to be seen to be understood. ‘wen was more than a horse to Mr. French. He was a friend, and Was to pull the family fortunes out of the mire, to raise the family name, to crown his master with laurels. Garryowen was French's last card, on which he was about to speculate his last penny. In simpler language, he was to run in the City and Subur- ban in the ensuing year and to win It. The bother to Mr. French was that in the spring of next year he would have to find fifteen hundred pounds to sat- isty the claims of a gentleman named Lewis, and how he was to do this an@ at the same time bear the ex- penses of getting the horse to Eng- Jand and running him was a question quite beyond solution at present. Not only had the horse to be run, but he had to be backed. , French had decided to win the City 4 and Suburban. He wished sometimes now that he had made Punchestown the limit of his desires; but having come to a decision, this gentleman never went back on it. Besides, he would never have so good a chance again of winning a big English race and a fortune at the same time, for Garryowen was a dark horse, if ever @ horse was dark, and a flyer, if ever LY patente without wings deserved the le. * “Oh, bother the money! We'll get {t somehow,” French would say, clos- ing his bankbook and tearing up the sheet of notepaper on which he had been making figures. He calculated that, gathering together all his re- sources, he would have enough to rum the horse and back him for a thousand. To do this he would have to perform the most Intricate evolu- tions, As it was, the bailiffs were swarming around, seeking to gain ac- cess to Drumgoole. The one bright spot in his affairs was the fact that Effie had two hun- dred and fifty ($1,250) a year, settled on her #0 tightly by a prescient grand- tegpes that no art or artifice could un- settle it or fling it into the melting PoE om Garryowen's stall French re- turned to the house, there to meet Dashwood, who had called on Miss Grimshaw. “I'm awfully sorry,” said Dashwood, on sight of him, “but I've made a mis- take. I met this young lady as she ‘wes coming here. I thought you were a Mr. Michael French I'd met in ion. I've been fishing down here.” ith,” said Mr, French, “this is a pleasant surprise. Sit down, eit “I ought to say my pane 1s Dash- wood,” put in the explainer, vet down, sit down, I'm delighted, to see you. Staying at the inn, are you? Is that chair easy? No, it's not—take this one, Look at it before you ait in it. Dan O'Connell took his seat in that chair when he was here for the elections, in my grandfather's time, and I have the bed upstairs he slept in. Which Michael French, I wonder, was it you met? Was it @ man with a big, black beard?” “Yes,” replied Mr. Dashwood, | “And gold-rimmed spectacles?’ “Yes,' “Did he baw! like @ bull?” “He had rather a loud voice.’ “That's him. He's my cousin, bad luck to him! No matter, I'll be even with him some day yet. He's the big- gest black—I méan, we have nover been friends; but that’s always tho way between relations, And that re- minds me. Welcome you are to the house and all it holds, and make your- self at home! you and and Miss Grim- ehaw! And here we are sitting in the old drawing-room that's only used for company once in a twelvemonth. Come down to the sitting-room, both of you. ‘a a fire there. ™ ‘his isn’t a bad bit of an old hall, ie it?” continued he as they passed through the hall. “It’s the oldest part of the house, Do you see that split in the panelling up there? That's where @ bullet went In the duel between Counsellor Kinsella and Colunel White, ‘Black White’ was his nick- name, and well he deserved it. They fought here, for it was snowing 80 thick outside you couldn't see a man at ten paces, Eighteen hundred and oné, that was, and they in their graves all these years! No, no one was killed, Only @ tenant that had come in to see the fun, and he got in the line of fire. He recovered, I be- eve, though they say he carried the bullet in his head to the end of He ‘3 days. This is tho sitting-room the warmest room In winter, The old house is as full of holes as a colander, put: you'll never get a draught hore. Norah!''—putting his head out of the door. “Yes, sir.” » “Bring the decanters, You don't mind smoking, Miss Grimshaw? Aro you fond of That's a good job. horses, Mr, Dashwood?” “Rather.” “Well, there's the hoof of the Shaughraun, He carsied everything before him in Ireland, He was my grandfather's, and he was entered for the Derby, and some blackguards yolsoned him. It would be before your time, and his death mado more stir than the death of anything that ever went on four leg cept, maybe, old Nebuchadnezzar. made songs about It, and I have a ballad upstairs im aay desk a yard long my father bought from an old woman in Abbey street., Here's the whisky. Sure, No! what have you been dreaming aboup, and why didn’t you bring wine for th, xoung lady? Not drink wine! Well, now, just say the word, and I'll wet you some tea Or would you ap gen tapi cinbenacalatle Tike coffee? Wi well, “when, Mr, Dashwood” bess v4 “I like this room,” said Miss Grim- shaw, looking round at the books and the oak panelling. “It's so cozy, and hay ogg way. gg OE r wv your pardo: eaid Mr. French, pausing in Ris operations with @ eoda-water siphon, “A ghost.” “I believe there’s an olf woman without a head walks in the top cor- ridor by the servants’ bedrooms, At least, that's the story; but It’s all nonsense, though It does to frighten the girls with and get them to bed early.” The joy Mr. ihwood managed to extract from that usually unjoyful thing called Mfe hinted at alchemy father than chemistry. Joy, too, with- out any by-products in the way of headaches or heartaches. Utterly irresponsible, but without a serious vice, always bright, clean and healthy and alert for any sort of sport as a terrier, he was as good to meet and have around one as a spring morn. ing—that is to say, when one was in tune for him. He had five hundred ($2,500) a year of his own, with prospects of great wealth on the death of an uncle, and even out of this poverty he managed to extract pleasure of a sort in the excitement of settling with creditors and trying to make both meet which they never did. * Ld Extract from a letter addressed by Miss V. Grimshaw to a friend: “Since I last wrote to you, young Mr. Dashwood has left. He stayed three days. Mr. French insisted on his staying, sent for his luggage to the inn at Cloyne, put him up in the best bedroom, where I believe Dan O'Connell once slept, and kept him up till all hours of the morning, drinking far more whiskey than was good for his constitution, 1 am sure. “We had an awfully good time while he was here, and the house seems a litle dull now that he {s gone, He asked me before he left if he might write to me and tell me how he was getting on. But he hasn't written yet. He was a nice boy. One can not easily even vaguely describe the affairs of this household, “A bailiff has arrived in a closed carriage from Cloyne, and hi been in bed ever since with influenza, caught by exposure on the moors, He is convalescent now, and I met him in the garden this morning, ‘tak- ing the alr on a stick,’ to use Mr, French's expression. £ believe the debt is to a Mr. Harrison, but the bailiff is staying on as a guest. Mr, French gets me at night sometimes to help him tn his accounts. Hs tella me all his affairs and money worries, His affairs are simply appalling, and he has a mad scheme for running a horse next spring in a big English race, the Suburban something or other, by which he hopes to make a fortune. When I point out the im- possibility of the thing, he closes up his account books and says there is no use in meeting troubles half way. “Effie is a bright little thing, but there is something about her I can’t quite understand. She has a ¢ecret, which she tells me she is going to tell me some day, but what it ts I can't make out. Now I must stop, Oh, but I forgot. How shall I say it? How shall I tell it? I have an ad- mirer, He {8 a little man, a cousin of Mr, French's, You remember those pictures of Sunny Jim on the posters? Well, he is not Hke that; much stouter and more serious looking, and yet there ifa family resemblance. He has taken to haunting me. “Mr, French h warned me not to mind him, He says he is sure to pro- pose to me, but that I'm not to be of- nded, as it's a disease ‘the poor creature 1g afflicted with, just as if he had epileptic fits,’ and that he would make at a broomstick with a skirt on it if he could got nothing else; all of which is inter- esting but scarcely complimentary, Things are so dull just at present that I really think I’ must lead him on, I am sure when he does do it it will be awfully funny, His name ts Giveon, Everything is queer about him, “It rained yesterday and the day before, but to-day ts simply glorious, And now I must stop in earnest, Ever yours lovingly, VIOLET." Miss Grimshaw had been writing her letter at the writing table in the sitting room window, ‘The altting room was on the ground floor, and as she looked up from addressing the envelope Mr, Giveen, at the window and backed bg the glorious September afternoon, met heb gaze, He was looking in at her, How long he had been standing at the window gazing upon her it would be impossible to say. Irritated at having been spied upon, Miss Grimshaw frowned at Mr. Giveen, who smiled in return, at the same time motioning her to open the window, “Well” said Miss Grimshaw, put- ting up the sash. “Come out with me," said Mr , Giveen, is off at Drum- “Michael boyne, and there's no one to know. Put on your bat and come out with me." “Go out with you? Where?” “Ll get the boat and take you to seo th als on the Seven Sisters Rocks.) The sea is as smooth as a—~ smooth as a—smooth as a what's-its- name, I'll besthinking of it in a min it, Stick on"your hat and come out with me.” “Some other d when Mr. French is at home, I don't understand your meaning at all when you talk about nobody knowing. 1 never do things that U want to hide,” “Sure, that was only my joke,” grinned Mr, “and if you don't come to-day you'll never come at all, for it’s the end of the season, and it's a hundred to one you won't find another day Gt to go Ul next @ummer; and I'll show you the big @ea cave,” finished he, “for the tide will be out by the time we've had @ look at the seals. It's not foolin’ youl am. The boat's on the beach, Pod it won't take ten minutes to get e. come down and look at the een,” said Miss Grimshaw, who could not resist the appeal of lovely afternoon, “if you'll walt five seconds. till I get my hat.” “Sure, I'd wait five bundred years, replied the cousin of Mr, French, propping himself against the house wall, where he stood whistling softly and breaking off every now and then to chuckle to himself, after the fash- jon of a person who has thought of @ good joke or has got the better of another in a deal. Five minutes later, hearing the girl leaving the house by the front door, he came round and met her, “This way,” said Mr. Giveon, tak- ing @ path that led through the kitchen-garden and so round a clump of stunted fir trees to the break in the cliffs that gave passage to the strand. “Now, down by these rocks. It's a powerfully good road, and I've told Michae)-time out of mind he ought to have it levelled, but much use there is in talking to him, and him with his head full of horses, Will you take a hold of my arm?" “No, thanks, I can get on quite well alone.” ‘ell, step careful. Musha, but I was nearly down then myself. Do you know the name they give this erack in the cliffs?" “No, 's the Devil's Keyhole.” ‘Why do they call it that?” “Why, faith, you'll know that when you hear the wind blowing through it in winter. It screeches so you can hear it at Drumboyne. Do you know that I live at Drumboyne?" “That's the village between here and Cloyne is it not?” “That's it. But do you know where you left Drumboyne? 5" “Well, now, by any chance, did you seo a bungalow on the right after you left _Drumboyne. “Yes, I did see a bungalow.” “That's mine,” said Mr, Giveen with a sigh, “As nice a house as there ta in the country, if it wasn't that I was all alone in it.” Don't you keep a servent?” servant! Sure, of course I keep 4 servent—two, But it wasn’t a ser- vant I was meaning. Shall I tell you what I was meaning “I’m not much interested tn other people's affairs,” said Miss Grimshaw hurriedly. “Ah! there’s the sea at last.” A turn of the cleft had suddenly disclosed the great Atlantic Ovean Blue and smooth as satin, it came glassing in, breaking gently over and @round the rocks—huge, biack rocks, shaggy with seaweed, holding among them pools where at low tides you would find rock lobstera and crabs, bass, “What a jolly little boat!" sald the girl, resting her hand on the thwart of ‘a sturdy little white-painted dinghy, “Do you go fishing In this?” “Michael does,” replied Mr, Giveen, Doolan, isn't ake the t I'm no f man. the sea smooth enough to young lady for a row?" He shouted the words into the ear of an old weather-beaten boatman, who was as deaf as a post, “But I said I wouldn't go!” sald Mise Grimshaw, ‘ou didn't “{ did"—searching her memory— “at least I didn't say I would go.” “Well, say you will go now, and into the boat with you.” “I won't!" ‘well, then, all the fun's spolled,” said Mr, Giveen, “and it's a fool you've been making of me, Sure, it’s hun- dreds of girls I've taken out to seo the caves, and ‘never one of them afraid but you," “Ym not afraid,” sald Miss Grim- shaw, beginning to wavér “and don't want to spoll your fun, How jong would ft take us to eee the caves?” “Not more than an hour or two— less maybe.” “Well,” said the irl, suddenly making up her mind, “I'll come. It was @ momentous decision, with far-reac! Mr. French to Garryowen, a decision which, inthe ensuing April, might have changed the course of racing events profoundly, So slender and magical are the threads of cause that the fortunes of thousands of clerks with an instinot for racing, and thousands of sports- men, and innumerable “bookies,” all swept suddenly that afternoon into the control of an event so simple as a boating excursion on the west coast of Ireland. She stepped into the boat and took her. seat in the stern. Mr, Giveen and Doolan pushed the little craft off, and just as she was water borne Mr. Giveen tumbled in over the bow, seized a scull and pulled her into deep water, The rocks made a tiny natural har- bor, where the dinghy floated with soarcely a movement while the oars- man got out both sculls. “There's the Seven Sisters,” said Mr, veen, resting his oars and pointing away to the north, where the peaked rocks stood from the sea, cutting the sky with thelr sharp angles and making froth of the swell with their spurs. Broad ledges of rock occurred here and there at their base, and on those ledges the seals on an afternoon like this would be sunning themselves, watching with liquid human eyes the surging froth, and ready to dive fath- oms deep, at the approach of man. Miss Grimshaw heard borne on the breeze, which was blowing from the north, the faint crying of the gulls round the rocks. It was the volces of the Seven Sisters forever lament- ing, blue weather or gray, calm or storm, “Where are you going to?” asked sho. “Wherever you please,” said he. “If we were to go on as we're going now, ou know where we'd land?” Oo” “America, How'd you like to go to Amerioa with me? Say the word now,” went on Mr. Glveen, with ao jocularity that was quite lost on his companion. “Say the worfl, and on we'll go.” “Turn the boat round,” eald Miss Grimshaw, suddenly and with de- cision, ‘We are too far out, Row back, I-want to go home.” “And how about the seals?” "T don't want to seo them. Go back!" “Well now, listen. to me, Do you seo over there, behind us, that black hole in the cliffs, about a quarter of a mile, or maybe less, from the Devil's Keyhol “Which? Where? Oh, that! Yes.” “Well, that's the big sea cave that every one goes to see, Sure, you haven't seen Ireland at all till you've been in the Devil's Kitchen--that's the name of it, Shall I row you there “Yos, anywhere, ao long as we get close to the shore, It frightens me out hero." “Sure, what call have you to be afraid when I'm with you?” asked Mr. Giveen in a tender tone of voloe, turning the boat's head and making for the desired shore, “T don't know. Lat us talk of some- thing else, Why do thoy call tt the Devil's Kitchen?! Faith, you wouldn't ask that if you heard the hullabaloo that comes out of 1t in the big storms, You'd think, by the frying and the boiling, It was elephants and whales they were cooking, But in summer tt's ag calm as a—calm as a—what'a-\ts. 1ame, Musha, I‘ be remembering it in a minit."* They were now in close to the cliffs, and the entrance to the Devil's lar arch beneath which the gijen {water flooded, washing the basalt pil- lara with @ whispering gound which gg ices ia re, came distinctly to the boat. The oliff Above stretched up, immense, and the crying of the cormorants filled the alr and filled the echoes. Wheeling about the rocks away up, where in the breeding season they had their nests, they seemed to resent the approach of the boat. On a ledge of rock near the cove mouth some- thing dark moved swiftly and then splashed into the sea and was free, was a seal. ‘ll take you into the cave to have a look at it,” cried Mr. Giveen, rals~ ing bis Mex, | to cpapaut the cor- morants, “You nm ® bit afraid. ‘The devil hire to-dhy— it’s too fine weather for him.” “Don't go far in,” led Miss Grim- shaw, and as she spoke the words the boat, urged by the rower, passed into the gloom beneath the archway. She saw the bottle-green water of tho rising and falling swell washing the pillars and the walls from which the seaweed hung in fathom-long ribbons; then they were in almost darkness, and as. Mr, Giveen rested on hie oar ne could hear the water slobbering against the walls, and from far away in the gloom, every now and then, burating sound as the #well filled some hole or shaft and was spat out again. After a moment or two, her eyes be- coming accustomed to the darkness, the vast size of the place became a parent, Far greater than tho inside of a cathedral, given over to dark- ness and the sea, the Devil's Kitchen was certainly a place to make one pause, In the storms of winter, when, like the great mouth of some giant fight- ing the waves, it roared and storm and spat out volumes of water, filled now almost to its roof, now blowing the sea out in showers of spray, the horror of it would be for @ bold imag: ination to concelve, Even to-day, in tts dest mood, it was not a pluce to linger in, I've brought you in,” said Mr. Giveen, his voice finding echoes in the darkness, “and what will you give me to bring you ou “Nothing. Turn the boat. I don't Mke the place. Turn the boat, I say?” She stamped on the bottom boards, and her voice came back to her ears with a horrible cavernous sound, as aid the laughter of My, Giveen, He turned the boat so that she was fronting the arch of light at the en- trance, but he did not row toward it, Instead he began rocking the boat from aide to side in a boyish and larky way that literally brought the heart of Mise Grimshaw into her mouth, “Stop it!" she cried. ‘We'll be up- eet. Oh, I'll tell Mr. French, Stop it! Do, please—please stop It.” “Well, what will you give me If I stop it? Come, now, don't be shy. You know what I mean. What will you give me?” “Anything you like.” “Then we'll make it a kiss?” “Yes, anything! Only take me out of this.” “pwo kisses?” asked Mr. Gtveen, pulling in bis oars and making to come aft. “Twenty. Only not here, You'll upset the boat. Don't stand up. You'll upset us." “Well, when we get back then?” said the amorous one, “Yes,” “And you won't tell Michael? “No, no, no!” “On your worl of honor?” “Yea. “swear by all'a blue,” “Yeu, “But that's not @wearing. “I don't know @what all's blue ts. Ouch!" ‘The boat, drifting, had drifted up against the wall of the cave, and tho swell, Which had a rise and fall of eighteen inghes or more, was grinding the starboard thwart lovingly against the seaweed and rock, "? ar by all's blue,” shrieked the girl, “Anything! Quick!. Push ber wf, or we'll be over,” ‘Waitb, and that was @ near shave,” Monday. -Ju “g By Js H. Cassel! irmronennnerneennens rE By Ji Hi Cassel iti wets COMPLETE NOVEC W THE EEN WOM A Siren of the Sno said Mr. Giveen, shoving the boat off with an oar. He got the sculls in the rowlocks, and & few strokes brought them une der the arch into daylight again, “Mind, you've sworn,” said Mr, Giveen, who evidently had a very present and wholesome 4) of his cousin, Michael French, “Don't speak to me,” replied bis chargo, whose lips were dry, whose terror had now, on finding her- self in comparative safety, turned into burning wrath, "Don't apeak to mo, you coward! You—you beastl— or til ‘hit you with \this.” A boatidok of ash and prosphor- bronze lay at her feet, and she seized It. Mr, Glveon eyed thé boathook. It did not promise kisses on land! but It was a very efficient persuader, in its way, to # swift return, Now, Mr. French, that day after luncheon, had ridden into Drumboyne about some pigs he was anxious to eell. He had fatled to come to terma with the pig merchat, and had re- turned out of temper. had met Mort In the stableyard arty, his factotum, “If you plaze, sorr,” said Morlarty, “T've just heard from Doolan that Mr. Giveen has taken the young lady out In @ boat.” The contempt which Mortarty by for Mr. Giveen and the dislike were fully expressed in the tone of his words, “D'you mean to say that idiotic fool has taken Misa Grimshaw out tn the dinghy?" cried Michael French, od Jetting himself down from the saddle, "Yes, sorr.” “Think of Doolan letting the girl go out with that ex@-headed ase of a Dick Giveen!" grumbled French, half to himeelf and half to Moriarty, as he made down the Devil's Keyhole, fol- lowed by the other, “He's been hang- ing after her for the last wee, Dop- ping in at all hours of the day, and 4s sure as he gets a girl into the boat close with him he's sure to be making a fool of himself and maybe upsettii her, and the both of them dro L. Not that he'd matter; not that he'd drown, either, for that bladder of a head of his would keep him afloat, Do you see any #ight of them, Mon- arty?” They had reached the shore, and Moriarty, standing on a rook and shading his eyes, was looking over the sea, 0, sorr.” »me on to the cove. He's eure o back the if he ever comes © they are, sorr,” cried Mort- Mr. French rose to his feet. The dinghy was rounding the rocks. Mr, Giveen, at the sculls, waa evidently remonstrating with the girl, who #ee- ing help at hand, and vengeance in the forms of tho two men on the beach, was standing up in the stern of the boat st, half standing up—now alm ct, now crouched and clutching the thwart, she seemed ready to Jump on the roc! passing—to jump anywh: as sho got free of the boat and her companion, One might have thought that fear was impelling her, It was not fear, however, but anger and irritation, French and Mortlarty rushed into the water up to thelr knees, seized the dinghy on either side of the bow, and ran her up on the sand, while Mr, Giveen, with bts coat in his hand and his hat on the back of his head, tumbled over the side and mado as if to make off, Stop him!" erled the girl. “He's fasulted me! He has nearly drowned me! He frightened me into swearing 1 wouldn't tell!” “I didn't,” erled Mr, GAveen, now tn the powerful grasp of his cousin, "It wasn't my fault, Lat loose of me, Let up or I'll have the law of you!” “Didn't you?’ replied French, who ‘had caught his kinsman by the scruft of his neck and was boiging, him from behind, shaking him as a te shakes @ rat, “we'll soon sce rior tle lat just co’ was fr that it wi 14; 1915 Mortarty, run for a policeman. -Take a horse and go for a constable at Drumboyne. Well, then, what do you mean, eh?—what do you mean, eh?— blackguard, with your philander- ik You bubble-headed, chuckle- headed son of a black sweep, you! Call yourself an Irish gentleman! In- sulting @ lady! Miss Grimshaw, say the word, and I'll stick the ugly head of him in the water and drown bim!" “No, no!” cried the girl, taking the words literally, “Perhaps he didn't mean it. I don’t think he ts quite right. He only wanted to kiss moe. He rocked the boat. Porhaps it was only tn fun.” “Now listen to me,” cried French, ascertaining every second word with a shake, “if I ever catch you within five miles of Drumgoole again I'll give you lambasting yee won't get over In month. my last word to Off you go! The last words were followed a most explicit kick that sent Mr. Giveen racing and running across the bit of and till he reached the rocks, over which he scrambied, making reoord time to the mouth of ti Devil'a Keyhole. Near that spot he turned and shook his fist at his kinsman. “I'l be even with you yet, Mick French!" cried Mr. Giveen. “Away with you!” replied the threatened one, making as if to run after him, at which the figure of Mr, Giveen vanished into the Devil's bs bogey as @ hat vanishos up a rain. French burat into a laugh, in which Miss Grimshaw joined, By STANL EY SHAW | letter. He had asked perm to write to her, and she had been ing forward to a letter from hi she liked him, and hie resell formed a picture in her min pleasant to contemplate; but this short rather gloomy screed was so unlike him that she at once guessed some- thing wrong in his affairs, Womanlike, she was not over pleased that he should permit cc worrles to take the edge is pen when he was writing to * and she determined to leave the letter unanswered. . . 7 . . . . It was November, ani it had beemm Taining for a week. The fun had vanished, the hills had vanished, the land had all, . vanished—nothing remained but wind and the rain, the rain and } a couple of hours of rain. wind-blown day. No one ever to Drumgoole except, maybe, a farmer now and then to see Mr. F and the long wn “hoodoo” of wind through the Devil's the rattling of windows fighting wii the wind, and the tune of emptying into overfull wat were beginning to prey upon Grimshaw's nerves, i! Even Mr. Giveen would have been ¥ distraction ware times; but Mr. iveen was now et open enmi| his kinsman and spolling with the bitterness of his petty nature for do him an injury. “Now he'll be your enemy,” said enemy just now. The United: the girl as Mortarty fung the sculls League was against him. He over his shoulder they prepared let farms on the eleven eys- to return to the ht 5 tem, and he had i “Much I care!” replied the owner ing, two hii of! ia of Garryowen. of the league, ed “Come down hore," criea Mr, French one morning, standing in t Sr PRI” a Vi, Sang pnw ha Oran . caught t of 66 sald Violet, jiirt. “Come down here till I one morning, entering you something you've never seen the sitting-room where bes ‘one in ey pa fe led the way into a shan Rian ite ee where be pm gy 4 ‘and tow ants, an here, ing on @ © werk?” ante ola ‘came With 0 hee torvereale “I beg your pardon—what did you say?” asked Mr, French, dropping his pen and turning in his chair, “The child's not @ cripple at all. She can walk as well aa I can.” “Walk! Why, she’s deen a cripple for years! Walk! Why, Mrs, Driscoll never lets her on her fect by any chance!” “Yes, but when she’s alone she runi about the room, and she’s as sound on her legs as Iam.” | “But Dr. O'Malley said with his own mouth she was a cripple for ufe!" “How long ago was that?” “Four years.” “Has be seen her lately?” “Seen her lately? Why he's been in his coffin three years come next October!" “Have you had no other doctor to see her “Sure, there's no one else hut Raf- ferty at Cloyne, and he's and @he won't see doctors; they are no use to her.” “Well, all I can say ts that I've geen her walking, She can run, and she tella me she has been able to for years, only no one will believe her, Whenever they see her on her feet she says they pop her back on the couch, The poor child seems to bave become #0 hopelese of making’ any one believe her that she bas submit- & tool she says walk, that it's a gort of ein; it more out of veralty t y: thing else. She's been coddied into invalidhood, and I'm going to coddie her out of it,” eald Miss Grimshaw. “And if you will come upstairs with ‘me now, I'll show you that she's as hi firm on her legs as you are yourself.” They went upstairs, As Miss Grimshaw turned the handle of the door of Effie's room a scuffiing noise was heard, and when they entered, the chid was aitting up on the couch, flushed and bright-eyed. “Why, what's all this, EMme? eried héf father. “What's all this I've been hearing about your running about the room? Stick ypur legs out, and let me see yourdo it.” Effie grinned. “I will,” said she, “if you promise pot to tell Mra. Driscoll.” For three years the unfortunate child had been suffering from no other disease but Mra, Driscoll’s vivid imagination and the firm belief held by her that tha child's back would “enap in two" she stood on her logs. Vivid and vital, this belief, like #0 faith, refused to listen “Up with you and let's see you on your pins.” “Now,” aaid Miss Grimshaw, when the evolutions were over, and Miss French had demonstrated her sound- ness in mind and dimb to the full aat~ isfaction of her sire, “what do you think of that?” “But how did you find it out?” asked the astonished man, “Sho told me it as a secret.” “Bend up Mrs. Driacoll,” said the master of Drumgool, surprising No- rah, the housemald. ‘Send up Mra. Driscoll, And what are you standing there with your mouth hanging open or?” ‘ “Sure, Mia» Effie, and what are you doin’ off the couch?” erled Norah, shaken out of her respect for her peaner by the sight of Effie on her lege. “Doing off the couch? Away with you down, and send up Mra. Driscoll. You and your couch! You've been murdering the child between you for the last three years with your couches and your coddling, Off with you!” Don't be harsh to them,” sald EMo's saviour, as Norah departed in search of the housekeeper, “They did it for the best,” Half an hour later Mra, Driscoll, with her pet !ltusion still perfeotly unshattered, returned to her kitchen to conduct the preparations for djn- ner, while Effie, freed forever trom her bonds, #at on a etool before the nursery fire, roading. Miss Grimshaw, coming down a lit- Sound th laces wen BS Dos S er, Mr Dashwood. s! @ short and rather! gloomy poe like ‘a ploughed field. Him bat old hat was on the floor, and he in his hand two cows’ tails, and theré* ho sat, purblind and tw! in his hands, a living’ picture ot nae “Npon't ret ‘on yan, sit you awn where you roe anid Frenelt, “asd tell the young lady what you have.in yous), “Sure, they're me cows tails, the old fellow, like a child lesson, “Me. ‘beau cows tanta! that the blackguards chopped off wid a knii vil mend the 1—and I lyin’ in bed in the gray of the ‘Listen,’ I says ta me wife. What alls the crathurs and they boohooin’ ik that? ‘Get up an’ ase,’ she says. And up I gets, and slips on me breeches and coat, and out I goes, and thim hangin’ over the rail, d! wid blood, and they cut off Oh, the diac! thé#ir knives into the poor crathurs, and lave me widout « and the rint comin’ dué, and me sick tn her bed, and all. Sure, wa way is that to ratin’ & it bekase I niver answered their divil's notice to quit?” eit “Cut off his cows’ tails?” cried girl in horror, “Were they alive?” "Yes," said French. “It's Che = those rufMflans care an ani: @ man either.” “Oh, but a thing to do! ,/Why did they do “Because Ne would not bit of a farm. I expect thing will be they'll visitrme, and they'll get a warm seception they do!” Mr. French as he pulled the for Norah. “Talk of heavens! when was there landlord would cut a cow's When was there over a would mutilate, horses? Did hear of a landlord firing through the window of a house ® lonely old woman rae blow the roof off her , all cause her son refused to ‘strip his farm,’ as they call it? And that was done ten miles from @ month. before you ca jee get whiskey and give old Ryan a ful and a dite to eat. He's ai Inf. there in the little study, with his cows’ tails those blackguards havew cut off In his hand. Take him inta. the kitchen and ary him, and let him sit by the fire; tell Mi f to give him som f wife, for she’s sick in . “"Yos, that's what Ireland has to. A lot of poor, ignorant lke Ryan, ruled by a syndicate rufflans that make thelr own ta) and don't care a button for the of God or the law of the land. unbelievable, but there it is. now they’lh be going for me. I've several anonymous letters in the 1 Month, threatening boycotting worse. Much T care for them! the rain's cleared off. I'm going to; the meet of the hounds at Drum- doyne, Would you care to drive with me? Tf you had a riding habit we, might have ridde ‘But T have @ riding habit. oy pretty old, but. > 4 put it on then.) 1 a ah said Mr. meh, “and I'll tell Mort arty to saddle the grav mare for ‘youll She'll be round at the door minutes."* Twenty minutes later Miss Grtaio” shaw, in a riding habit and cove cont, was riding off with Mr. Frenchi!” They struck the road. It w twenty minutes past 9, and as ¢! meet was at half-past 10 they ha plenty of time, (To Be Contimued.) GOING AWAY FOR THE SUMMER? Remember The Eve- ning World prints each week complete up-to-date novel—~a week’s reading! Have The Evé} ning World. sent to | mer'addriss: