to refrain from laughing in McCarron’s face, to see the style in which he performed this part of his unaccustomed work. Meanwhile McCarron was trying his best to gain intelligence from his companion. He succeeded indifferently, as McKenna was, to all appearances, as ignorant as the man in the moon of everything connected with the Mollies. When the policeman had nearly spoiled the bedroom carpet with the melted tallow constantly dropping from his migratory candle, and exhausted himself in making drawings of the Yost matter, giving the position he occupied, and the places in which the murderers stood, over and over again, McKenna put a stop to the proceedings by politely asking the fellow to leave, as he wanted to obtain a little sleep before morning. Seeing that he could gain nothing by his extraordinary efforts at “roping,” the drunken guardian of the peace, after a while, took the hint and went stumbling down the staircase, muttering to himself about the “ignorance of some people.” He had been unable to impose upon McKenna, and flattered himself that it was because of that person’s stupidity. There was stupidity in the business, but it was in McCarron, not with McKenna. The Sunday following, after visiting church, in the forenoon, with Miss Higgins, and subsequently taking her a pleasant evening’s walk, the agent met Kerrigan again at Carroll’s, and the pair went to the scene of the Yost murder together, the Bodymaster designating the vicinities which McCarron, on a previous occasion, had tried so hard to explain to the operative. Kerrigan marked the very spot on which McGehan and Boyle had stood, under the shadow of the trees, where he was waiting, armed only with a stone, to put in work if found necessary, then to lead the men away after their job was done, and gave him other information of great importance. He said that he, Kerrigan, was wearing the same pantaloons he had on the night of the murder only they were industriously patched by his wife. He ruptured them badly, running in the bush, and, the next morning, was asked by Mrs. Kerrigan how the holes were made. She was satisfied when he told her he fell down the bank by the house and nearly killed himself. A little later, Kerrigan took a seat, near the Odd Fellows’ Cemetery, on some rocks, and proceeded to dwell upon his own fortunes and those of some of his friends. The “babe,” according to his own story, was born in Schuylkill County; had received no education, no schooling, in fact, since he was an infant; had been successively a coal-picker, a miner, and, during the late war, a soldier, in the cavalry branch of the service, under gallant Phil Sheridan. As to McGehan, he said he hailed from Donegal, Ireland, but had been partly reared in America. Alex. Campbell, reported the same historian, was married, and had a family, his wife being also a native of Donegal. It was well toward morning when the two Mollies separated.