“Faith, an it’s me that’s caught--’deed an it is so, thin,” he cried, with a burst of laughter. “An ye got the donkey up to the garret! Sure it bates the wurruld, so it does. An didn’t I hair the noise? but how cud I ivir dhrame it wor that. An ye got him jist close fornist me, so ye did! It wor just in me own air that he hooted, so it wor.” Pat now grew quite communicative, and told Bart all about it. His motive for creating an excitement was simply to get a chance of laughing at the other boys, who had so often laughed at him. There was no malice whatever in his intention; nothing at all of the nature of vengefulness; but simply a mischievous and thoughtless idea of throwing some ridicule on the boys generally. Bart’s discovery of the truth was known to him, but he did not care for that; he was determined to keep up his little joke as long as it could be kept up. He had been startled that night when the string had been jerked from his hand, but afterwards concluded that it was the wind. The knock at the doors he explained very simply. He had stolen up barefoot, and as the screech sounded, he had struck each door with a stick, and then ran. He was down below before they could see him. All this Pat explained with perfect ease and much merriment, regarding it all as a good joke, not even excepting the last affair with the donkey. But what, it may be asked, was that screech which had been the beginning of it all? It was all explained on the following morning. Early on that morning the donkey had been brought down stairs with little difficulty, but with an immense amount of noise. As the boys brought him out, Pat marched quietly after them, carrying an enormous Owl! One by one the boys heard the news. The whole school came flocking out to look upon the objects of their late terror. Gradually the whole story came out, and the boys, in their sudden recoil from a general panic, now gave way to the wildest uproar and merriment. A laughing procession followed the donkey to his rural home, while Pat took the owl down into the kitchen to get some meat for it from Solomon. Meanwhile Solomon had heard of the revelation of the dark mystery, and was running out to satisfy himself, when he met Pat half way. “O, de sakes, now!” cried old Solomon. “What dis heah scubbry dat hab turn up on dis smilin an ’spicious morn. Whar’s dat ar an’mal what hab ben kickin up sech a ’menjous bobberation, an ob whose ’sploits I hab heard so much? Am dis heah de ’sterious an stror’ny phiantium dat hab frikened dis ’stracted ole nigga man mos to deff?” “Sure an here he is,” said Pat, holding forward the bird, “an as fine a owl as ye’d wish fur till clap yer eyes on, so he is.” Solomon stood looking at the owl for a few moments. Then he made a low bow, with absurd extravagance of gesture. Then he burst forth in a strange tone, which seemed like a desperate attempt at sarcasm.