“Tiresome is no name for it! And I don't know a stronger proof of old Peter's love for his son's memory, than that, for the sake of hearing about him, he can sit and listen to the 'expedition.'” There was a half-unconscious mimicry in the way he gave the last word that showed how the Major's accents had eaten their way into his sensibilities. “Your portrait of this Major is not tempting,” said Stapylton, smiling. “Why would it? He's eighteen or twenty years in the neighborhood, and I never heard that he said a kind word or did a generous act by any one. But I get cross if I talk of him. Where are you going this morning? Will you come up to the Long Callows and look at the yearlings? The Admiral is very proud of his young stock, and he thinks he has some of the best bone and blood in Ireland there at this moment.” “Thanks, no; I have some notion of a long walk this morning. I take shame to myself for having seen so little of the country here since I came that I mean to repair my fault and go off on a sort of voyage of discovery.” “Follow the river from Brown's Barn down to Inistioge, and if you ever saw anything prettier I'm a Scotchman.” And with this appalling alternative, Mr. Bushe walked away, and left the other to his own guidance. Perhaps Stapylton is not the companion my reader would care to stroll with, even along the grassy path beside that laughing river, with spray-like larches bending overhead, and tender water-lilies streaming, like pennants, in the fast-running current. It may be that he or she would prefer some one more impressionable to the woodland beauty of the spot, and more disposed to enjoy the tranquil loveliness around him; for it is true the swarthy soldier strode on, little heeding the picturesque effects which made every succeeding reach of the river a subject for a painter. He was bent on finding out where M'Cormick lived, and on making the acquaintance of that bland individual. “That's the Major's, and there's himself,” said a countryman, as he pointed to a very shabbily dressed old man hoeing his cabbages in a dilapidated bit of garden-ground, but who was so absorbed in his occupation as not to notice the approach of a stranger. “Am I taking too great a liberty,” said Stapylton, as he raised his hat, “if I ask leave to follow the river path through this lovely spot?” “Eh--what?--how did you come? You didn't pass round by the young wheat, eh?” asked M'Cormick, in his most querulous voice. “I came along by the margin of the river.” “That's just it!” broke in the other. “There's no keeping them out that way. But I 'll have a dog as sure as my name is Dan. I'll have a bull-terrier that'll tackle the first of you that's trespassing there.” “I fancy I'm addressing Major M'Cormick,” said Stapylton, never noticing this rude speech; “and if so, I will ask him to accord me the privilege of a brother-soldier, and let me make myself known to him,--Captain Stapylton, of the Prince's Hussars.”