She plucked up the poker, and dug the fire into a blaze. “What's doing on you, man? You've skinned your knuckles like potato peel. Man, man, what for are you crying, at all?” Then Pete said in a thick croak, “Hould your bull of a tongue, Nancy, and take the child out of my arms.” She took the baby from him, and he rose to his feet as feeble as an old man. “Lord save us!” she cried. “The window broke, too. What's happened?” “Nothing,” growled Pete. “Then what's coming of Kirry? I left her at home when I went out at seven.”. “I'm choking with thirst, woman. Can't you be giving a man a drink of something?” He found a dish of milk on the table, where the supper had been laid, and he gulped it down at a mouthful. “She's gone--that's what it is. I see it in your face.” Then going to the foot of the stairs, she called, “Kirry! Kate! Katherine Cregeen!” “Stop that!” shouted Pete, and he drew her back from the stairs. “Why aren't you spaking, then?” she cried. “If you're man enough to bear the truth, I'm woman enough to hear it.” “Listen to me, Nancy,” said Pete, with uplifted fist. “I'm going out for an hour, and till I'm back, stay you here with the child, and say nothing to nobody.” “I knew it!” cried Nancy. “That's what she hurried me out for. Aw, dear! Aw, dear! What for did you lave her with that man this morning?” “Do you hear me, woman?” said Pete; “say nothing to nobody. My heart's lying heavy enough already. Open your lips, and you'll kill me straight.” Then he went out of the house, staggering, stumbling, bent almost double. His hat lay on the floor; he had gone bareheaded. He turned towards Sulby. “She's there,” he thought “Where else should she be? The poor, wandering lamb wants home.” XVII. The bar-room of “The Manx Fairy” was full of gossips 'that night, and the puffing of many pipes was suspended at a story that Mr. Jelly was telling. “Strange enough, I'm thinking. 'Deed, but it's mortal strange. Talk about tale-books--there's nothing in the 'Pilgrim's Progress' itself to equal it. The son of one son coming home Dempster, with processions and bands of music, at the very minute the son of the other son is getting kicked out of the house same as a dog.” “Strange uncommon,” said John the Widow, and other voices echoed him. Jonaique looked round the room, expecting some one to question him. As nobody did so, except with looks of inquiry, he said, “My ould man heard it all. He's been tailor at the big house since the time of Iron Christian himself.” “Truth enough,” said Cæsar. “And he was sewing a suit for the big man in the kitchen when the bad work was going doing upstairs.” “You don't say!” “'You've robbed me!' says the Ballawhaine.” “Dear heart alive!” cried Grannie. “To his own son, was it?”