thousands go, till they faded like a stretch of black smoke a hundred miles below.
“The Angel Gabriel turned and saw me, and I must confess I shivered.
“ ‘Well, King Brian Connors,’ says he, ‘I hope you see that there’s such a thing as being too wise and too cute and too ticklish of yourself. I can’t send you to the stars, bekase they’re full, and I won’t send you to the bottomless pit so long as I can help it. I’ll send yez all down to the world. We’re going to put human beans on it purty soon, though they’re going to turn out to be blaggards, and at last we’ll have to burn the place up. Afther that, if you’re still there, you and yours must go to purdition, for it’s the only place left for you.’
“ ‘You’re too hard on the little man,’ says the Angel Michael, coming up—St. Michael was ever the out- spoken, friendly person—‘sure, what harm, or what hurt, or what good could he have done us? And can you blame the poor little crachures for not interfer- ing?’
“ ‘Maybe I was too harsh,’ says the Angel Gabriel, ‘but being saints, when we say a thing we must stick
to it. Howsumever, I’ll let him settle in any part of
