kettle now singing away on the hob, and assisted materially
in raising fresh difficulties round that already difficult path through
the rocks.

As the old gentleman bustled round mixing his scaltheen, we became
aware of another occupant of the cabin, a tall, thin, dark-haired,
cadaverous-looking young priest, just fresh from All Hallows'. He sat
there solemnly on an upturned brandy case in the corner, and glared
disapprovingly out of his hollow black eyes at the revel going on round
him. Father Maguire remembered his existence after a bit and introduced
him.

"Sure an' it's Father Mahoney, bhoys, jist out from ould Ireland.
Faix an' he's falin' a bit lonesome. Sure, now, Father dear, sing,
sing--it'll do yez good. The 'Wearin' o' the Green,' Father, or
'Garry-owen.' Come now. His voice it's jist beautiful, bhoys; och, but
ye should jist hear him," and the poor old father nodded confidentially
at us, fell back in his chair, his eyes gradually closed, the pannikin
dropped out of his hands, and the whiskey trickled down on to the
earthen floor.

Father Mahoney evidently felt that the time had now come for him to
speak or for ever after hold his peace, as the marriage service has it.
He rose from his seat, and stalked across the room, a tall thin figure
in his long black coat, and stood over his prostrate brother.

"Father Maguire," he said in the broadest of Cork brogues, without the
ghost of a smile on his grave Irish face, "is it a song yez wantin'?
Well, thin, it's just a jeremiad I 'd be singin' yez, an' not another
song at all, at all."

Then, without deigning to take any notice of us, he flung open both door
and window--the atmosphere stood greatly in need of a little freshening,
I must admit--and went out on to the hillside, leaving us irreverent
youngsters convulsed with laughter. The fun was over now as far as we
were concerned, for Father Maguire, overcome by his own magic brew, was
calmly sleeping, and no efforts of ours could elicit more than a grumpy,
"Arrah, thin--be still now--will yez?"

So as the shadows were growing longer and longer, and Christmas Day was
rapidly drawing to a close, we turned towards the camp again. Bob Wilson
had spent rather a dreary afternoon all by himself, but we cheered him
with a graphic account of our visit to the two priests, got him some
tea, and then when the sun had set behind the hills, adjourned to the
public house, the Eldorado Hotel as it was called, there to take