As Evarne walked back to Shamrock Street, she thought somewhat ruefully that she had fallen among a very queer and reckless--not to say shady--set of people. Everything connected with them and their enterprise seemed a matter of makeshifts. She could not help smiling to recall the grandiose announcements printed at the head of the official notepaper. "Company of Star Artistes," indeed! Fancy herself, then, never having yet set foot upon the boards or spoken one word in public, being created leading lady amid these universal stars! Still, it was such a silly soft part in such a silly soft play she had to act, that she was troubled by no apprehensions as to whether she was sufficiently powerful, or emotional, or capable, or anything else. She was fully convinced of her ability to rise to equal heights with the other stars--at all events as far as those constellations, Mrs. Punter and Jessie, were concerned. The following evening, sure enough, rehearsals of a sort did indeed commence. Mr. Heathmore was not forthcoming, and "Caledonia's Bard" without "Bobbie" was even worse than "Hamlet" without the "Prince of Denmark." Still, it was a comfort to make a start of any sort. Jessie Kennedy at once brought up Harry Douglas, and presented him to Miss Stornway. He was undertaking two minor _rôles_ in addition to managing the limelight and helping to shift scenery, and within the first five minutes' conversation this all-round genius had incidentally remarked that for several years he had been a professional lightweight prize-fighter. Two men--besides the ubiquitous "Bobbie"--had dialogue parts with Evarne. Joe Harold--who played her stage father--she had heard much of already. Jessie had procured him this engagement, and had confided to her new friend that ere the tour ended she hoped to have brought to pass another engagement of a more romantic and lasting type. He was absolutely the dearest boy alive, she declared. He was a Jew, his real name being Joe Moses, but no one would ever guess it. He hadn't got a hook nose, and he would share his last penny with a pal. He had only one failing in the world, sometimes he took a "wee drappie" too much to drink, but she would help him to conquer that weakness. He was a commercial traveller, but, being out of a job, had been pleased to join her in "Caledonia's Bard." John Montgomery--the stage doctor who had to aid "Bess" to persuade "Mary" to die respectably in bed--had great pretensions to good looks; moreover, he was both tall and stalwart. But he was no more a professional actor than the remainder of the company--as a rule he earned his bread as a compositor.