shinin' and a fine fresh breeze blowin' the
white clouds away over the Atlantic, my road was a right cheery one, and
I went along inventin' stories, sometimes fairy tales, sometimes makin'
rhymes to myself, but always happy and contented. There wasn't a bit of
the way I had n't a name for in my own mind, either some place I read
about, or some scene in a story of my own; but better than all, there
was a dog,--a poor starved lurcher he was,--with a bit of the tail
cut off; he used to meet me, as regular as the clock, on the side of
Currah-na-geelah, and come beside me down to the ford every day in the
year. No temptation nor flattery would bring him a step farther. I spent
three-quarters of an hour once trying it, but to no good; he took leave
of me on the bank of the river, and went away back with his head down,
as if he was grievin' over something. Was n't that mighty curious?"

"Perhaps, like ourselves, Billy, he wasn't quite sure of his passport,"
said the other, dryly.

"Faix, may be so," replied he, with perfect seriousness. "My notion was
that he was a kind of an outlaw, a chap that maybe bit a child of the
family, or ate a lamb of a flock given him to guard. But indeed his
general appearance and behavior was n't like that; he had good manners,
and, starved as he was, he never snapped the bread out of my fingers,
but took it gently, though his eyes was dartin' out of his head with
eagerness all the while."

"A great test of good breeding, truly," said the youth, sadly. "It must
be more than a mere varnish when it stands the hard rubs of life in this
wise."

"'Tis the very notion occurred to myself. It was the dhrop of good blood
in him made him what he was."

Stealthy and fleeting as was the look that accompanied these words, the
youth saw it, and blushed to the very top of his forehead. "The night
grows milder," said he, to relieve the awkwardness of the moment by any
remark.

"It's a mighty grand sight out there now," replied the other; "there's
three miles if there's an inch of white foam dashing down to the sea,
that breaks over the bar with a crash like thunder; big trees are
sweepin' past, and pieces of vine trellises, and a bit of a mill-wheel,
all carried off just like twigs on a stream."

"Would money tempt those fellows, I wonder, to venture out on such a
night as this?"

"To be sure; and why not? The daily fight poverty maintains with
existence dulls the sense of every danger but what comes of