glimpses of himself,
something that was more than a phantom and less than a reality.
Suddenly his reverie was broken: the carman pointed with his whip, and
Bryden saw a tall, finely-built, middle-aged man coming through the
gates, and the driver said:--

"There's Mike Scully."

Mike had forgotten Bryden even more completely than Bryden had
forgotten him, and many aunts and uncles were mentioned before he began
to understand.

"You've grown into a fine man, James," he said, looking at Bryden's
great width of chest. "But you are thin in the cheeks, and you're
sallow in the cheeks too."

"I haven't been very well lately--that is one of the reasons I have
come back; but I want to see you all again."

Bryden paid the carman, wished him "God-speed," and he and Mike divided
the luggage between them, Mike carrying the bag and Bryden the bundle,
and they walked round the lake, for the townland was at the back of the
demesne; and while they walked, James proposed to pay Mike ten
shillings a week for his board and lodging.

He remembered the woods thick and well-forested; now they were
windworn, the drains were choked, and the bridge leading across the
lake inlet was falling away. Their way led between long fields where
herds of cattle were grazing; the road was broken--Bryden wondered how
the villagers drove their carts over it, and Mike told him that the
landlord could not keep it in repair, and he would not allow it to be
kept in repair out of the rates, for then it would be a public road,
and he did not think there should be a public road through his property.

At the end of many fields they came to the village, and it looked a
desolate place, even on this fine evening, and Bryden remarked that the
county did not seem to be as much lived in as it used to be. It was at
once strange and familiar to see the chickens in the kitchen; and,
wishing to re-knit himself to the old habits, he begged of Mrs. Scully
not to drive them out, saying he did not mind them. Mike told his wife
that Bryden was born in Duncannon, and when he mentioned Bryden's name
she gave him her hand, after wiping it in her apron, saying he was
heartily welcome, only she was afraid he would not care to sleep in a
loft.

"Why wouldn't I sleep in a loft, a dry loft! You're thinking a good
deal of America over here," said he, "but I reckon it isn't all you
think it. Here you work when you like and you sit down when you like;
but when you have had a touch