, it was only "_Admitto te--admitto te_."

After these revelations Mr. Polymathers was looked up to more than ever,
as one not only endowed with rare gifts, but destined by their means to
scale heights of hardly realisable exaltation. "Be all accounts there
was no knowin' what he mightn't rise to be at Dublin College," the
neighbours said. They also often remarked that it was "a surprisin'
thing to see a great scholar like him spendin' his time over taichin'
thim two young O'Beirnes." If the speaker happened to be afflicted with
a twinge of envy about those educational advantages, he was apt to say
"thim two young bosthoons" or "gomerals." But Dan and Nicholas were
not, in fact, any such thing. Nicholas, indeed, quickly proved himself
possessed of what Mr. Polymathers called "a downright astonishin'
facility at the mathematics," far out-stripping Dan, not quite to Dan's
satisfaction, as he had always enjoyed the pre-eminence conferred by
superior physical strength and a practical turn of mind. So well pleased
was the old man with his eager pupil that he would have liked to do his
teaching, "nothing for reward," but his host's hospitality, and his own
ambition, would not permit this. Now and then he rather puzzled Nicholas
by an apologetic tone in answering questions about his University
career. And once at the end of a lesson he said, as if to himself: "May
goodness forgive me if I'm takin' what he'd have done better with. But
sure he's young--he's plenty of chances yet." However, as the time for
his departure drew on, all his misgivings, if such he had, seemed to
vanish away, and his thoughts became very apt to journey off blissfully
to Dublin in the middle of the most interesting problems. Nicholas had
to wait till they came back.

Mr. Polymathers left Lisconnel on a fine autumn morning, when the air
was so still that the flashing and twinkling of the many dewdrops seemed
to make quite a stir in it. The sky was as clear as any one of them, and
in the golden light the wavering columns of blue smoke rose with curves
softly transparent. He started with a buoyant step, as well he might,
since he was setting out on the enterprise into which he had put all the
spirit of his youth. He felt some regret at parting from his Lisconnel
friends, but his plans and prospects were naturally very pre-occupying,
whereas they had the ampler leisure of the left-behind to deplore his
flitting, which seemed likely enough to be for good. Ne