For over a mile the avenue ran its winding way through the park. Then the trees ceased, and they came out into a clear space of terraced lawn, blazing with flower-beds, and sloping down to a lake fringed with ornamental plants, and dotted with many-coloured water-lilies, among which paddled lazily some curious waterfowl which Wally had never seen. Beyond the lawn stood a long grey house; a house of old grey stone, of many gables, clad in ivy and Virginia creeper. Even to the Australian boy’s eyes it was mellow with the dignity of centuries. It was not imposing or majestic, like the old houses he had seen in England; but about it hovered an atmosphere of high breeding and of quiet peace: a house of memories, tranquil in its beauty and in its dreams. The car came to rest gently beside a stone step, and in an instant a white-haired old butler was at the door, offering his arm to his master. John O’Neill got out slowly, and limped up the steps to the great doorway, where an Irish wolf-hound stood, looking at him with liquid eyes of welcome. “I say—what a jolly dog!” Wally uttered. “Yes, he’s rather a nice old chap,” said his host. “Shake hands, Lomair”; and the big dog put a paw gravely into Wally’s hand. He followed his master into the house. The great square hall was panelled with old oak, almost black in the subdued light within. A staircase, with wide, shallow steps, wound its way in a long curve to a gallery overhead: and at the far end, an enormous fireplace was filled with evergreens. Eastern rugs lay on the polished oaken floor; in one corner a stand of flowering plants made a sheet of colour. On the walls were splendid heads—deer of many kinds, markhor, ibex, koodoo, and two heads with enormous spreading antlers, stretching, from tip to tip, fully eleven feet. They drew an exclamation from Wally. “They belonged to the old Irish elk,” O’Neill explained. “He must have been a pretty big fellow; a pity civilization proved too much for him. He has been extinct thousands of years.” “Fancy seeing a herd of those fellows!” Wally exclaimed, gazing in admiration at the noble head. “But however would he get those antlers through timber?” “I don’t think he frequented forests much,” O’Neill said. “The plains suited him better. But he must have been able to lay his horns right back—all deer can do that when necessary. I dare say he could dodge through trees at a good rate.” “Well, he looks as if he could hardly have got through the doorway of a Town Hall,” Wally commented. “You have a splendid lot of heads. Did you shoot them yourself?” “A few—I can’t do much stalking,” O’Neill said. “I got those two tigers, but that was from the back of an elephant. My father shot most of the others; he was a mighty hunter. The trout were mine”—he indicated some huge stuffed specimens, in glass cases, on the wall. “They’re splendid,” Wally said, regarding his host with much admiration. “And you actually shot the tigers! Was it very exciting?”