he had plenty of sense _of his own_, and the remark was to some
extent explanatory, as a certain singularity in his way of viewing
things even more than an occasional inconsequence and flightiness in his
sayings and doings tended to establish the reputation for eccentricity
which followed him closely as a shadow, and set an impalpable barrier
between himself and his kind. As he advanced in life this was
strengthened by his increasing fondness for his own society, but he did
not take to his solitary wanderings until after his sister Katty married
young Peter Meehan and emigrated to New York. It was suggested to him
that he should accompany them, but he sat looking meditative for a
while, and then said, "How far might it be from this to the States?"

"I dunno rightly," said his informant, "but a goodish step it's apt to
be, for people's better than a couple of weeks sailin' there, I'm
tould."

Con meditated a little more before he put another question. "Would you
be widin hearin' out there of the folk talkin' foolish?" he inquired.

"Why, tub-be sure, man, what 'ud hinder you that you wouldn't hear them
talkin' same as anywheres else?"

"Bedad, then," said Con, "it seems a long way to be thravellin' to a
counthry as close as that. Sure, if you take out for a stravade over the
bog here, you'll be throubled wid nothin' the len'th of the day on'y the
curlew, or maybe a couple of saygulls skirlin'--raisonable enough. I'll
be apt to stay where I am."

Con, who was a person of many moods, happened to be in an unusually
cynical one just then; however, he adhered to his resolution, and when
his sister had gone he adopted a life of long tramps. Somebody had given
him an old fiddle, and this he carried with him, though chiefly as a
sort of badge, as his performances were but feeble, and he could turn
his hand to many other things when he found it necessary to do so. His
rovings had gone on for several years before they led him to Lisconnel.
In those days he was a strange, small figure, who wore a coat too large
for him, and a hat set so far back on his head that its brim made a sort
of halo to frame his face, which had a curious way of looking fitfully
young and old, with a shining of violet blue eyes and a puckering of
fine-drawn wrinkles. A small boy and a little old ancient man would seem
to change places half a dozen times in the course of a single
conversation. Even his hair was a puzzle, regarded as an indication of
age,