ld help them across the first five minutes--'how
pleasant it is to see a turf fire again! The turf burns gently, mildly,
a much pleasanter fire than coal; the two races express themselves in
their fires.'

'Oh, we're fiery enough over here,' Father Oliver returned; and the
priests laughed.

'I did not feel that I was really in Ireland,' Father O'Grady continued,
'till I saw the turf blazing and falling into white ash. You see I
haven't been in Ireland for many years.'

Father Oliver threw some more sods of turf into the grate, saying: 'I'm
glad, Father O'Grady, that you enjoy the fire, and I'm indeed glad to
see you. I was just thinking--'

'Of me?' Father O'Grady asked, raising his Catholic eyes.

The interruption was a happy one, for Father Oliver would have found
himself embarrassed to finish the sentence he had begun. For he would
not have liked to have admitted that he had just begun a letter to Nora
Glynn, to say, 'There it is on the table.' Father O'Grady's interruption
gave him time to revise his sentence.

'Yes, I was thinking of you, Father O'Grady. Wondering if I might dare
to write to you again.'

'But why should you be in doubt?' Father O'Grady asked; and then,
remembering a certain asperity in Father Oliver's last letter, he
thought it prudent to change the conversation. 'Well, here I am and
unexpected, but, apparently, welcome.'

'Very welcome,' Father Oliver murmured.

'I'm glad of that,' the old man answered; 'and now to my story.' And he
told how a variety of little incidents had come about, enabling him to
spend his vacation in Ireland. 'A holiday is necessary for every man.
And, after all, it is as easy to go from London to Ireland as it is to
go to Margate, and much more agreeable. But I believe you are
unacquainted with London, and Margate is doubtless unknown to you. Well,
I don't know that you've missed much;' and he began to tell of the month
he had spent wandering in the old country, and how full of memories he
had found it--all sorts of ideas and associations new and old. 'Maybe it
was you that beguiled me to Ireland; if so, I ought to thank you for a
very pleasant month's holiday. Now I'm on my way home, and finding that
I could fit in the railway journey I went to Tinnick, and I couldn't go
to Tinnick without driving over to Garranard.'

'I should think not, indeed,' Father Oliver answered quickly. 'It was
very good of you to think of me, to undertake the journey to Tinnick and