“Then you can’t blame them for running,” said Norah. “No more jobs, Timsy?” “There is not, miss. Me mother’s after telling me to get out and play.” “Mr. Wally and I are going to fish Lough Anoor,” Norah said. “We haven’t been there yet, and we don’t know much about it. Would you care to come, too, Timsy?” Swift delight leaped to the small boy’s eyes. “Is it me? Sure, wouldn’t I be in your way, miss?” “Why, you’ll be very useful,” said Norah. “You’d to come?” “Like!” said Timsy. Words failed him, and he could only beam at them speechlessly. As they disappeared into the house they heard suppressed yelps of joy, and presently, from the front windows, beheld Timsy energetically turning handsprings on the path, in the effort to relieve his overcharged feelings. They took the track across the bog leading to Lough Nacurra, skirted it, following a sheep-path along the shore, and mounted a rise. Below them lay the little lough they sought, a jewel in a setting of gently-rolling hills. In one corner a number of queer, gnarled objects showed above the surface of the water. “What are those, Timsy?” Wally asked. “They’s ould limbs of trees, sir; the lough does be low, and them ould things sticks out. Me daddy says there was a mighty big forest here, one time: there’s bog-wood everywhere in this part. There’s a small little landing-stage near them, where the boat is.” They plunged down hill. Arrived at the boat, Wally whistled long and low. “It must be a boat, I suppose,” he said, doubtfully. “Timsy said it was, and he ought to know. But—Did you ever see anything quite like it, Nor?” “I did not,” Norah said. The boat was flat-bottomed, clumsily and heavily built. The paint which had originally declared her a white vessel had long ago peeled off or faded to a yellowish grey. She squatted on the water like a very flat duck, and water lay in her, and evidently had lain long. There were no oars, and nothing that could be used to bale. Altogether, no craft could have looked less tempting. “Well, Jim reckoned the boat on Lough Aniller bad, and the Nacurra one only fit for a museum,” Wally said. “I’d like him to see this one: it would do his old heart good. Timsy, how does one row a boat in this country when there are no oars?” Timsy, thus appealed to, gave as his opinion that the paddles would be up at Michael McCarthy’s house, beyant; further, that if Patsy knew how the said Michael McCarthy had the boat left, he’d have him destroyed. “Let ye sit down, sir, and Miss Norah, too,” concluded the small boy, shouldering the burden of the responsibility. “I’ll slip up and bring the paddles and a baling-tin down in no time at all.” “You won’t,” said Wally, firmly. “I’m in this job, Timsy. Come along and we’ll interview Mr. McCarthy.”