obscure game, in which a great deal of monotonous, rhymed dialogue was the principal feature. They intoned this in shrill, unmodulated voices, but all the time keeping a sharp look-out on my movements. The old pensioner turned his watery eyes on me and made a remark about the weather. I pretended not to hear him, but he only made it again, and I had to answer. He began to talk politics. His fumbling hands, his foolish, empty pipe, his bleared and rheumy eyes, depressed me, and I wondered why he couldn’t be put into a lethal chamber. Then I saw Owen turn the corner and sprang up to meet him. “Why didn’t you come to the house? Where are your things?” he asked. The little girls had suspended their game to watch us with breathless interest. “I’m not going to stay, Owen. I came up just because I wanted to speak to you about something―――― Get away!” This last remark was addressed to a child who had drawn nearer, so as not to miss what we were saying. She stared at me with an expression of solemn idiocy, but without budging an inch from the position she had taken up. “That’s all right,” said Owen, “but of course you’ll stay now you’re here. I can lend you everything you need, and I’ve told them at home to expect you.” “I can’t. My father would hardly let me come; even as it was.” “Get yer hair cut,” suggested the polite child, putting out her tongue. “Owen, I want to tell you something: I want your advice.” He at once became serious. He took my arm and we strolled down toward the pond, followed by the whole band of children, who, captained by the same odious little girl, screamed now in chorus, “Get yer hair cut! Get yer hair cut!” The din they made was terrific. I waited till we had turned the corner and were out of sight of the gardeners and the pensioner. Then I swung round quickly and made a grab at the ringleader. In about two seconds, kicking and screaming, she was across my knee, and I was administering as sound a spanking as she had ever received in her life. “I say,” cried Owen, “what on earth are you doing?” I released my captive, who with crimson, tear-drenched face, and open mouth, went bawling back in the direction she had come from. “That’s all right, any way,” I said to the astonished Owen. “There’s nothing like taking these things in time.” The rest of the children had retreated, moving backwards, with round eyes fixed on me, but perfectly callous to the woes of their comrade. “You’ll be having someone coming and kicking up the mischief of a row,” said Owen, uneasily. “I don’t care. Can’t we find a quiet place?” Owen considered. “Come down the Lagan walk: there’s never anybody there.”