her father without an explanation dismayed her more than ever, and in the hope of gaining some sort of information she sought Tim in the tiny kitchen, calling on him loudly. A soft voice like a well-tuned lute answered her from the scullery.

"Ah, Miss Lesbia, and what wud ye be after spoilin' yer pretty voice for now? Don't ye, me darlin', don't ye!"

"Why has my father gone out, Tim?" asked Lesbia sharply.

An odd little man emerged from the scullery and stood coolly rubbing his nose-tip with the toe of the boot he was polishing. "An' how should I know, miss? Didn't he come tearing through the passage, as if the divil wor after him, an' lape like a trout int' the street? Sure ye must have seen the masther rampagin' yersilf."

"I know that father came and found me with George and----"

"Ah, thin, 'tis Garge, is it?" muttered Tim, beginning to brush mechanically.

"And rushed away in a temper because George would not give him my amethyst cross."

Crash went the boot on the floor, and the blacking-brush followed, while Tim stared out of his melancholy grey eyes as though he saw a ghost. Decidedly the ornament was causing a considerable sensation, although Lesbia could not understand why her father should rage, any more than why Tim should stare. "Like a stuck pig," as she said, inelegantly. And the annoying thing was that he did more than stare.

"Oh, blissid saints in glory!" groaned the Irishman, crossing himself.

"What on earth do you mean?" asked the girl, tartly, for she was beginning to weary of these mysteries.

"Oh, blissid saints in glory!" Tim moaned again, and, picking up the boot and the brush with the expression of a martyr, went into the scullery to peel potatoes.

Lesbia, who was a determined young woman, followed, quite bent upon getting at the root of the disturbance.

"Come and talk, Tim."

"Sure an' I must git the dinner ready anyhow, Miss."

"Come out, or I'll come in," cried Lesbia, standing at the door.

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