ind of institution. There ain't any tigers, and so we shoot
birds. And in this part of the world there ain't any pheasants, and so
we shoot sea-gulls."

"Excellently argued," said the priest.

"Or rather one don't, for it's impossible to get at them. But I'll tell
you what, Father Marty,"--Neville had already assumed the fashion of
calling the priest by his familiar priestly name, as strangers do much
more readily than they who belong to the country,--"I'll tell you what,
Father Marty,--I've shot one of the finest seals I ever saw, and if
Morony can get him at low water, I'll send the skin up to Mrs. O'Hara."

"And send the oil to me," said the priest. "There's some use in shooting
a seal. But you can do nothing with those birds,--unless you get enough
of their feathers to make a bed."

This was in October, and before the end of November Fred Neville was,
after a fashion, intimate at the cottage. He had never broken bread at
Mrs. O'Hara's table; nor, to tell the truth, had any outspoken, clearly
intelligible word of love been uttered by him to the girl. But he had
been seen with them often enough, and the story had become sufficiently
current at Liscannor to make Lady Mary Quin think that she was justified
in sending her bad news to her friend Lady Scroope. This she did not do
till Fred had been induced, with some difficulty, to pass a night at
Castle Quin. Lady Mary had not scrupled to ask a question about Miss
O'Hara, and had thought the answer very unsatisfactory. "I don't know
what makes them live there, I'm sure. I should have thought you would
have known that," replied Neville, in answer to her question.

"They are perfect mysteries to us," said Lady Mary.

"I think that Miss O'Hara is the prettiest girl I ever saw in my life,"
said Fred boldly, "and I should say the handsomest woman, if it were not
that there may be a question between her and her mother."

"You are enthusiastic," said Lady Mary Quin, and after that the letter
to Scroope was written.

In the meantime the seal-skin was cured,--not perhaps in the very best
fashion, and was sent up to Miss O'Hara, with Mr. Neville's compliments.
The skin of a seal that has been shot by the man and not purchased is a
present that any lady may receive from any gentleman. The most prudent
mamma that ever watched over her dovecote with Argus eyes, permitting no
touch of gallantry to come near it, could hardly insist that a seal-skin
in the rough should be sent ba