“Can you tell me,” and she paused, and looked at him steadily, “why some have every mortal blessed thing, and others--have nothing at all?” “But how do you mean?” he asked, rather taken aback. This description of puzzle was far from what he had anticipated. “Why look at Miss Cunninghams, and look at me!” “Yes”; and he looked at her. “They are ladies born, and live in a park, and wear beautiful dresses, and ride fine hunters, and eat with silver forks; they go away and see the world, with plenty of money in their pockets. And for me, I live in a little weenchie cottage, and work hard, and I will never lay an eye on any sight better than Crock na Bowl, or do anything but cook, and milk, as long as the breath is in me! And I’d just love to _see_ life. Why were they born one way, and me another?” “I’m sure I don’t know,” he replied. “Well, ye see, I’ve asked ye my riddle, and ye cannot answer it,” she said with a smile, “so now I’ll be going”; and without another word, Mary Foley clambered lightly over the stone gap (she still wore black stockings, and had remarkably neat ankles), and presently disappeared. CHAPTER V And thus the young couple parted, going in opposite directions, each carrying in their thoughts a poignant memory of the other. Since Mary was a small child, “Master Ulick” had been secretly worshipped as her hero--the natural consequence of hearing on all sides praises of his feats of horsemanship, his courage, and his generosity. Little pitchers have long ears, and what they imbibe they remember. For a girl of her age, and class, Mary Foley was a widely-read young person. Mrs. Hogan at “The Arms” had a fancy for the child, and, knowing she was crazy after books, endowed her with various odds and ends that careless visitors or fishing folk, had left behind them. Mary had a wonderful imagination, and from the germs of her favourite characters, she composed a Paladin of her own. He was the embodiment of the Heir of Redcliff, Wilfred of Ivanhoe, the Black Knight, and Charles O’Malley, and his name she never whispered, but all the same it was some one resembling Master Ulick, whom she crowned with a choice selection of other men’s laurels. It therefore will be seen that if Mary’s little sixteen-year-old heart was free, it was not fancy free! As soon as Mary reached home and opened the half-door, her mother cried out-- “Mary asthore! What in the living world kep’ ye?” “Sure I am afther meeting Masther Ulick,” was the breathless reply. “There beyant, in the boreen.” “Did ye, agra; and what is he like now he’s a grown man?” “Faix I couldn’t rightly explain, only he is tallish and upstanding, and I got a smell of tobacco off him!” “Great fathers, child!” “Yes; an’ he has a small moustache on his upper lip, and a great big smile on him, and grey eyes--his eyes”--and she drew in her breath--“is real beautiful!”