"That's all, yer 'an'r." Then he added, with a sly look at me:—
"May be ye'll keep yer eye out for a nice bit o' bog as ye go along."
"Get on, Andy," said I. "Shut up! you ould corncrake." I felt I could afford to chaff with him as we were alone.
He grinned, and went away. But he had hardly gone a few steps when he returned and said, with an air of extreme seriousness:—
"As I'm goin' to Knockcalltecrore, is there any missage I kin take for ye to Miss Norah?"
"Oh, go on!" said I. "What message should I have to send, when I never saw the girl in my life?"
For reply he winked at me with a wink big enough to cover a perch of land, and, looking back over his shoulder so that I could see his grin to the last, he went along the corridor—and I went back to bed.
It did not strike me till a long time afterwards—when I was quite close to Knocknacar—how odd it was that Andy had asked me to give the message to his father. I had not told him I was even coming in the direction—I had not told anyone—indeed, I had rather tried to mislead when I spoke of taking a walk that day, by saying some commonplace about 'the advisability of breaking new ground' and so forth. Andy had evidently taken it for granted; and it annoyed me somewhat that he could find me so transparent. How-
