It was averred that, like the majority of his countrymen, he must have kissed the famous Blarney stone which communicates to the lips which have pressed it the gift of suave falsehood. But the persons who spoke in that way were his enemies. And who has not an enemy? Mr. O'Flannigan possessed his share of those troublesome individuals, although he had obliged at least three of them to bite the dust. "What! Three men stretched upon the ground? Three men killed by you single-handed?" "All of that, miss!" His brow clouded at the recollection; he declined to enlarge upon the subject; whereupon, since no one wished to wound his feelings by insisting upon details, he would recount the entire dreadful tale even unto the bitter end. One was an Italian, of the princely house of Castellamare; he understood the secret thrust, you know,--the famous secret thrust! Poor man! His death had served no great purpose. To-day the violets bloom upon his grave. Another was a German baron,--a boor who, in passing Mr. O'Flannigan, had knocked over his glass of milk with the tip of his sword and had not known enough to beg his pardon,--a man so tall and stout that he could not have passed through yonder door; yet this Colossus had fallen before little O'Flannigan! [Illustration] "But why renew these cruel memories? It is a frightful thing for a sensible, philosophic man thus to give the _coup de grâce_ to a fellow-man! Now, then, Miss Woodville, if you please. One--two--we are in the key of _fa_." One day Mrs. Marsham found O'Flannigan in the midst of explaining to his pupil the principles of his favorite art. With her left hand upon her hip, her body proudly curved, her cheeks aglow, and her eyes dancing with pleasure, Esther attacked and parried imaginary thrusts, while she poked with a long cane the bony old body of O'Flannigan, who applauded rapturously, though he rubbed his sides. "Are you mad, monsieur?" she cried. "Giving fencing lessons to my niece!" "Madame, I am the humblest of your servants!" O'Flannigan performed the sword salute with the cane he held in his hand, and attempted to deposit a kiss upon the mitten of the Quakeress, who found herself quite disarmed in spite of herself by such a display of courtesy and high breeding. "Come, come, Monsieur O'Flannigan," she breathed; "suppose you return to your music." "At your command, madame.--Now, then, mademoiselle; one--two--three. We are in the key of _sol_!"