"It was you I wished to see, sor," the old man went on, placing his tall hat on my desk and his moist red handkerchief within the hat. "Ye have been a friend to me more than once, and I wish your advice." He slowly drew an honest, well-worn wallet from his hip pocket. I protested. "Ye are a young felly, sor, and this is different," he said. "'Tis me intention to pay you for the service I ask." From "young felly" to "little felly" was a quick mental transition, and instantly I grasped the opportunity that would enable me, as well as the senior counsel, to bear gifts to the Heir Apparent, so I said: "Well, Mr. O'Connor, if you wish to employ me, of course—" I paused, while he extracted and laid upon my desk a battered ten dollar bill. I immediately secluded it. In justice to my poor self I must digress once more. The "little felly" now possesses, in addition to a silver mug, (and the "mug" Heaven gave him as a lineal descendant) a silver spoon and a silver fork of no mean dimensions, suitably inscribed. However, that is nobody's business but my own. Probably that is why I tell it. I never could keep my business to myself, any more than I now can O'Connor's. "'Tis like this, sor," the old fellow proceeded. "I have it in me moind to go to th' ould counthree. I kem over whin I was a lad, so-o—well, sor, there is much I dishremember now. But I would like some day to tell the little felly all about it, and—" Here he paused a moment. "Me sister is there, too," he added, "and sor, well—I would be afther askin' you to arrange the thrip for me. I wish to have it done decent, d'ye moind, and, whishper! I don't know the ropes mesilf, and I don't want the odthers to know I don't know them, d'ye moind?" Here was confidence from a client, indeed. Never mind about the succeeding details, consisting of a letter of credit, exchange, passage, and an excellent stateroom in the second cabin. To all these details I attended personally, and can and do vouch for their careful accomplishment. On a certain day I shall never forget—it was in the latter part of the same August—I stood looking out of the window of our office. From it I had a clear view of the harbor and of the vessels that came to and left it. Soon, a Cunarder glided into my vista, and, passing out, left a quickly lost picture of white wake, purple sea, and low hanging gray smoke. But the thought in my heart as I stood and watched remains: "God bless his kindly old heart! and God grant he may return safe and sound to the 'little felly.'" I speak of it as a thought. It must have been a prayer, so quickly was it answered. As I stood watching the slow blending of the smoke with the mellow light of the afternoon, I heard behind me a gentle, initiatory cough. I turned. There stood O'Connor himself, hat in hand, in the centre of the office. I can tell you nothing of his entrance. "What in the world!" I exclaimed and asked.