ggered at the
sound of his, and let go the helm.

"Saint Patrick! it's Barry."

And I felt his hand on my shoulder, and heard him give a little laugh of
wonder.

"Fetch that light! Let me have a look at you!"

I obeyed, and it would be hard to say which side of the lantern, as it
swung between us, witnessed the greatest wonder.

"Look to the helm," said I. "She's falling off a point or two."

"Ha, ha!" said the joyous Tim, "to think of me manning the helm with you
on the ship. Take you it, you dog you, and spin us your yarn."

"Not till you tell me how you came to life again. I heard the _Cigale_
was lost with all hands."

"Except one," said Tim. "Father might have escaped too, but he was so
ashamed to have run the ship on the rock that nothing would drag him
from her. I held on to a spar for a whole day, and drifted to within a
swim of Tory Island, where for a whole month I waited to get across. I
heard you had been drowned in the Swilly, and Knockowen was empty, so I
made my way to Sligo, and Keogh, an old mate of father's, gave me a
berth on this crock of a boat. As I could talk French and knew
something of the business, he called me lieutenant--me that hates the
sea like the very mischief, and French lace worse than that! I tell
you, Barry, even if I hadn't found you, this would have been my last
voyage. There's other work for you and me."

"What work is that?"

"The work of Ireland! There's a new age dawning there, and you and I
will be in it. The chains are dropping right and left, and the poor
prisoner is struggling from his knees to his feet. We shall live in a
free country of our own before long, Barry, my boy--free because she has
learned to help herself, and will remain the plaything or the slave of
others no longer. France is free; she has learned to help herself. We
in Ireland have our Bastille to storm and our feudalism to destroy."

He spoke with a glow on his cheeks and a fire in his eyes that quite
took me aback, and made it hard to recognise the Tim of old days.

"I could tell you something about this glorious freedom in France," said
I, with a jerk of my head in the direction of that accursed land.

"You shall; and mark me, Ireland will not be a pace behind her."

"God forbid!" said I.

"But you haven't told me your story yet," said he, carrying the lamp
back to its place, as if he were the seaman and I at the helm the
officer.

Then I told him all, not omitting my l