He stopped, and puffed slowly at his pipe. Presently he took it from his mouth, with a little laugh. “I've a mind to tell you a rather queer experience of mine. It's nothing against your people generally, you know, nor do I fancy it's even an American type; so you won't mind my speaking of it. I've got some property in Scotland,--rather poor stuff you'd call it,--but, by Jove! some Americans have been laying claim to it under some obscure plea of relationship. There might have been something in it, although not all they claim, but my business man, a clever chap up in your place,--perhaps you may have heard of him, Sir James MacFen,--wrote to me that what they really wanted were some ancestral lands with the right to use the family name and privileges. The oddest part of the affair was that the claimant was an impossible sort of lunatic, and the whole thing was run by a syndicate of shrewd Western men. As I don't care for the property, which has only been dropping a lot of money every year for upkeep and litigation, Sir James, who is an awfully far-sighted chap at managing, thought he could effect a compromise, and get rid of the property at a fair valuation. And, by Jove! he did. But what your countrymen can get out of it,--for the shooting isn't half as good as what they can get in their own country,--or what use the privileges are to them, I can't fancy.” “I think I know the story,” said the consul, eying his fellow-guest attentively; “but if I remember rightly, the young man claimed to be the rightful and only surviving heir.” The Englishman rose, and, bending over the hearth, slowly knocked the ashes from his pipe. “That's quite impossible, don't you know. For,” he added, as he stood up in front of the fire in face, figure, and careless repose more decidedly English than ever, “you see my title of Duncaster only came to me through an uncle, but I am the direct and sole heir of the old family, and the Scotch property. I don't perhaps look like a Scot,--we've been settled in England some time,--but,” he continued with an invincible English drawling deliberation, “I--am--really--you--know--what they call The McHulish.” AN EPISODE OF WEST WOODLANDS. I.