volumes in silence, the poets on the top
shelf, by the side of her edition of Scott's novels, and the
miscellaneous authors below. She touched each book tenderly, as though
it were an old and dear friend, opening one occasionally to glance at a
favourite passage; and she became so absorbed in her occupation that
she utterly forgot Honor's presence.

"There! I've stowed away all my possessions," remarked the latter at
last. "I don't know whether Miss Maitland judges a room by a tidy
bookcase. She said she was coming up presently, to see if we had put
our things straight."

Janie started guiltily. She, who was expected to be the mentor and to
keep her companion up to the mark, was certainly the defaulter in this
instance. Her bed and the chairs were strewn with various articles, and
nothing seemed as yet in its right place.

"I couldn't help dipping into that book," she confessed. "It's a
collection of old Irish fairy tales and legends. It was given me
yesterday, before I left home, and I've scarcely had time even to look
at it."

"Are they nice?"

"Lovely, to judge by the one I've just sampled!"

"Then do tell it to me! I hate reading, but I'm an absolute baby for
loving to be told old tales."

"I? Oh, I couldn't!" exclaimed Janie.

"Yes, you can--while I'm helping you to put all these things into your
drawers. Do, mavourneen! I want to hear the Irish story."

When Honor's grey eyes looked pleadingly from under their long, dark
lashes, and a soft blarney crept into her voice, there were few people
who could resist her. Janie flushed pink; she was so seldom asked to do
anything for anybody! She had no natural gift for narrative, but she
made an effort.

"There was once an Irishman called Murtagh O'Neil," she began, "and he
was walking over London Bridge, with a hazel staff in his hand, when an
Englishman met him and told him that the stick he carried grew on a
spot under which were hidden great treasures. The Englishman was a
wizard, and he promised that if Murtagh would go with him to Ireland,
and show him the place, he would gain as much gold as he could carry.
Murtagh consented, so they went over to Bronbhearg, in Kerry, where
there was a big green mound; and there they dug up the hazel tree on
which the staff had grown. Under it they found a broad, flat stone, and
this covered the entrance to a cavern where thousands of warriors lay
in a circle, sleeping beside their shields, with their swords clasped
i