THE LOST TRIBES 
 
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THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 Nathan P. Dann does not come into this story. 
 He died before any of the things which I have to 
 record happened. And he died, as he had lived, in 
 New York, while the scene of the story is a small 
 village in County Galway. It is, however, necessary 
 to write down a few words about Nathan P. Dann. 
 
 He was by birth and descent an Irishman. Very 
 early in life, at about the age of nineteen, he left 
 Ireland and went to America. There he prospered 
 and became very rich. This is an important fact. 
 If Nathan P. Dann had not left a large fortune, his 
 widow could not have done or attempted the things 
 she did. 
 
 Like most Irishmen, who live anywhere in the 
 world except Ireland, Nathan P. Dann was patriotic. 
 He did not, indeed, return to Ireland, or show, at 
 any time of his life, the smallest desire to live there. 
 The patriotism of an " Exile from Erin " never takes 
 that form. Generally, though not in the case of 
 Nathan P. Dann, it expresses itself in a series 
 of self-denying efTorts to help other people out of 
 Ireland. The Irish Exile pays his friends' fares from 
 Queenstown to New York. He only pays his own 
 
2 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 fare from New York to Queenstown when he takes a 
 return ticket, and he always uses the second half of 
 it. Dann did not even take an Irish holiday at any 
 time during his life. He made two expeditions to 
 Europe, but on both occasions he spent his time 
 chiefly in Italy. This was perhaps his wife's fault. 
 She was fond of art and poetry. Dann himself was 
 not. 
 
 Nor did his patriotism lead him to subscribe to 
 the funds of any "League." Most Irishmen in 
 America subscribe generously to Leagues whose 
 objects they only vaguely understand. We may 
 suppose that they find this the easiest way of 
 quieting their consciences. They feel that they owe 
 something to the country of their origin ; so they 
 listen to people who talk beautifully about Kathleen 
 n{ Houlahan, and then write a cheque for five or ten 
 dollars in support of the cause. Nathan P. Dana 
 was often asked to subscribe to Ireland, but he never 
 did. Many people thought that he had no con- 
 science ; but in this, as appeared after his death, 
 they were mistaken. The real reason of his refusal 
 was a religious one. He was born and brought up a 
 Protestant, and he remained all his life convinced 
 that Kathleen ni Houlahan and the " Leagues " 
 which supported blameless Members of Parliament 
 to plead her cause were deeply touched with the 
 spirit of the Papacy. He also believed that the Irish 
 people were descendants of the ten tribes of Israel 
 which got lost in the time of the Assyrian Empire. 
 At these two beliefs Nathan P. Dann's religion 
 stopped short. There was no more of it. 
 
 It is true that he built a church, a very handsome 
 one, for the Reverend Richard Sebright, who was a 
 popular Baptist minister ; but this was not, strictly 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 3 
 
 speaking, a religious act. He did it to please his 
 wife. Mrs. Sebright was Mrs. Dann's first cousin, 
 and the two ladies were great friends. Nathan P. 
 Dann found it necessary, for the sake of domestic 
 quiet, to do something for the Sebrights. It was 
 suggested to him that he should start a newspaper 
 and present it to Bobby Sebright, the minister's son, 
 who was a journalist. After going into the figures 
 carefully he came to the conclusion that it would be 
 cheaper to build a church for the Reverend Richard. 
 It is not therefore possible to add belief in the 
 doctrines of the Baptists to the other two articles of 
 Dann's creed. He disliked the Pope. He thought 
 fondly of the Ten Lost Tribes. But he never went 
 to hear the Reverend Richard Sebright preach in the 
 new church. 
 
 Nevertheless, Nathan P. Dann had a conscience. 
 This was made plain when his will was read. He 
 left everything he had to his wife ; and he expressed 
 a wish that she should search out, and if possible 
 assist, the descendants of his sister, who had married 
 an Irish clergyman called Mervyn. The Reverend 
 Richard Sebright was of opinion that Nathan P. 
 Dann showed a Christian spirit in this request. 
 Bobby was of the same opinion at first. Mrs. Dann 
 the widow was thrilled. She was a lady of high 
 romantic nature. The wish which her husband 
 expressed provided her with a mission. She held 
 Mrs, Sebright's hand tightly and said that she would 
 devote her life and her husband's fortune to the 
 children of her sister-in-law and to dear Ireland. 
 She was an American of New England descent, but 
 she had no difficulty in feeling a strong affection for 
 Ireland. 
 
 Afterwards Mr. Otto Bernstein, in the course of a 
 
4 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 private conversation with Bobby Sebright, threw 
 some light on the spirit of Nathan P. Dann's will. 
 Otto Bernstein was Nathan's partner and his only 
 intimate friend. 
 
 "The widow of my partner," he said, "is one 
 d d fool." 
 
 "Sure," said Bobby, "but there's points in her 
 favour. She's a good-natured woman." 
 
 " It is that which I meant," said Bernstein, " when 
 
 I said d d fool, and my poor friend he knew it. 
 
 He knew the money would go-fly." 
 
 "That's so," said Bobby, "but there's a lot of it. 
 I guess it'll last out her time." 
 
 " The other woman," said Bernstein, " the sister, 
 
 is a still more d d fool. So my poor friend said 
 
 to me. The wife, that is the widow now, she did one 
 wise thing. She married Nathan P. Dann. That is 
 what my poor friend said to me. ' She did marry 
 me,' he said, 'but the other one,'^the sister you 
 understand me — 'she hadn't as much wisdom as 
 
 that. She married the d dest fool of all the 
 
 three.' " 
 
 " I'm out after her, or her children, this minute," 
 said Bobby, "kind of hunting her up in books of 
 reference. Aunt Sally May — she's not my^aunt, you 
 know, but I've always called her aunt " 
 
 " It will be to your advantage still to do so," said 
 Bernstein. 
 
 " I don't deny that it may. But just now she's 
 not thinking of me. She's dead set on tracking out 
 this Mervyn man. The lady — so old Nathan seemed 
 to think — is dead." 
 
 "It's the same thing," said Bernstein. "The 
 money will go. My poor friend he said to me, 
 'They may do anything with it.' He meant any 
 
THE LOST TRIBES S 
 
 fool thing, anything with no sense in it at all. ' It 
 may be,' he said to me, 'that they will use my 
 
 money to ' I have forgot the word, but it meant 
 
 to make better the state of his country, of Ireland." 
 
 " Regenerate ? " said Bobby. 
 
 "That is it. There is much sadness in the 
 thought. My friend he did feel the sadness of it. 
 His money that he made, he and I together in the 
 past time, it will be used by fools to make better, to 
 regenerate, the state of Ireland, so my poor friend 
 did say to me." 
 
 "Aunt Sally May," said Bob, " will take on the job 
 of regenerating Ireland right away, as soon as ever 
 it occurs to her that Ireland wants it." 
 
 " It is that," said Bernstein, " which we did 
 foresee." 
 
 Mr. Otto Bernstein disappears from our story at 
 this point. He has served his purpose in reporting 
 to Bobby Sebright the words of Nathan P. Dann. 
 There is no doubt that he reported them quite 
 accurately. But it is possible, even likely, that he 
 conveyed a wrong idea to the mind of Bobby Sebright. 
 The soul of a clever Irishman is a very curious thing, 
 and this is peculiarly true of clever Irishmen who 
 have lived long in England or America. Bobby 
 Sebright thought he understood. The dead man 
 was a cynical pessimist who found a kind of tortur- 
 ing delight in the thought that the money he had 
 made laboriously would be wasted by a foolish 
 woman in a singularly foolish manner. But Nathan 
 P. Dann had one positive belief of a romantic kind. 
 He clung to the faith that he and his fellow-country- 
 men were descended from Ephraim and Manasseh, 
 and he knew that his wife, though a fool, had a 
 very kind heart. It is possible that both Otto 
 
6 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 Bernstein and Bobby Sebright were mistaken, 
 Dann may have hoped that his wife would do some 
 good with his money ; that just because she was 
 
 what Bernstein called a d d fool she might 
 
 succeed where wise people fail. She did not, in 
 fact, do anything for Ireland, though she tried ; but 
 she did accomplish some tangible good. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 In an upper room of the little rectory Delia Mervyn 
 stood brushing a coat. It was her father's best coat, 
 a garment of respectable antiquity. He bought it 
 for his wedding, and the wedding had taken place 
 twenty-two years before. Coats very seldom last 
 twentytwo years, but this one showed no signs of 
 wear. Mr. Mervyn only put it on once every year, 
 on the occasion of his bishop's visitation. At all 
 other times it lay in a drawer, guarded from n^oths 
 by a piece of camphor. Mrs. Mervyn watched over 
 it as long as she lived. When she died Delia, her 
 daughter, took over the care of the coat, the house- 
 keeping books, and the key of the store-room. She 
 brushed it and laid it on the bed with a sigh. It 
 looked quite decent. There were no threadbare 
 patches, no polished surfaces at wrist or elbow, but 
 Delia sighed. She feared that it was likely to be 
 antique in shape, altogether different from the coats 
 of younger men. Her fear was well founded. Mr. 
 Mervyn's coat had long been a joke amongst his 
 clerical brethren, 
 
 Delia looked out of the window and saw her 
 father. He was in his shirt-sleeves and was harness- 
 ing a white pony, ^neas Sweeny, an incompetent 
 man-of-all-work, was giving advice and rubbing at 
 the brass mounting of the harness with a cloth; 
 Delia turned to a cupboard and took from it a silk 
 
8 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 hat, carefully wrapped in tissue-paper. She looked 
 at it sadly. It was old, as old as the coat, but it still 
 took a fine gloss when she brushed it. But Delia 
 feared it was old-fashioned and that her father would 
 look grotesque when he wore it. Delia did not know 
 what contemporary hats looked like. It is very hard 
 to keep abreast of the fashion when you live in a 
 remote village in County Galway. Had she been 
 able to walk along Bond Street or Piccadilly she 
 would have been reassured about her father's hat. 
 It was almost exactly the shape most favoured by 
 hatters at the moment. The silk hat varies within 
 very narrow limits. It gets higher or lower. Its 
 brim is broad and curly or narrow and flat* The 
 middle of it, its waist, if we can use the phrase of a 
 hat, may be compressed, or it may remain of the 
 same girth from crown to brim. But with these the 
 possibilities of variety are exhausted. The fashions 
 in hats and collars work in circles. Keep a hat or 
 a collar long enough and it rides once more on the 
 foremost wave of the mode. Mr. Mervyn had kept 
 his hat for twenty-two years. It was a little behind 
 the fashion when he bought it. It was quite of the 
 newest style when Delia brushed it. 
 
 The pony was harnessed at last, .^neas Sweeny, 
 dressed in his best clothes, drove it round to the front 
 of the rectory. Onny, christened Honoria, Donovan, 
 a servant carefully trained by Delia, stood on the 
 doorstep to watch the departure. Mr, Mervyn put 
 on the coat and hat. Delia, looking at him doubt- 
 fully, followed him to the door. She patted his coat 
 and pulled at it. It had fitted him once, but Mr. 
 Mervyn had shrunk of late years. He was a bigger 
 man, wider round the chest and thicker in the arm, 
 when the coat was made. Meek men, and Mr. 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 9 
 
 Mervyn was very meek, seldom grow portly in later 
 life. 
 
 " I hope— I do hope," said Delia, " that she'll be 
 nice." 
 
 " I hope so ; I sincerely hope so," said Mr. Mervyn. 
 
 He was nervous. The occasion was a great one. 
 He was to pay his first formal call on his new sister- 
 in-law, a lady whom he vaguely suspected of being 
 wealthy. 
 
 " I wish," he said — " I almost wish that I could 
 take you with me, Delia." 
 
 There was no reason why he should not take 
 Delia. Yet he shook his head gravely as he ex- 
 pressed the wish. He failed to realise that Delia 
 had grown up into a young woman. We meet 
 occasionally elderly country gentlemen who speak 
 of their elderly sisters, ladies of sixty years of age, as 
 " the girls." Their lives have been spent in pleasant 
 monotony. They have failed to note the passing of 
 time and the coming of grey hairs. Mr. Mervyn was 
 like them. His days, since the death of his wife, had 
 flowed calmly. There was nothing in them to force 
 on him the thought that they were flowing at all. 
 He still thought of Delia as a child, and Delia her- 
 self, though she knew she was a woman, still re- 
 garded it as impossible that she should be taken to 
 pay a visit. 
 
 Mr. Mervyn fed the pony with two lumps of 
 sugar. She and he were old and affectionate friends. 
 Her name was Biddy and she had pulled him about 
 the parish for many years. Delia looked critically 
 at the phaeton. It was a very old vehicle, bought 
 originally at an auction at Druminawona House after 
 the death of the last Lady Engleby. It could not 
 by any means have been made to look smart, but 
 
lo THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 ^neas Sweeny had done his best with it. He had 
 washed it. He had also washed his own face* He 
 realised fully that the occasion was a great one. An 
 Irish servant may be, and often is, singularly inefficient 
 at ordinary times. Routine will paralyse his energies, 
 but the worst Irish servant will rise brilliantly to a 
 great occasion. The unaccustomed, which bewilders 
 the mechanically efficient Englishman, spurs him to 
 heroic exertions, ^neas Sweeny had rubbed a 
 quantity of soft soap into his skin although the day 
 was Saturday, not Sunday. He had also scrubbed 
 the phaeton and polished the harness. He had 
 groomed Biddy's white coat. 
 
 Mr. Mervyn got into the phaeton and waved his 
 hand to Delia, affecting a cheerfulness which he did 
 not feel, ^neas settled himself on the small perch 
 at the back of the phaeton. This was another 
 concession to the occasion, ^neas usually sat beside 
 his master and conversed with him in a friendly tone. 
 He had not for several years sat on the perch at the 
 back. Mr. Mervyn looked round nervously. The 
 phaeton was very old, and ^neas had grown heavier 
 of late. He thought it possible that the perch might 
 break, ^neas reassured him with a smile. The 
 little seat was stronger than it looked, ^neas folded 
 his arms across his chest, put his chin up and stared 
 straight in front of him. Mr. Mervyn shook the reins. 
 Biddy ambled down the drive towards the road. 
 Delia and Oriny Donovan were left standing at the 
 rectory door. 
 
 The Irish gentry of bygone days showed singu- 
 larly little imagination in the building of their houses. 
 Not one of them in a hundred had any idea beyond 
 four straight unbroken walls, rtieeting each other at 
 right-angles. But they all rejoiced in long avenues. 
 
THE LOST TRIBES ii 
 
 If circumstances rendered it impossible to place their 
 mansions a mile or more from the high road, they 
 laid out curved winding approaches so as to get the 
 longest possible amount of driving through their own 
 grounds. The avenue of Druminawona House coiled 
 about among lime-trees and beeches in a wholly 
 unnecessary way. Biddy, who was a wise pony, 
 resented the extra toil imposed on her and relapsed 
 into a walk. When he came in sight of the house 
 Mr. Mervyn hit her sharply with the whip. He had 
 never done such a thing before. Biddy stopped in 
 sheer amazement. Recovering herself a little, she 
 turned her head round and looked at Mr. Mervyn. 
 Her eyes expressed reproach and astonishment. Mr. 
 Mervyn apologised at once. His apology took the 
 form of an explanation. He addressed it to ^neas 
 Sweeny ; it was really meant to soothe Biddy's 
 feelings. 
 
 " I think," he said, " that we ought to trot up to 
 the door. These Americans, you know, expect — I 
 mean to say " 
 
 What Mr. Mervyn meant to say was that' the 
 American nation had grown great by its devotion to 
 vigorous efficiency, and that it might be regarded as 
 a sign of feebleness if Biddy were allowed to crawl 
 up to the door of the house. He failed to find words 
 to express this thought ; but iEneas understood him. 
 He whistled with a view to encouraging the pony. 
 Biddy also understood and half accepted the apology. 
 Her face still wore its expression of shocked amaze- 
 ment, but she changed her walk for a shambling 
 trot. 
 
 Mr, Mervyn had paid several visits to Drumina- 
 wona House. It was, so he thought, his duty to call 
 upon such of the vagrant fishermen as rented it from 
 
12 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 time to time in order to catch salmon in the river. 
 On such occasions he was embarrassed^ by the 
 ceremony of his reception. A manservant met him 
 at the door and led him across the broad hall in 
 stately silence. Mr. Mervyn was a diffident man and 
 unused to the society of butlers. He always felt 
 awkward and uncomfortable while he slouched after 
 them. This time he fell into a worse embarrassment 
 than any butler could have created. Mrs. Dann 
 herself met him. The door stood open when he 
 arrived, and as he stepped out of the phaeton he was 
 aware that his sister-in-law was running, literally 
 running, across the hall to greet him. She tinkled as 
 she ran, because she had a number of metal objects 
 hanging loose about her. She also made a cooing 
 noise in her throat. She was a small woman and 
 very slight. Mr. Mervyn was glad of this because he 
 was very much afraid that she meant to kiss him. 
 He drew himself up to his full height as she came 
 near. He was, when he chose to stretch himself out, 
 fully six feet high. As a rule he stooped and 
 walked about with rounded shoulders ; but when he 
 saw Mrs. Dann running up to him, and heard her 
 cooing, he stood bolt upright. Mrs. Dann could not 
 reach to his face, and of course would not kiss his 
 hands. She seized them both and shook them 
 heartily. Mr. Mervyn heard Biddy fidgeting behind 
 him and felt ashamed of the warmth of his sister-in- 
 law's greeting. Biddy was staid and elderly. She 
 had spent all her life in the West of Ireland and was 
 not accustomed to effusive manners. 
 
 Mrs. Dann let go his left hand and, holding his 
 right in both hers, towed him rapidly across the hall. 
 She ejaculated phrases of welcome. Her cooing 
 between .the phrases got louder. Mr. Mervyn was 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 13 
 
 greatly astonished. She was a widow, and widows, 
 as he thought, were naturally shrinking creatures, 
 inclined to tears. Mrs. Dann was full of force and 
 energy. Life bubbled from her. 
 
 They reached the large drawing-room, and Mr. 
 Mervyn, before he had even succeeded in taking off 
 his hat, was bumped forcibly into a deep armchair. 
 Mrs. Dann sat down exactly opposite him and began 
 to talk with great vehemence. She gesticulated with 
 her hands as she spoke and tinkled repeatedly in 
 a way which bewildered Mr. Mervyn very much. At 
 last he managed to speak. 
 
 " I'm very glad to meet you, Mrs. Dann," he said 
 feebly. 
 
 She burst into smiling indignation. 
 
 " Now that won't do anyhow," she said. " We're 
 brother and sister, aren't we ? That's so. I'm just 
 Sally May, and I have it all planned out to call you 
 Phil. Just you call me Sally May right away or else 
 we'll quarrel." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn hesitated. 
 
 " Say Sally May," she repeated. 
 
 " Sarah," said Mr. Mervyn. 
 
 Sally was beyond him for the moment. It 
 seemed an impossibly familiar way of addressing a 
 lady who was a total stranger to him. Mrs. Dann 
 sat looking at him for a moment with her head 
 tilted on one side. 
 
 " If you think," she said, " that you're going to 
 induce me to call you Theophilus, you've just got to 
 get the notion out of your head straight off. I don't 
 say but I might get round the four syllables of that 
 name if I was real angry with you ; but for ordinary 
 use Phil's quite long enough. If you and I are going 
 to be friends you're Phil, and I'm Sally May." 
 
14 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 Mr. Mervyn deliberately shirked the difficulty. 
 He fell baek upon the remark with which he always 
 opened conversation with the strangers who came to 
 fish. 
 
 " I hope," he said, " that you like Druminawona." 
 
 The strangers were usually polite enough to say 
 that they did, though they often added a complaint 
 about the weather. If they were very enthusiastic 
 fishermen they said that it did not rain enough. If 
 they were not absolutely absorbed in fishing they said 
 that it rained too much. Mrs. Dann expressed a 
 passionate delight in the place such as no one 
 else had ever felt. 
 
 " I'm regularly deep down in love with it," she 
 said. " I felt a kind of thrill all over me the very 
 minute Bobby Sebright mentioned the name of it to 
 me. ' Bobby,' I said, 'just you tell me that all over 
 again, and say it slow. It's a dream, that place, a 
 fairy vision of an Arabian night' I made him get 
 the cable right away and I told him to hold it against 
 an emperor till he'd rung up a house agent on this 
 side. I had my mind made up the minute I'd heard 
 the name that if there was a shack in the place with 
 a roof on it I was bound to get it. Bobby's a good 
 boy. He's fixed me up all right, and I'll say this, 
 Phil, that I wouldn't have believed unless I'd seen it 
 that there could be a mansion anywhere equal to the 
 name of Druminawona in the matter of poetical 
 dilapidation. But there is, and it's this residence." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn's feelings were hurt. Druminawona 
 House had stood to him for many years as a type 
 of stately magnificence. It pained him to hear it 
 slighted. But he did not want to argue with his 
 sister-in-law. He turned the conversation away from 
 the dilapidation of the house. 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 15 
 
 " The name Druminawona," he said, " is Gaelic. 
 It means " 
 
 '• Don't you dare to tell me what it means," said 
 Mrs. Dann. " What's meaning anyway ? You'll just 
 spoil it for me if you go reading extracts from a 
 dictionary about it. What took me was the sound 
 of it. There was a book I was reading as I came 
 across about a titled lady on this side who sort of 
 specialised in long-drawn sighs. I used to read about 
 the way she uttered them, and every time she did I 
 said to myself ' That's Druminawona.' It's drawn out 
 so that I never seem to get clean through to the end 
 of it. It fascinates me. There was a poet man over 
 in New York last fall lecturing. I didn't go to listen 
 to him myself because Nathan was always con- 
 temptuous of poets, especially Irish ones. But 
 Emily Sebright had him in to tea and I went to 
 listen to his talk. I was struck. He orated quite a 
 lot about the mysticism of the Celt and the solemn 
 glow of the brown bogs and the majesty of the mist- 
 clad mountains and the general inarticulate yearnings 
 of the peasant soul. He roped me in, that young 
 man, and I bought up all the books of poetry he'd 
 written. But I reckon he was just a fraud. There 
 wasn't anything in him beyond what could be 
 extracted from Druminawona." 
 
 " It never struck me exactly in that light," said Mr. 
 Mervyn, " but no doubt you're right. I've lived too 
 long in the place to be much impressed by its name." 
 " Bobby Sebright hunted the- directories for me," 
 said Mrs. Dann, " when I was meditating on Nathan's 
 last request. He said there were four Mervyns 
 scattered about your church connection. He wanted 
 me to communicate with the other three before I 
 fluttered straight off here. But I said ' No.' I simply 
 
16 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 wouldn't listen to any talk about the other men. 
 The one I wanted for a brother was the one who 
 lived in Druminawona. That's you, Phil, so I just 
 cabled to say I was starting." 
 
 " I got the message," said Mr. Mervyn, " and I 
 wrote to Queenstown." 
 
 " I was dead sure you were the right man," said 
 Mrs. Dann, "the moment I heard the name of the 
 section where you lived. Bobby Sebright wasn't so 
 certain, but then Bobby hadn't had ^he advantage of 
 hearing the way Nathan spoke about the man his 
 sister had married. That's you, Phil. I won't repeat 
 what he said. It might make you vain. But I 
 gathered a pretty clear impression that if Nathan's 
 brother-in-law was ever found at all he'd be living in 
 a place with a name like Druminawona. You 
 couldn't live anywhere else, could you, Phil ? " 
 
 Mr. Mervyn sighed. There had been times in 
 his life when lie had hoped for some other sphere of 
 duty, some place a little less intellectually and 
 morally relaxing than Druminawona. But such 
 hopes were no more than memories. He had grown 
 so fond of the place and so accustomed to it that he 
 would have found it very difficult to live comfortably 
 anywhere else. The continual noise of the river 
 which rushed past the village soothed him. The 
 steep green mountains which shut him in on every 
 side were so familiar that a wide prospect would have 
 made him uneasy. He had certainly become the kind 
 of man that must live in Druminawona. But he was 
 puzzled by Mrs. Dann's swift intuitive recognition of 
 the fact. 
 
 " Say, Phil," said Mrs. Dann abruptly, " I'm just 
 hungry to hear about Delia. Just you start on now 
 and tell me all there is." 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 17 
 
 Mr. Mervyn began to recover his self-possession. 
 The frank friendliness of his sister-in-law's manner 
 was breaking down his shyness. And Delia was a 
 subject on which he felt well qualified to speak. He 
 often thought about her when he was alone, in an 
 aimless affectionate way. He ventured a quotation 
 from his favourite poet, starting the lines with a shy 
 smile : 
 
 " ' She dwelt among the untrodden ways. 
 Beside the springs of Dove ; 
 A maid whom there were none to praise, 
 And very few to love.' " 
 
 "That's Wordsworth," said Mrs, Dann. "I'm 
 there all the time in cultured society, and I've always 
 reckoned Wordsworth to be right on top in the 
 matter of poetry. But don't you try and get me by 
 saying that Delia hasn't got any young man." 
 
 " I'm afraid not," said Mr. Mervyn. 
 
 " My, Phil ! and why not? That's not what I call 
 natural." 
 
 " The fact is," said Mr. Mervyn, " that there aren't 
 any young men in Druminawona." 
 
 " That's so ? Come to think of it there wouldn't 
 be, of course. I ought to have seen that straight 
 away without being told. A place with a name like 
 Druminawona wouldn't run to young men unless they 
 were poets, and I reckon even a poet wouldn't stay 
 long enough to get young again after his first attack 
 of the divine inspiration. He'd be off to London or 
 across to our side to make something out of the fit 
 while it lasted. But I'll fix Delia up all right. You 
 tell her when you go home that I'll fetch along Bobby 
 Sebright for her. Bobby's got a commission over 
 this side anyway. He's crossing by the next boat. 
 This little island of yours is booming just now ; and 
 
 c 
 
i8 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 Bobby's to write up your politics for his paper — 
 Home Rule, or something. I never took on much 
 with politics. Nathan P, Dann was sort of con- 
 temptuous and wouldn't subscribe a dollar, so I 
 didn't get much chance of catching on. But Bobby 
 Sebright's out to do the thing thoroughly. Seems to 
 me he can't do better than come straight through 
 here and stop till his time's up. Druminawona's just 
 Ireland done up in a small parcel. What isn't in 
 Druminawona isn't Ireland." 
 
 Mrs. Dann seemed to expect either an answer to 
 her speech or some applause; Mr. Mervyn supplied 
 a feeble assent. 
 
 " That may very well be so," he said. " I shouldn't 
 be in the least surprised if it were." 
 
 " You tell Delia what I say anyway," said Mrs. 
 Dann. " The thought of Bobby Sebright will keep 
 her from moping. The streams of Dove are real 
 poetical, Phil, and I'm not undervaluing Wordsworth, 
 but it seems to me a girl might get moped mighty 
 quick in Druminawona." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn rose. He wanted to go home and 
 think quietly about his sister-in-law. He felt startled 
 and bewildered. The shock of further plain speaking 
 would be too much for him. Mrs. Dann misunder- 
 stood his action. 
 
 " My, Phil ! " she said, " you are in a hurry. 
 Delia will wait a while without taking cold. You 
 needn't tell her about Bobby Sebright for a bit yet. 
 Sit down again." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn did so without attempting to explain 
 that he did not intend to speak to Delia about Bobby 
 Sebright. 
 
 " Bobby's what we call a hustler," said Mrs. Dann. 
 " When he comes along he'll want to speed up this 
 
THE -LOST TRIBES 19 
 
 place. It would do with a little speeding up. Seems 
 to me as if nobody had got a move on anything in 
 Druminawona since a few years before the Flood. 
 That's the charm of the locality ; but I'm not sure 
 that Bobby will quite appreciate it. Come to think 
 of it, I'm not sure that I'd care for it myself as a 
 permanency unless I'd made up my mind to die. 
 Druminawona is the best place I've run across yet 
 for a peaceable death." 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Mervyn seriously. " I've often 
 felt that when my time comes — and it can't be very 
 far off now " 
 
 He paused. He thought of the quiet corner of 
 his churchyard, a place where a thorn-tree grew and 
 bore a mass of pink blossom in springtime. His 
 eyes grew dreamily dim. For many years death had 
 seemed to him no more than a quiet kind of release 
 from the responsibility of living. 
 
 "What the place wants," said Mrs. Dann, "is 
 boosting. The inhabitants have got into the habit of 
 lying down under it without kicking. I don't say 
 that's not natural enough in Druminawona. Anybody 
 would be inclined to do the same with a five-syllabled 
 name like that hatching on top of him all day long. 
 But it's not right, Phil. It doesn't do to get left in a 
 siding. What you've got to do is boost a bit." 
 
 " Boost ? " said Mr. Mervyn feebly. 
 
 The word was new to him. He was not sure that 
 he knew exactly what it meant, though he suspected 
 that Bobby Sebright, who was described as a hustler, 
 was likely to be an expert in the art of boosting. 
 
 " I'm not sure that I quite understand — Boost ! " 
 
 " I don't know that I can explain the idea to you 
 right off. You haven't got the thing over this side, 
 specially in Druminawona. So it's not to be expected 
 
20 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 that you'd have the word. It means to kind of swell 
 yourselves out about the chest and gas a bit about the 
 way you have the upper grip on the rest of creation. 
 A first-rate booster figures to trample down circum- 
 stances that get interfering with the proper working 
 out of the eternal destiny of a mighty race ; sort of 
 brush them off the track without losing grip on the 
 rails. You catch me, Phil, don't you ? " ( 
 
 " I think I'm beginning to," said Mr. Mervyn. 
 
 " I'll help you all I can," said Mrs. Dann, " and 
 when Bobby comes along we'll make him lecture on 
 ' Man the Unwearied Striver and the Path to the Far- 
 off Mountain Top.' " 
 
 Mr. Mervyn smiled faintly. He had long ago 
 given up strife of every kind. He did not think that 
 any one in Druminawona cared much for the 
 mountain tops. 
 
 " Delia will admire him some when she hears him," 
 said Mrs. Dann, " and he'll take to Delia right away." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn rose again. This time he was quite 
 determined to go. He disliked the idea of being 
 goaded on to boost by Bobby Sebright. He still 
 more disliked Mrs. Dann's cheery plans for his 
 daughter's future. It seemed to him indecent to 
 assume that Delia would fall in love with a young 
 man the moment she saw him. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 Mrs. Dann accompanied her brother-in-law from 
 the room and across the hall. She talked volubly 
 as she went. She said that she was going to church 
 next day to hear Mr. Mervyn preach. 
 
 "You won't be able to help being poetic," she 
 said, "in a place like Druminawona, and I adore 
 poetical sermons. Richard Sebright's practical, and, 
 of course, that's all right in New York. They need it 
 there. But I expect the people here haven't any real 
 need of the Ten Commandments. What they need 
 is angels' songs. I'm looking forward to hear you 
 rendering that music, Phil." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn shivered uncomfortably. He was not 
 an eloquent preacher, and he cherished no illusions 
 about his own sermons. He had never in his life 
 attempted to put an angel's song into pulpit prose. 
 
 Mrs. Dann hoped that she would see Delia in 
 church. 
 
 "Give her my love," she said, "and tell her to 
 wear her smartest frock. It's my opinion, Phil, that 
 all good girls ought to have real smart frocks, and I 
 expect Delia will show up well." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn attempted a protest. He was not an 
 expert judge of frocks, but he had been sitting 
 opposite his sister-in-law for half an hour and he knew 
 that Delia's clothes were not like hers. Mrs. Dann 
 interrupted him. 
 
22 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 " Don't disappoint me, Phil," she said. " Delia's 
 a good girl. She may not patronise the Parisian 
 market, but I expect Say, Phil, what's that ? " 
 
 They had reached the hall door while she spoke. 
 Mrs. Dann stopped abruptly and clutched her brother- 
 in-law's arm. On the gravel sweep Biddy was 
 standing in an easy attitude between the shafts of the 
 phaeton. Her head drooped towards her knees. The 
 reins hung loose on her back, ^neas Sweeny, his 
 pipe in his mouth, was lying back in Mr. Mervyn's 
 seat. There was nothing about him to excite the 
 surprise of any one accustomed to his ways. Mr. 
 Mervyn supposed that it was the pony which had 
 attracted Mrs,. Dann's attention. 
 
 "That's Biddy," he ^aid with some pride, "my 
 pony. She's very intelligent and a great pet of 
 mine." 
 
 " I wasn't referring at that moment to the quad- 
 ruped," said Mrs. Dann, " though now I come to look 
 at her she strikes me as being pretty well in keep- 
 ing with Druminawona. She wants speeding up a 
 bit before she will be able to sit for her portrait as 
 a four-footed courser of the Arabian sands. What 
 brought me up short when considering the landscape 
 wasn't so much Biddy as Judas Iscariot." 
 
 She pointed to .^Eneas Sweeny as she spoke. He 
 slipped his pipe into his pocket, slouched sideways 
 out of the phaeton, and touched his hat, grinning 
 amiably. 
 
 "It's proud and pleased I am," he said, "to be 
 bidding your ladyship welcome to Druminawona. 
 His Reverence is after telling me that it's America 
 you come from. There's a brother of my own out 
 those parts, living with an uncle in a place they 
 call Pittsburg ; and Father Roche was telling me ere 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 23 
 
 yesterday of a cousin he has that's a priest in Chicago. 
 Indeed I wouldn't say but there isn't one in the place 
 but has friends more or less out where you come 
 from. And it's a warm welcome the people will give 
 you and pleased they'll be to see you." 
 
 Mrs. Dann ignored this speech. She seemed 
 highly excited and addressed a vehement explanation 
 to Mr. Mervyn. 
 
 " Nathan P. Dann," she said, " wasn't what you'd 
 call a first-rate believer in religion. I don't know 
 that I ever struck a creed that he'd have been willing 
 to say right through without clearing his throat. 
 But he wasn't a bed-rock atheist. There was one 
 religious notion that had a powerful hold on his 
 intellect. He had it fixed up that the Irish people 
 are the Ten Lost Tribes of Israel. There were two 
 shelves of books in his bedroom that proved it. 
 Seemed a foolish idea to me and one that didn't 
 matter muqh anyway. I just thought he was a bit 
 cracked about it. Seems to me now that I misjudged 
 him some. He'd more sense than I gave him credit 
 for. Look at that man ! " 
 
 Mr. Mervyn looked at yEneas Sweeny, .^neas 
 himself seemed blandly unconscious of anything 
 peculiar in his appearance. He knew that Mrs. Dann 
 was talking about him, but he gave no sign that he 
 was either pleased or annoyed. 
 
 " If his mother," said Mrs. Dann, " wasn't a 
 great-granddaughter of Judas Iscariot, I reckon his 
 father must have been the great-grandson of that 
 patriarch. I've studied Italian art quite a bit and 
 attended two courses of lectures on the Old Masters. 
 I'd recognise the face anywhere." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn looked at .^neas with fresh 
 interest. 
 
24 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 " His beard is red," he said, " very red." 
 
 " If it would be pleasing to your ladyship," said 
 .^neas, " to be taking a bit of a drive along by the 
 river where them big ferns do be growing, there's 
 nothing to hinder my bringing up the pony at any 
 time that your ladyship would appoint. It's little 
 use his Reverence makes of her," he added, as a kind 
 of afterthought, " and it's as good for Miss Delia to 
 be walking as driving. She's young, and has a fine 
 pair of legs under her." 
 
 " Look at his eyes," said Mrs. Dann. " It's not 
 his hair I'm going by so much as his eyes. If there 
 are many more people like him in this locality, Phil, 
 I'll do a little original research along the lines of that 
 notion of Nathan P.'s." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn pulled himself together with an efifort 
 and said a decided good-bye to his sister-in-law. He 
 got into the phaeton and took the reins. ^Eneas 
 Sweeny settled himself cautiously on the rickety back 
 seat. Biddy lifted her head and looked round to see 
 that everything was ready for a start and then trotted 
 quietly down the avenue. 
 
 " Your Reverence " said ^neas at last. 
 
 Mr. Mervyn took no notice of the appeal. He 
 had forgotten .(Eneas and Judas Iscariot. He was 
 not thinking of the Ten Lost Tribes of Israel. His 
 mind was entirely occupied with the idea of boosting 
 Druminawona. It seemed to him very horrible that 
 he should be called upon to boost. He found some 
 little comfort in the thought that it would be difficult 
 to get the people of Druminawona to join in the effort. 
 Without the co-operation and hearty approval of 
 Father Roche, the parish priest, it would scarcely be 
 possible to start the thing at all. Mr. Mervyn did 
 not think the priest would approve of anything of the 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 25 
 
 kind. He tried to picture a scene in which he and 
 Father Roche would boost together for the edification 
 of their parishioners. His imagination reeled. But 
 Mrs. Dann was evidently a woman of great force of 
 character. She would quite easily overpower him. 
 She might in the end (Compel Father Roche. They 
 would neither of them like it. 
 
 " I beg your Reverence's pardon, " said 
 
 ^neas again. 
 
 Mr. Mervyn did not hear him. He was thinking 
 that Sergeant Ginty, of the Royal Irish Constabulary, 
 would certainly approve of the boosting. The 
 sergeant was a lean, cold-hearted man, full of contempt 
 for Druminawona. He was a native of Portadown, 
 and he despised Connacht. Twenty-five years' 
 service in County Galway had softened the harshness 
 of his northern speech, but had only intensified his 
 admiration for the bustling ways of Ulster. Sergeant 
 Ginty was hopelessly out of touch with the spirit of 
 Druminawona. It is part of the plan for the good 
 government of Ireland that the police should, as far 
 as possible, be aliens in the places where they live. 
 Having enlisted a recruit in Kerry and trained him 
 carefully in Dublin, the authorities set him down in 
 some corner of County Antrim. The object is to 
 prevent the possibility of any sympathy between the 
 people and the law ; and, as a rule, the system is 
 entirely successful. Sergeant Ginty in Druminawona 
 was a fine example of its working. 
 
 Mr. Mervyn had no doubt that once back in 
 Portadown the sergeant would boost spontaneously 
 and well. By contemplating the sergeant he arrived 
 at a certain understanding of the meaning of the word. 
 Biddy trotted on. ^Eneas leaned forward cautiously 
 and spoke into his master's ear. 
 
26 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 " Your Reverence, sir, " he said. 
 
 Mr. Mervyn's mind had passed from the subject 
 of boosting. He was troubled by the thought of 
 Bobby Sebright and his marriage with Delia. The 
 prospect was singularly distasteful to him. Mrs. 
 Dann had hinted that Bobby Sebright was a hustler. 
 Mr. Mervyn felt quite sure that he could never really 
 like any one who hustled. Delia might. He admitted 
 the possibility with regret. It was possible that Delia 
 herself might learn to hustle. She would almost 
 certainly wear smart frocks if she could get them. 
 He thought with regret of a transformed Dalia, a 
 daughter hopelessly lost to him. 
 
 Mneas, despairing of attracting his master's^ten- 
 tion by mere speech, leaned forward again an'd shook 
 him by the arm. 
 
 "Well, .(Eneas," said Mr. Mervyn, "what is 
 it?" 
 
 " I wouldn't like to be speaking in any way that 
 would be disrespectful to a lady that's a near friend 
 of your Reverence's," said ^Eneas. 
 
 " I'm sure you wouldn't," said Mr. Mervyn. 
 
 " And, of course, I know well that she doesn't 
 mean the half of what she says. It would be a queer 
 thing if she did, but she doesn't. That sort likes to 
 be funning, and small blame to them." 
 
 " I wish I could agree with you about that," said 
 Mr. Mervyn. " I wish I could." 
 
 " She has a kind heart," said .(Eneas, " and she's 
 one that would be good to the poor." 
 
 This had not struck Mr. Mervyn ; but he had no 
 contradictions to urge. He said that he agreed with 
 JEneas. 
 
 " It's no more than what I'd expect," said ^Eneas, 
 " in any one that would be^ a near friend of your 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 27 
 
 Reverence, let alone that you could tell it by the two 
 eyes she has, and them twinkling like stars." 
 
 Mrs. Dann had been greatly impressed by the 
 appearance of ^Eneas Sweeny. It seemed, that he 
 had been equally impressed by hers. Biddy, who 
 had been walking very slowly for some time, stopped 
 altogether, and began to eat the grass which grew at 
 the roadside. Mr. Mervyn made no effort to make 
 her go on again. He was interested in Eneas' 
 estimate of Mrs. Dann's character. 
 
 " She's the kind of lady," said ^Eneas, " who'll be 
 wanting to do something, be the same more or less, 
 for the advantage of the people of the district where 
 she v?t)uld be living, whether it might be Druminawona 
 or the continent. of America." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn recognised the truth of this ; but he 
 was not pleased. Mrs. Dann seemed to him over- 
 anxious to benefit Druminawona. He woke to the 
 fact that Biddy was eating grass. He chucked at 
 the reins decisively and made a clicking noise with 
 the corners of his mouth. Biddy was a pony with a 
 conscience. She had resented the way in which Mr. 
 Mervyn had hit her with a whip earlier in the after- 
 noon because she felt that the blow was unjust. 
 She displayed no anger when her head was pulled 
 ruthlessly up from the pleasant grass because she 
 knew that she ought not to be eating grass. She 
 trotted on obediently. 
 
 " I'd be the last man in Ireland," said ./Eneas, 
 " to be vexed at anything that the like of her would 
 say, knowing well that she'd mean no harm by it, 
 whatever it might be." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn was far from being able to attain this 
 mood of high charity. He was ready to admit that 
 Mrs. Dann might not mean any. harm by what 
 
28 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 she said. He was very much afraid that, without 
 meaning it, she might do a great deal. He explained 
 this at some length to .^neas. 
 
 " That's just what I'm after saying myself," said 
 .(Eneas. " It's little she thinks of the trouble that 
 might come of the name she's after putting on me. 
 I wouldn't mind it coming from her. And I wouldn't 
 mind it from your Reverence, or Miss Delia, if so be 
 you was to be amusing yourselves by saying it But 
 it's a name I wouldn't like to get about the place. 
 Sergeant Ginty beyond there in the barrack has a 
 terrible spite against me, and them three young lads 
 of his would take a delight in shouting the like of 
 that name after me, and me going down the street. 
 It could be " 
 
 Eneas' voice sank to a whisper, and Mr. Mervyn 
 knew that he was getting at the heart of his 
 grievance. 
 
 " It could be that some time or another, when I 
 had a drop too much taken — and that's what might 
 happen to any man — unless maybe to your Reverence 
 — I'd strike one of them lads in a way that would make 
 a cripple of him. I needn't be telling your Reverence 
 of the way the sergeant would be acting then. I'd 
 be ashamed, so I would, and me in prison, of the 
 disgrace I'd been the means of bringing on yourself 
 and Miss Delia." 
 
 Biddy turned in at the rectory gate. .(Eneas, 
 realising that his time was short, came rapidly to the 
 point at which he had been aiming. 
 
 " If your Reverence would speak a word to her," 
 he said, "so that she wouldn't be saying the like 
 when anybody'd be listening, I'd be obliged to 
 you." 
 
 Before Mr. Mervyn was able to make any promise 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 29 
 
 Delia burst from the rectory door and ran to meet 
 him. 
 
 " Well," she said breathlessly, " tell me all about 
 her ! What's she like ? " 
 
 " The grandest ever you seen," said ^neas, " with 
 gold and silver hanging round her the same as pots 
 and kettles on a tinker." 
 
 " She seems very nice and kind," said Mr. Mervyn, 
 " and very — very full of life." 
 
 " I'm sure I'm glad to hear it," said Delia. " It's 
 time somebody alive came to Druminawona." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn sighed. He foresaw that Bobby 
 Sebright would also be alive. 
 
 " She has a great way with her," said ^neas, 
 "you'd wonder to see the two hands of her going 
 this way_ and that, and her talking like it might be 
 the shuttle of old Danny the weaver when he'd be 
 making the tweed." 
 
 " Is that true, father ? " said Delia. 
 
 " She does — I hardly like to say — gesticulate ! " 
 said Mr. Mervyn. "She emphasises what she has 
 to say with her hands." 
 
 " And them ringing like little bells," said .^Eneas. 
 
 " How lovely ! " said Delia. " I thought only 
 French people did that. What's her name ? " 
 
 "Sarah," said Mr. Mervyn, "and, I fancy, Mary." 
 
 Delia did not seem at all pleased. She knew 
 that her aunt's initials were " S. M." She had hoped 
 for something more striking than Sarah Mary. 
 Salome, perhaps, or Sophronia, for the " S."; Melissa, 
 or at the very least Myra, for the " M." She had 
 read in newspapers of American ladies with grandi- 
 loquent names. It seemed a pity that this new aunt 
 of hers — who, besides being American, was very rich 
 — should have such commonplace names as Sarah 
 
30 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 and Mary. Mr. Mervyn felt that he ought to improve 
 on his statement. 
 
 " She likes to be called Sally May," he said. 
 
 " That's better," said Delia. 
 
 " Names," said .^neas, " isn't everything. There's 
 many a one might have a name put on him that he 
 didn't deserve, and it might be hard enough to get 
 rid of it." 
 
 His mind was still dwelling on Judas Iscariot. 
 Mr. Mervyn didn't want to have that subject started 
 again. He got out of the phaeton and went into the 
 house. .(Eneas' voice followed him. 
 
 " If it's pleasing to your Reverence," he said, " to 
 attend to the little matter I was mentioning to you, 
 it would be a great convenience to me." 
 
 Delia was too much excited about her aunt to 
 take any interest in iEneas Sweeny's mysterious 
 business. 
 
 " When shall I see her ? " she asked. " Will she 
 be in church to-morrow ? " 
 
 " Yes, she will," he said. " She said so. But I'm 
 not sure that She will come in quite the right spirit. 
 I may be misjudging her. Indeed, I don't know 
 whether she's a member of our Church. I gathered 
 that her husband, your uncle, Delia, wasn't exactly a 
 Churchman. He believed in a sort of modification 
 of the ' British Israel ' theory, I don't think any the 
 worse of him for that. Lots of excellent Christians 
 take the greatest interest in that question. But, as 
 far as I could make out from your aunt, he didn't 
 believe in anything else. I remember attending a 
 man once in a workhouse hospital, a returned 
 American. He said he was a Protestant " 
 
 Delia interrupted her father and led him into the 
 dining-room for tea. She had often heard the story 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 31 
 
 of the man who spent fifty-five years in New York and 
 then came home to die. He remembered nothing about 
 the reh'gion taught him in his youth except the fact 
 that " In a vale in the land of Moab there stands a 
 lonely grave." The words, he said, had been a great 
 comfort to him all his life. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 Sunday morning was very fine. Mr. Mervyn stood 
 at the window and looked out. The nearer hills 
 were brilliantly green. The spring had almost 
 entirely repaired the harsh brown scars which the 
 winter torrents had scored on their sides. The distant 
 mountains showed as masses of dim violet colour, 
 waiting for the midday heat to deepen into glowing 
 purple. The river lay like a twisted shining band 
 along the valley. A deep peace was over all the 
 land. Mr. Mervyn gazed, and the calm possessed 
 him, a great untroubled kind of joy. 
 
 Delia stood at the breakfast table and poured 
 water into the teapot. She set a boiled egg beside 
 her father's plate. She cut slices of bread from a flat 
 home-made loaf. Then she waited. She knew very 
 well what would happen next. Mr. Mervyn was one 
 of the few men who have read right through, and 
 read many times, Wordsworth's longer poems. It 
 was his habit to make quotations, more or less 
 appropriate, from " The Prelude " or " The Excursion " 
 on all possible occasions. There were two lines 
 which he invariably cited on fine Sundays. It was 
 for those that Delia waited. Mr. Mervyn produced 
 them at last, turning from the window to the break- 
 fast table. He said them again as he cracked his 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 33 
 
 egg. A really brilliant Sunday morning deserved 
 this double recognition : 
 
 "To you each evening hath its shining star 
 And every Sabbath day its golden sun." 
 
 Delia received the quotation with every appearance 
 of pleasure. She was a dutiful girl and she had a 
 real affection for her father. Therefore she smiled 
 sympathetically when he said the lines. In her 
 heart she disliked them very much ; partly 
 because she had heard them a great many times, and 
 partly because they struck her as quite untrue. The 
 suns of her Sabbath days were not golden ; because 
 it was her duty on Sundays to instruct the three sons 
 of Sergeant Ginty in the Church Catechism and 
 certain passages of Holy Scripture. These three 
 boys formed the Sunday School of Mr. Mervyn's 
 parish. There were, of course, other children growing 
 up in Druminawona, but their parents preferred the 
 ministrations of Father Roche and regarded the 
 Church Catechism as a dangerously heretical 
 document. Delia was very glad that they took this 
 view. The three Ginty boys were enough for her. 
 
 They came to the church a little before eleven 
 with shining faces and aggressively clean collars. 
 Delia led them to a large square pew near the pulpit 
 and set them in a row in front of her. For half an 
 hour she impressed on them the duties of Christian 
 people whilst they wiped their boots on the front of 
 her skirt. The seat on which they sat was too high 
 for them. Their legs dangled from it without reach- 
 ing the ground. There was therefore every excuse 
 for restlessness ; but Delia, who disliked being dirty, 
 scolded them occasionally. At the other end of the 
 church an aged woman, playing the part of sexton 
 
 D 
 
34 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 and bell-ringer, tugged at the bell-rope during the 
 half-hour. The clang of the bell, occurring at regular 
 intervals, often drowned the voices of the young 
 Gintys, and made it very hard for Delia to hear such 
 answers as they gave to her questions. 
 
 At twenty-five minutes past eleven Sergeant 
 Ginty entered the church and took over control of his 
 family. He moved them to another pew half-way 
 down the church and warned them in an impressive 
 whisper of the unseemliness of conversation. Delia 
 brushed the dust from her skirt for the last time and 
 crossed to the opposite side of the church. There 
 she sat down in front of the harmonium and began 
 to play. The congregation, some five-and-twenty 
 people in all, began to dribble in. The old woman 
 stopped pulling the bell-rope, and wiped her forehead 
 with the corner of her shawl. Mr. Mervyn emerged 
 from the vestry-room, Delia pulled out two stops and 
 pressed hard against the knee swell of her instrument. 
 She had once attended a cathedral service in Dublin, 
 and had heard the organist greet the procession of 
 choir and clergy with a mighty outburst of sound. 
 She was a girl with a strong sense of dramatic fitness. 
 She did her best to welcome her father to the reading- 
 desk with chords of triumph. Mr. Mervyn read 
 prayers and lessons in a thin quavering voice. The 
 people muttered or whispered their responses. The 
 time for singing a hymn arrived. Delia sang it, 
 accompanying herself on the harmonium. The 
 congregation stood up and watched her solemnly. 
 This time an unexpected thing happened. Another 
 voice joined hers in the middle of the first verse. 
 Delia thrilled nervously and almost lost her place in 
 the music. The congregation turned round and 
 looked at the audacious stranger who sat near the 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 35 
 
 door. Delia could not look round, but she knew that 
 the singer could be no one but her aunt. In the 
 second verse of the hymn Mrs. Dann forsook the 
 treble part and supported Delia with a clear resonant 
 alto. The congregation looked round again. Singing 
 of this independent kind was new in Druminawona. 
 Delia became excessively nervous, and, with her 
 aunt's voice in her ears, failed to sustain her own part. 
 In the third verse Mrs. Dann took pity on her and 
 went back again to the treble. 
 
 When the service was over Delia played her 
 harmonium again while the congregation left the 
 church. She hurried this final tune a little because 
 she feared that if she made it too long her aunt 
 would have escaped. She need not have been 
 anxious. Mrs. Dann was waiting for her in the porch. 
 The rest of the congregation stood in a group outside 
 the church. Mrs. Dann was addressing them. 
 
 " Where I come from," she said, " I'm not reckoned 
 to be much of a vocalist, but if I lived in Drumina- 
 wona I'd be a top-note prima donna. I never came 
 in among a crowd that fancied its own singing less 
 than you do. Why can't you give out some kind of 
 a noise iT it was only to make that harmonium of 
 yours sound less silly ? " 
 
 Then,she turned and saw Delia. 
 
 " You're Delia," she said, " sure." 
 
 She kissed her niece heartily. Sergeant Ginty 
 sniffed. 
 
 "I'm your aunt Sally May," said Mrs. Dann, 
 "and I admire you quite a bit. I don't know that I 
 ever met any one before who'd go on singing when 
 nobody else would take the trouble to join in. I've 
 just been giving your folks a kind of little appendix 
 to the sermon. Your papa, Delia, is too good for 
 
36 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 them. His religion is right away up, and I set a 
 value on it. But the congregation' isn't on the same 
 level. They haven't got beyond the Ten Command- 
 ments. If they had they'd sing." 
 
 Sergeant Ginty sniffed again. Then he collected 
 his three small boys, who were staring at Mrs. Dann, 
 and marched them off towards the gate of the church- 
 yard. He did not approve of Mrs. Dann's flippant 
 treatment of sacred subjects. She did not strike him 
 as the kind of woman who would be respected or 
 liked in Portadown. 
 
 " My ! Delia," said Mrs. Dann, " who's that > " 
 " He's the sergeant of the police," said Delia. 
 " His name is Ginty," 
 
 " I was studying him in church," said Mrs. Dann, 
 " and I made dead sure his name was Ananias." 
 " Ananias ! " said Delia. 
 
 " Or Caiaphas — Ananias and Caiaphas the High 
 Priests. Those two men always did get mixed up in 
 my mind. But if he isn't one of them he's the other." 
 "Annas," said Delia. She had profited by the 
 lessons she gave to Sergeant Ginty's boys, and she 
 knew that Annas and Ananias, though both un- 
 desirable characters, were different men. 
 
 " I'm no good at all when it comes to names," 
 said Mrs. Dann, "but that policeman is just a Jewish 
 High Priest, I'd know him anywhere from his 
 portraits in the works of the Old Masters. I expect 
 your papa told you that I'm interested in the Lost 
 Tribes of Israel. It was your poor uncle that taught 
 me the importance of the subject." 
 
 " No," said Delia; " Father didn't tell me that." 
 " He would have told you sure," said Mrs. Dann, 
 " if he got a proper grip on the notion. But I some- 
 how suspected he hadn't caught on. Your papa's a 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 37 
 
 dear, Delia, and I love him. I'd hug him any day he 
 expressed the wish. But he's not what I call prompt 
 at catching on. I expect you're better. You're poor 
 Nathan's own niece, so you're sure to be. Nathan P. 
 Dann had his faults, and there wasn't a man or woman 
 in New York knew what they were better than I did, 
 but I'd never say that he wasn't slick. You take 
 after him, sure. You haven't had his chances so far. 
 There's not much to catch on to Druminawona. If 
 there was you'd be on it, frozen tight. Just you wait, 
 Delia. The world's going to move round a bit now 
 I'm here." 
 
 Mrs. Dann looked round as if to challenge the 
 immobile world of Druminawona. She noticed that 
 the congregation was slipping away by twos and 
 threes, making for the churchyard gate by various 
 paths among the tombstones. She also noticed that 
 everybody seemed amused and pleased. 
 
 " The crowd," said Mrs. Dann, " is kind of melting. 
 What's frightened them ? " 
 
 " I expect," said Delia, " that they all want to get 
 home to tell their friends that you called Sergeant 
 Ginty Ananias. The sergeant isn't very popular in 
 the place." 
 
 " That so ? Well, we may as well be getting a 
 move on too. I suppose your papa will follow us." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn was in fact lurking in the vestry-room. 
 He did not want to have another interview with Mrs. 
 Dann, because he feared that she might , bring up the 
 subject of boosting, or speak with offensive directness 
 about Delia's marriage. His plan was to keep 
 sanctuary until Mrs. Dann was well on her way 
 home. He watched her and Delia reach the road 
 together. Mrs. Dann took Delia by the arm and 
 turned her slowly round. 
 
38 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 " I reckon," she said, " that I'd better cable right off 
 for a selection of new frocks for you, Delia. That 
 shirt waist you have on might have been up to date 
 fifty years ago. It's a back number now." 
 
 Delia flushed uncomfortably. 
 
 " It's the, best one I've got," she said, " if you mean 
 my blouse." 
 
 " You call them blouses on this " side. I'll 
 remember that when I get on the cable. What's the 
 best ladies' outfitter in London ? " 
 
 "In London ! I don't know." 
 
 " I'll tell my banker to send my message right 
 through to the best man and get over a complete 
 trousseau for you to sample. Bobby Sebright's 
 coming over. Your papa told you that ? " 
 
 " No, he didn't." 
 
 " I've very little use for your papa as a messenger," 
 said Mrs. Dann. " I told him to let you know about 
 Bobby. I reckoned the news would cheer you up. 
 Bobby's not an expert on fashions. That's not his 
 department on the paper ; but I never met a man yet 
 who wasn't put off by a dowd." 
 
 Delia was excited and pleased when her aunt 
 spoke of getting her a complete outfit of clothes from 
 a fashionable London shop. She was startled when 
 she understood that she was to be dressed with a view 
 to attracting the attention of a man who was quite 
 unknown to her. Mrs. Dann talked so fast that 
 emotions succeeded each other with bewildering 
 rapidity in her listener's mind. Delia had not time 
 to protest against the idea of attracting Bobby 
 Sebright by the splendour of her raiment, before she 
 was plunged into a depth of resentment by being 
 called a dowd. She had made the blouse she wore 
 with her own hands. She had cut it according to a 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 39 
 
 paper pattern given free to the, readers of a popular 
 magazine. She had been, until Mrs. Dann depreciated 
 it, rather proud of the garment. 
 
 "Please, Aunt Sally May," she said, "don't 
 think " 
 
 " It's not your fault, my dear," said Mrs. Dann. 
 "I'm not blaming you. Druminawona's not the 
 place where a real fashionable costumier would be 
 likely to settle down. Wait till I get one of those 
 London shops on the end of the cable. I'll fix you 
 up." 
 
 "jl'm not so very fond of clothes," said Delia, still 
 struggling to assert her dignity. " I don't live for 
 them." 
 
 "That's not natural," said Mrs. Dann. "You 
 ought to. You've got a good figure, Delia, and a real 
 peachy complexion. Don't let your papa fill you up 
 too full of culture. I'm not undervaluing Wordsworth 
 one cent, but when it comes to a question of a young 
 man poetry isn't on the same floor of the building 
 with a ten-dollar shirt waist." 
 
 Delia laughed. She had no experience of young 
 men, but she knew a great deal about Wordsworth. 
 She was prepared to believe that his poetry bored 
 other people as much as it did her; But she had 
 been very well brought up. She would not admit 
 that she desired the admiration of any young man. 
 
 " But I don't want young men," she said. 
 
 " That's modesty," said Mrs. Dann, " and modesty 
 is a thing I simply adore* So will Bobby Sebright. 
 He's New York right through to the marrow of his 
 backbone, so he'll admire modesty for sure. He 
 doesn't see enough of it to tire him — here's your papa 
 now, so we'd better not talk about frills any more. 
 He'll want something more appropriate for Sunday." 
 
40 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 Mr. Mervyn had come through the churchyard 
 gate. Very much to his surprise he found himself 
 within a few yards of Mrs. Dann. He had allowed 
 her time enough to walk a long distance from the 
 church. He could not have guessed that she would 
 have stopped in the middle of the road to plan new 
 dresses for Delia. 
 
 "Phil," said Mrs. Dann, turning cheerfully to a 
 subject of conversation suitable for Sunday, "that 
 church of yours is a one-horse show. I'd like you to 
 see the sacred edifice that Nathan P. Dann built for 
 Bobby Sebright's papa. It was a pretty big cheque 
 that went through when it was finished. There were 
 nineteen angels, life-size, in groups of three, with the 
 odd one in the middle over the door, ranged out along 
 the west front facing the street. Every one of them 
 is playing Hallelujah on a different kind of musical 
 instrument. They're done in white marble after the 
 original designs of Fra Angelico. My idea entirely. 
 Nathan P. Dann never studied much in Italian, art. 
 Insi(^ there are cherubim in stucco, coloured pink 
 and brown, exact copies of Sir Joshua Reynolds', 
 clouds and all complete." 
 
 "The effect must be very striking," said Mr. 
 Mervyn politely. 
 
 " Refinement was what I aimed at," said Mrs. 
 Dann. " And there's nothing in the way of refine- 
 ment .equal to the real English art. But what I 
 aimed to do was to make the worshippers in that 
 church kind of feel knit up with all the old English 
 country rectories in red brick with Virginia creepers 
 on the walls, and fine plump deans with ascetic 
 faces reading the classical poets, and the mediaeval 
 dramatists of the church on shaven lawns under 
 immemorial oaks. I've always been clean crazy 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 41 
 
 about the Oxford Movement and the Catholic spirit. 
 Seems to me Sir Joshua is just the man to express 
 my feeling, so I had him copied straight down in 
 stucco with the original colouring. I'd have had the 
 child Samuel saying his prayers in his night-shirt as 
 an altarpiece, but old Sebright kicked. He's a 
 Baptist, and doesn't value altars." 
 
 " It must be a very remarkable church," said Mr. 
 Mervyn, still polite. 
 
 " You bet. I don't say I can bring yours up to 
 the same level, but I mean to try what can be done. 
 Just you leave the matter to me, Phil. I'm cabling 
 to London anyway for a complete fit-out for Delia. 
 I'll tell my banker to put me on to a first-rate 
 ecclesiastical contractor and we'll get over whatever 
 fixings he happens to have in stock. My notion 
 would be a reredos in alabaster and one of those 
 brass birds that hold books. If we don't like what 
 he sends us we can have others made to order." 
 
 " But," said Mr. Mervyn, " the expense " 
 
 "Don't you fret about the expense," said Mrs. 
 Dann. "Nathan P. Dann annexed quite a big box 
 full of dollars. There'll be a lot of spending done 
 before we'll see the bottom of it. I'll get you one of 
 those mediaeval copes, Phil. There's one I picked 
 up in Nuremberg last time I was across, and I have 
 it on the back of a pianb. It's the cunningest thing 
 I know in the way of embroidery, and if I can get 
 one off the same piece for you, Phil, you'll look sweet." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn became seriously uneasy. The 
 Church of Ireland has made the severest possible 
 laws against the wearing of gorgeous vestments. 
 Mr. Mervyn did not want to come into conflict with 
 his bishop in an ecclesiastical court, nor did he wish 
 to be entangled in a dispute with Sergeant Ginty. 
 
42 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 The sergeant was a Protestant of a most definite 
 kind, and in Ireland the word Protestant really means 
 something. It is pronounced everywhere through 
 the country as if the first of its three " t's " were a 
 "d." The English say the word as it is spelt. 
 There is something more than a mere phonetic 
 accident in the difference. The letter " d," as any 
 one can discover by saying it, conveys a sense of 
 explosive obstinacy which cannot be expressed by 
 a mere "t." Take for instance the Englishman's 
 favourite oath. "Damn" has some force about it. 
 Change its initial "d" for a "t" and it becomes 
 simply ladylike, a word which the gentlest spinster 
 might use without offence. It is the same with 
 Protestant. For the Englishman it has no fixed 
 meaning at all. Ritualists use it about Noncon- 
 formists and hate having it used about themselves. 
 Even the Nonconformists are beginning to be 
 ashamed of it. In all probability the English will 
 soon soften the "t" into "th" and lisp about 
 Prothestants. In Ireland no Protestant is the least 
 shy of the word. He pronounces it " Prodestant," 
 and if there were a harder and more decisive letter in 
 the alphabet than " d " he would use it at the end of 
 the first syllable. 
 
 Sergeant Ginty, born and brought up in Porta- 
 down, where the Pope was not well spoken of, was a 
 Protestant in the full Irish sense of the' word. He 
 would view an alabaster reredos with horror and 
 would almost certainly disapprove of a brass bird in 
 church. Mr. Mervyn hardened his heart and spoke 
 with unusual firmness. 
 
 " I can't," he said, " I really can't wear a cope." 
 " Theophilus," said Mrs. Dann, "you're making 
 me tired." 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 43 
 
 Mr. Mervyn felt the full weight of the rebuke. 
 He had been warned that the use of his name in its 
 unabbreviated form would be a sign of Mrs. Dann's 
 anger. But he stuck to his point. 
 
 " And a reredos wouldn't do here," he said. " It 
 really wouldn't, because — the truth is that I don't 
 want a reredos." 
 
 Mrs. Dann's ill-humour vanished at once. 
 
 " If you don't want the fixings, Phil," she said, 
 " I'll not get them. They'd have been good for you. 
 You'd have improved in spirit when you saw yourself 
 parading round in that mediaeval cope. You'd have 
 swelled out and been a bigger man. But if you'd 
 rather not I'll not say another word. I wasn't 
 twenty-five years married to Nathan P. Dann with- 
 out learning a thing or two. When he said he didn't 
 want to go messing about the city in a chest 
 protector I didn't speak another word. I just 'phoned 
 off to the doc' and told him to get ready his cough 
 mixture. It's about the same with you and that 
 cope, Phil. It would have been good for you ; but 
 you don't want it, so I won't fuss." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn felt that his refusal had been un- 
 gracious. He tried to explain to his sister-in-law 
 that if left to himself he would wear a cope and kneel 
 before a reredos in order to give her pleasure, that he 
 had no personal objection to the ornaments ; but 
 that the Church to which he belonged, possessed by 
 a spirit of rigid Puritanism, frowned upon them. 
 His statment was confused. He repeated himself 
 frequently. He stammered apologies. Mrs. Dann 
 listened to him with puzzled wonder. At last her 
 face lit up with understanding. She interrupted him. 
 
 "Don't you say another word, Phil," she said. 
 "You're quite right, and I just hate myself for being 
 
44 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 stupid. What you feel is that these surroundings " — 
 she waved her hand towards the mountains and the 
 river — "with the works of nature right here all the 
 time, there would be a kind of meretricious vulgarity 
 about angels with long trumpets. I see that now, 
 Phil, and I thank you for pointing it out. What's this 
 that your favourite poet says about plain living and 
 high thinking'? That's what you aim at, Phil, in 
 your church ; and you're right. Those little cheru- 
 bims are all right in Fifth Avenue, but they'd be out 
 of place here. You have the true artist's soul, Phil, 
 and that's the fact." 
 
 For so gracious a speech Mr. Mervyn could feel 
 nothing but gratitude. He invited his sister-in-law 
 to return with him to the rectory and have luncheon. 
 Greatly to his relief she refused the invitation. But 
 she had not quite done with him. 
 
 " Delia," she said, " you run along and get your 
 papa's dinner for him. I'll send him after you in a 
 minute or two when I've done speaking to him." 
 
 Delia could not ignore so plain a command. She 
 walked on slowly, and so Mrs. Dann took her 
 brother-in-law by the arm and whispered to him. 
 
 " Delia's a dear," she said. " Bobby Sebright will 
 be struck the minute he sets eyes on her, and I'll tell 
 him that lie's just got to marry her straight away 
 and take her out of this. Druminawona is no place 
 for a girl with eyes like one of those brown 
 reproductions of the masterpieces of the artist 
 Greuze." 
 
 "But," said Mr. Mervyn, "Delia hasn't been 
 brought up in that way." 
 
 " I know that. You've reared hfer on high brow 
 culture and refinement. Bobby'll have to polish up a 
 bit, and that's a fact. But he'll do it, Phil. Bobby's 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 45 
 
 a young man who'd do a lot for a girl like Delia. 
 Just you wait and see." 
 
 Delia had not gone far along the road. She had 
 made no attempt to reach the rectory before her 
 father. He found her, after he had parted from Mrs. 
 Dann, seated on a low wall, waiting for him. 
 
 " Father," she said, " who's Bobby Sebright ? " 
 
 Mr. Mervyn hesitated. He might have replied 
 " Your future husband." But he shrank from putting 
 Delia in what seemed to him an awkward position, 
 
 " He's a young man," he said at last, feebly. 
 
 " Is Aunt Sally May very fond of him ? " 
 
 " She must be, I think," said Mr. Mervyn. 
 
 "Do you think he'll be nice — really nice, I 
 mean ? " 
 
 Mr. Mervyn confidently expected that he would 
 not be nice. He hesitated again. 
 
 " Anyhow it doesn't matter," said Delia. " He 
 won't be here long. Did Aunt Sally May tell you 
 that she's going to get me a lot of new clothes ? " 
 
 " I hope they'll be suitable," said Mr. Mervyn, " I 
 shouldn't like to see you " 
 
 Delia tossed her head. 
 
 " If they don't suit me I won't wear them," she 
 said. " But I don't see why I should go on being a 
 dowd " 
 
 "A what, Delia?" 
 
 " A dowd. Aunt Sally May said I was a dowd. 
 And I don't see why I should be if I get the chance 
 of wearing pretty frocks. I like Aunt Sally May 
 awfully. She's what I call a real good sort." 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 The Psalmist complained that when he laboured for 
 peace other people made themselves ready for battle. 
 Mr. Mervyn was fond of quoting this verse and Delia 
 was nearly as tired of it as she was of Wordsworth's 
 lines. Circumstances were for ever suggesting it. 
 Outsiders, Mrs. Dann, for instance, accustomed to 
 the fume and fret of a great city, invariably supposed 
 that peace was, if anything, too easily attainable in 
 Druminawona. The place seemed to promise, to 
 Mr. Mervyn certainly, almost excessive peace. He 
 had about fifty parishioners. He had only one child 
 and he lived strictly within his income. Yet he 
 considered himself a harassed and a worried man. 
 
 It is recorded of one of the Egyptian hermits of 
 the fourth century that he retired to an absolutely 
 solitary corner of a remote desert in search of peace, 
 and did not find it. The rustling of the reeds which 
 grew near his cell became intolerable to him. No 
 doubt, had the winds stopped blowing, the persistent 
 activity of the sunf which will keep on rising and 
 setting, would have got on his nerves — so difficult is 
 the attainment of perfect peace. 
 
 Mr. Mervyn had more than the reeds and sun to 
 complain of. His fifty parishioners had fifty different 
 annoyances in their lives which Mr. Mervyn shared 
 with them. At least twenty-five of them had griev- 
 ances as well — grievances against the Government, 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 47 
 
 the Land Commissioners, the Congested Districts 
 Board, the County Council, and other bodies difficult 
 to get at. They one and all held that Mr. Mervyn 
 ought to have restrained the evil-doers. Sometimes 
 they felt that they had been unjustly treated by 
 Divine Providence in the matter of weather, whoop- 
 ing-cough, or the death of a cow ; and Mr. Mervyn, 
 as a clergyman, was plainly the responsible person. 
 But, of all his parishioners. Sergeant Ginty was the 
 one whom Mr. Mervyn dreaded most. The others 
 grumbled politely. Sergeant Ginty spoke his mind 
 with the most distressing bluntness. 
 
 Therefore Mr, Mervyn sighed when he saw the 
 sergeant waiting for him at the rectory gate. He 
 sighed again, very deeply, when he noticed that the 
 sergeant looked particularly truculent. But Mr, 
 Mervyn was a very good man. A bad man, who 
 was not a clergyman, would have cursed Sergeant 
 Ginty. This would have been very good for the 
 sergeant, and the curser, being bad already, would 
 not have been much injured by the outbreak. A 
 bad man who was a clergyman and therefore not in 
 a position to curse, would have told the sergeant to 
 call again the next morning, resolving not to be at 
 home when the next morning came. But Mr. 
 Mervyn was very good. He approached the angry 
 sergeant with a gentle deprecating smile. He 
 intended to return a soft' answer to any angry 
 speech. 
 
 The sergeant fully expected the soft answer and 
 was prepared to make his own speech as hard as 
 possible. He began by a question asked in the 
 fiercest possible tone. 
 
 " What's this they're saying .' " he said. 
 
 Mr. Mervyn dicJ not know. He told the sergeant 
 
48 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 that he did not know. He added, without much 
 conviction, that the sayings of the people who are 
 described as " they " are invariably uniniportant. 
 
 " That young lady knows, if you don't," said the 
 sergeant, looking at Delia. 
 
 She did not actually know, but she was in a 
 position to guess, what was being said by the people 
 who had gathered round her aunt at the church door. 
 She smiled a little maliciously. She did not like 
 Sergeant Ginty, 
 
 " She was there at the time," said the sergeant, 
 " and she heard the language that was used." 
 
 " What language ? " said Mr. Mervyn. 
 
 " Ananias ! " said the sergeant. " ' Ananias ' was 
 the word used." 
 
 Delia smothered a spasmodic laugh. 
 
 " She meant Annas," she said. " She told me so 
 afterwards." 
 
 "Who.?" asked Mr. Mervyn. "Who said that.' 
 I don't understand." 
 
 " Aunt Sally May," said Delia, " said the sergeant 
 looked like Ananias, but she meant Annas — she 
 really did." 
 
 " Is she a Protestant ? " said the sergeant. 
 
 " She is," said Mr. Mervyn — " I rather think she's 
 a Baptist. Her husband built a church in New York." 
 
 "If she'd been a Papist," said the sergeant, " I 
 wouldn't have said a word about it. They're an 
 ignorant lot, and you can't expect better from them. 
 But if she's any kind of a Protestant she'd know 
 rightly the kind of man that Ananias was." 
 
 " It was Caiaphas she had in mind," said Delia. 
 " She got confused about the name." 
 
 "Anyway," said the sergeant, "it was Ananias 
 she said, and there's plenty will swear to that, I'm 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 49 
 
 going to take an action against her for defamation of 
 character." 
 
 " Don't do that," said Mr. Mervyn. " It'll only 
 lead to trouble." 
 
 "But I will. I was brought up decent and 
 respectable. I've lived decent and respectable, 
 keeping myself to myself and mixing with no 
 one. It's a poor thing if I'm to be called Ananias 
 to my face, and that within three feet of the church 
 my children was baptized in." 
 
 " Think it over until to-morrow," said Mr. Mervyn. 
 
 " I've more respect for the Sabbath day," said 
 
 Sergeant Ginty, "than to be profaning it by going 
 
 to law on it. I wish there was others," he added 
 
 bitterly, " that had any regard for it at all." 
 
 "I'll speak to her about the matter to-morrow 
 morning," said Mr. Mervyn.- "I'm sure there's 
 some mistake which can be cleared up quite easily." 
 
 " There's no mistake," said the sergeant, " and 
 there's no use talking to the like of her." 
 
 " I'm sure she will express her regret," said Mr. 
 Mervyn. " She wouldn't hurt your feelings willingly. 
 She means to be kind to every one." 
 
 "It's a curious way she takes of showing it, then," 
 said the sergeant. 
 
 Then Delia broke into the conversation. 
 " Sergeant," she said, " I'm sorry to tell you that 
 Tommy didn't know his catechism this morning." 
 
 This was quite true. It had been true every 
 Sunday since Tommy first began to learn the 
 catechism. But Delia did not say it with any desire 
 of effecting an improvement in the boy. She hoped 
 to divert the sergeant's anger to a fresh victim. It 
 was better that Tommy should suffer in the flesh than 
 that her father should be worried in mind. 
 
 £ 
 
so THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 "Only for what happened to-day," said the 
 sergeant, " I'd leather the catechism into Tommy with 
 my belt. But, if I was to strike a blow at him now, 
 he'd cast it up in my teeth that the strange woman 
 up at the church called me Ananias. I'm afeard to 
 look my own son in the face, much less beat him as 
 he should be beat." 
 
 This confession of fear recalled to Mr. Mervyn's 
 mind the conversation he had had with .^neas 
 Sweeny. He, too, had been afraid of the young 
 Gintys. 
 
 "It's a very curious thing," he said. "That's 
 almost exactly the feeling that Sweeny has." 
 
 " What feelings has Sweeny ? " said the sergeant. 
 
 " He's afraid of your boys." 
 
 " It's the first time I ever heard of .^neas Sweeny 
 being afraid of anything," said the sergeant. " It's a 
 good thing if somebody would drive terror into him. 
 He wants it." 
 
 " Mrs. Dann happened to say yesterday, in his 
 hearing " 
 
 " If the lady called him Ananias,"said the sergeant, 
 " there'd be some sense in it, for a bigger liar than 
 yEneas Sweeny " 
 
 His feelings towards Mrs. Dann were becoming 
 more respectful. He had called her " the woman up 
 at the church." He now admitted that she was a 
 lady. He very much disliked ./Eneas Sweeny. 
 
 " What she called him," said Mr. Mervyn, " was 
 Judas Iscariot." 
 
 " She was right enough there," said the sergeant, 
 " and I wouldn't wonder but the young lads, as soon 
 as they hear it, will cast it up to him and shout it 
 after him when he's going along the street. I 
 wouldn't blame them." 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 51 
 
 " That's just what ^neas is afraid of," said Mr. 
 Mervyn. 
 
 Sergeant Ginty's anger began to give way to a 
 feeling of satisfaction. 
 
 " It's a name that'll stick to him," he said. " There 
 isn't one about the place but will call it to him." 
 
 " I hope not," said the rector. 
 
 " They will. Don't I know them ? ". The sergeant 
 chuckled grimly. He found great pleasure in the 
 thought that his boys, and no doubt others with them, 
 would bait ^neas Sweeny day after day. 
 
 "The best thing," said Mr. Mervyn, "is to say 
 nothing about either name. I'll speak to Mrs. Dann 
 about it, and I hope, sergeant, that you'll warn your 
 boys " 
 
 " I'll welt Tommy anyway," said the sergeant. 
 "He'll be sorry before he has his dinner ate that 
 he didn't know his 'ghostly enemy' when he was 
 asked for it." 
 
 This was not exactly what Mr. Mervyn wanted. 
 He intended to expostulate. The sergeant saluted 
 stiffly. Delia was pleased. Tommy had wiped his 
 boots on her dress persistently. He had even kicked 
 her several times. 
 
 " Delia," said Mr. Mervyn, as they went into the 
 house together, " I wonder if your aunt will stay here 
 long." 
 
 " I hope so," said Delia. " I like her, and she 
 seems very kind." 
 
 " There can't be much for her to do in a place like 
 this," said Mr. Mervyn. " I should be sorry to lose 
 her at once, but " 
 
 " She's sure to stay till Mr. Sebright comes," said 
 Delia hopefully, " and I think she's quite able to find 
 occupation for herself." 
 
52 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 Mr. Mervyn and Delia sat down together to a very 
 frugal dinner. The income of the rector of Drumina- 
 wona is so small that only the cheapest kind of maid- 
 servant can be hired. Onny Donovan was paid £^ 
 a year. You cannot expect competence or devotion 
 to duty for such a sum. On weekdays, Onny was 
 wonderfully forgetful and rarely did anything unless 
 Delia watched her do it. On Sundays she did not even 
 profess to do anything after breakfast. It was under- 
 stood that she went to Mass at ten o'clock. This she 
 always did. It was also understood that after Mass 
 she went home to see her mother. This she very seldom 
 did, because there was a young man, called Jamesy 
 Casey, who attracted her more than her mother did. 
 Jamesy Casey was iU'the service of Father Roche ; so 
 there was a flavour of sanctity about Onny's love 
 affair. Delia knew all about it. She made no attempt 
 to interfere, and allowed Onny to spend her Sundays 
 as she liked. 
 
 Delia's own Sunday mornings were spent in 
 church ; so the dinners eaten that day in the rectory 
 were cooked on Saturday. They were therefore cold 
 on Sundays, and there were no potatoes. The Irish 
 people have never learned to like cold potatoes. 
 They will not eat them even when oil is poured over 
 them and they are called salad. Mr. Mervyn was a 
 man of quipt and philosophic mind. He said grace 
 over a cold roast chicken and then quoted Words- 
 worth. There are quite a large number of passages 
 in Wprdsworth's poems which can be quoted appro- 
 priately about an unsatisfactory dinner. Mr. Mervyn 
 knew them all. So did Delia, She hated them 
 almost as much as she did the lines about the Sabbath 
 sun. She was not inclined to grumble about having 
 to eat cold chicken, though, in the West of Ireland, a 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 53 
 
 chicken is an exceedingly lean fowl with no breast. 
 She rebelled against being asked to believe that a 
 poor dinner was food either for her soul or her mind. 
 But it was only her heart that rebelled. Her father 
 never suspected that she did not agree with Words- 
 worth, 
 
 A small salary is not, as a rule, preferred to a large 
 one by any kind of man. But there are a few people 
 in the world who are quite honestly thankful that their 
 incomes are small so long as the amount of work 
 expected from them is correspondingly light. Mr. 
 Mervyn was paid no more than ;^i8o a year, which 
 nowadays is reckoned a very small income — so small 
 that even the income-tax collectors, a body of men 
 very slow to give back anything, do not attempt to 
 keep much of what they succeed, at first, in deduct- 
 ing from it. Many clergymen receive much larger 
 stipends, but they are expected to do much more 
 work than Mr. Mervyn. He would not willingly have 
 changed places with any of them. He was a humble 
 man and painfully aware that he did not do what he 
 had to do very well. If he had more to do it seemed 
 likely that he would fail altogether. He was also, 
 owing no doubt to his fondness for reflective poetry, 
 a wise man. It filled him with no envy to think that 
 there were other clergymen, bustling archdeacons, or 
 energetic rectors of large parishes, who received three 
 or four times his salary. He knew that these men 
 were harassed with parochial organisations and an 
 intolerable number of services on Sundays, They had 
 better dinners than he did, no doubt, but they were 
 forced to gorge theniselves hastily. They had to rush 
 forth, primed for fresh exertions, while chewing the 
 last morsels of their feasts. Mr. Mervyn could eat his 
 meals in peace. He remembered, and quite believed, 
 
54 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 what Solomon said about the advantages of a dinner 
 of herbs. After dinner Mr. Mervyn could go to sleep. 
 
 He always went to sleep on Sunday afternoons. 
 In his study he had a battered but very comfortable 
 armchair. Delia had made him four cushions for it. 
 He could sleep in that chair as soundly as in bed. 
 In winter he drew it up before a large turf fire, 
 stretched his feet out, balanced a book on his knees, 
 and allowed his eyes to close. In summer, when 
 the Sabbath days had golden suns, he set his chair 
 beside the window. A mellow warmth flowed to 
 him through the glass, and he slept easily. On those 
 rare Sundays, occurring in the West of Ireland only 
 twice or three times in the year, when the sun was 
 really hot, Mr. Mervyn open<id his window. Then 
 his sleep was particularly sweet. The fresh air, and 
 the scent of the roses which covered the house, 
 soothed him. The murmur of the river, faintly 
 heard, was a lullaby. Delia was always careful not 
 to disturb him. She never entered the study on 
 Sunday afternoons. She avoided walking on the 
 gravel path outside the window. 
 
 Mrs. Dann was not so careful of his comfort. 
 She paid a visit to the rectory at three o'clock. The 
 hall-door stood open ; so she walked in. She 
 glanced into the dining-room and found it empty. 
 She went along the narrow passage which led to the 
 kitchen, and saw Delia washing plates. Delia washed 
 the plates after dinner on Sunday because Onny 
 Donovan was always too much exhausted by her 
 interview with Jamesy Casey to do anything when 
 she came home. Delia, who was making a good 
 deal of noise and stood with her back to the door, 
 neither heard nor saw her aunt. Mrs. Dann withdrew 
 softly. She went round the outside of the house 
 
THE LOST TRIBES SS 
 
 and came to the study window. Mr. Mervyn 
 was sleeping profoundly. The window was wide 
 open. Mrs. Dann tapped sharply on a pane of glass 
 with the point of her parasol. Mr. Mervyn awoke 
 and blinked at her. 
 
 "Phil," she said, "you're preparing a sermon. 
 There's no use denying it, for I saw you." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn was a man with a troublesome 
 
 conscience. It at once insisted on telling him that 
 
 ~iie had not been preparing a sermon. It spoke with 
 
 directness and vigour. His conscience was by far 
 
 the most vigorous part of Mr. Mervyn. 
 
 " If you're through with it," said Mrs. Dann, " I'd 
 like to have a talk with you." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn's conscience made itself highly 
 objectionable. 
 
 " I'm afraid," he said, " that just at that moment 
 I had dropped off into a doze." 
 
 "That's your modesty, Phil," said Mrs. Dann. 
 " You had your eyes closed, but you were meditating. 
 I know that, because poor Nathan always meditated 
 at concerts. High-class music always set his mind 
 working in that way." 
 
 No conscience in the world would have gone on 
 trying to be disagreeble in the face of this reiterated 
 statement. Mr. Mervyn's gave in gracefully, and 
 allowed him to be silent about his sleep. Mrs. Dann 
 perched on the window-sill. 
 
 " Phil," she said, " I've been thinking a bit since I 
 left you this morning. It has come home to me 
 that there ought to be money in those Ten Lost Tribes. 
 I might have known there was when poor Nathan 
 tangled himself up in them. Nathan hadn't any use 
 for notions with no money attached. Now that we 
 have the wanderers located " 
 
56 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 Mr. Mervyn stopped thinking about his sleep. He 
 sat upright in his chair and gazed in astonishment 
 at his sister-in-law. 
 
 " Not — not in Druminawona ? " he said. 
 
 " Right here ! " said Mrs. Dann. " In this very 
 section ! I've seen Judas Iscariot and the High Priest. 
 That's so, isn't it ? Well now, my notion is that there 
 ought to be money in it if properly advertised." 
 
 All desire for sleep forsook Mr. Mervyn. He 
 foresaw trouble of the worst kind. 
 
 " Money .' " he said. " Surely you don't want to 
 make any more money ? You must be very rich 
 already." 
 
 " You're misunderstanding me, Phil. I may not 
 be your equal in culture. I haven't had your 
 opportunities. New York isn't on the same level as 
 Druminawona in the matter of appreciating the 
 loftier kinds of poetry; but I'm not a commercially 
 minded woman. I'm not out to increase poor Nathan's 
 store of dollars." 
 
 "Of course not," said Mr. Mervyn. "I didn't 
 suspect you for a moment." 
 
 It occurred to him that his sister-in-law must 
 wish to make his fortune by exploiting, in some 
 way obscure to him, the personal appearance of 
 yEneas Sweeny and Sergeant Ginty. He disliked the 
 idea very much indeed. 
 
 " The proposition I'm up against is the general 
 improvement of this locality, Phil. You can't deny 
 that the people round about would be the better of 
 more money distributed among them in such a way 
 as not to endanger their selfrrespect. You can't deny 
 that, Phil. My notion is to run a Miracle Play. 
 There's nothing more attractive to the modern mind 
 than genuine medisevalism." 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 57 
 
 Mrs. Dann smiled amiably at her brother-in-law 
 as she spoke. He realised with startling distinctness 
 that she was incredibly, appallingly, in earnest. She 
 actually intended to try to attract public attention to 
 Druminawona in such a way as to bring money into 
 the place. She intended to use her dead husband's 
 crazy theories and her own fantastic discovery of the 
 Jewish type in the faces of Sweeny and the sergeant 
 in order to advertise the parish. Never in his life 
 had Mr. Mervyn been so startled and horrified. 
 Never had his mind worked so rapidly and with such 
 decision as during the few moments before he replied 
 to Mrs. Dann. He desired to discover some way of 
 putting a stop to the absurd scheme. 
 
 Mr. Mervyn, through a Protestant, was a genuine 
 Irishman. He had moreover lived for many years in 
 Connacht, where Irishmen are more Irish than they 
 are anywhere else. 
 
 " I'm afraid," he said, " that you won't be able to 
 do anything unless the parish priest approves of 
 the plan. You don't understand this country, 
 but " 
 
 Everybody in Ireland, at all events in the 
 western part of it, says this about every proposal. You 
 may wish to be an Urban District Councillor. The 
 point to be settled is whether the priest does or does 
 not approve of you as a candidate. You may be the 
 paid agent of some body of philanthropists trying to 
 organise a Society or a League. Your first business is 
 to ask the assistance of the priest. You may be 
 a Government official anxious to spend public money 
 in buying towns for the benefit of the inhabitants. 
 The priest is the person you approach. Or you may 
 want something not to be done, an abuse left 
 unrepressed, a law left unenforced. You speak to 
 
58 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 the parish priest and place your reliance on the 
 conservative instinct of the true ecclesiastic. 
 
 Mr. Mervyn felt that he was on strong ground. 
 Father Roche was elderly and very fat. He would 
 almost certainly disapprove of a Miracle Play in 
 Druminawona. Such a thing was open to every 
 possible kind of objection. It might set people 
 thinking on religious subjects, which is dangerous. 
 It might, since the subject of it was likely to be more 
 or less biblical, lead to an irreverent intimacy with 
 matters better left to ithe Church. Father Roche 
 would appreciate these risks at once. 
 
 " That's so ? " "said Mrs. Dann cheerfully. " Let's 
 go and see him right away." 
 
 "I really think you'd better not," said Mr. 
 Mervyn. " I'm certain he'd disapprove of your idea 
 very strongly." i 
 
 "When I've made it clear to him," said Mrs. 
 Dann, "that there's money in it, he'll catch on. 
 Nathan P. Dann was no fqpl, Phil. He was as smart 
 as any man in America'; and he always said that 
 there was one thing you could count on about all 
 ministers of religion. They're in it every time if 
 there's money to be got. You must take me round 
 to see that priest." 
 
 " You won't want me," said Mr. Mervyn. " The 
 presbytery is quite easy to find. You can't miss it. 
 Go straight along the street of the village " 
 
 " Theophilus," said Mrs. Dann, " you walk right in 
 and get your hat." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn obeyed her. He could do nothing 
 else when she addressed him as Tnepphilus, and 
 there was in him a certain unaccustomed feeling of 
 curiosity. He wanted to see how Father Roche 
 would receive this masterful American lady. 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 59 
 
 The rectory and the presbytery stand, in Drumina- 
 wona, at opposite ends of the village, and each is a 
 little separated from the less sacred dwelling-places 
 of the ordinary inhabitants of the place. It takes a 
 vigorous man about ten minutes to walk from one 
 house to the other. Sergeant Ginty, who is dignified, 
 spends twelve minutes on the journey. Mr. Mervyn, 
 because he is leisurely, and Father Roche, because he 
 is unusually fat, take thirteen or fourteen minutes to 
 do it. Mrs. Dann, in spite of the heat, took her 
 brother-in-law from his own door to that of the 
 presbytery in eight minutes. She noted, as she went 
 along, the various things in Druminawona which 
 required " speeding up." There were a great many 
 of them. 
 
 The door of the presbytery stood open because 
 Father Roche's housekeeper had gone, out to take 
 tea with a friend. Mrs. Dann knocked and got no 
 answer. 
 
 " We'll walk in," she said. 
 
 Mr. Mervyn laid a hand upon her arm. He was 
 quite sure that Father Roche would not like a strange 
 lady to walk into his house without warning. Mrs. 
 Dann had no misgivings and no scruples. She 
 entered the hall. Mr. Mervyn hung back, and sidled 
 out a little towards the middle of the road. He 
 wondered whether it would be possible for him to 
 slip away altogether while Mrs. Dann was exploring 
 the presbytery. She did not give him time to make 
 up his mind. She stood on the threshold and 
 beckoned to him with a merry smile. Mr. Mervyn 
 joined her. She led him into the hall, walking on 
 tiptoe and pressing a forefinger against her lips. 
 From a half-open door on the right came an un- 
 mistakable sound of snoring. 
 
6o THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 " Seems to me," said Mrs. Dann, " that the priest 
 prepares his sermons rather louder than you do, Phil." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn drew back hurriedly. 
 
 " We'd better go home," he said, " and call again 
 some other day." 
 
 Mrs. Dann had no manners. She pushed open 
 the door beside her and went very softly into the 
 room. Father Roche lay on a hard and uncomfort- 
 able sofa, but he was fast asleep. He was a bald man 
 and the flies had troubled him. A large yellow 
 pocket-handkerchief was spread over his head. Mrs. 
 Dann went very quietly out of the room again. She 
 found that Mr. Mervyn had gone back to the street. 
 She summoned him in a loud clear voice and then 
 banged on the door of the house with the handle of 
 her parasol. She went on banging until Father 
 Roche came to the door and stared at her. Mr. 
 Mervyn tried to explain the situation. 
 
 " This is Mrs. Dann," he said. " She has taken 
 Druminawona House for the present. She is my 
 sister-in-law. She wishes to speak to you about — 
 about a little matter she has in mind." 
 
 " She's welcome," said Father Roche, " and you're 
 welcome, too, Mr. Mervyn. Come into the house, 
 the two of you." 
 
 " I expect I rattled you some," said Mrs. Dann. 
 
 " She means " said Mr. Mervyn, who felt that 
 
 he was bound to act as interpreter. 
 
 " I know well enough what she means," said the 
 priest. " I've a cousin that's out in Chicago this 
 minute ; but he was home last autumn, and I'm well 
 accustomed to the way he talked. And as for 
 surprising me, Mrs. Dann, or putting me out, by any 
 hour of the day or the night you might come here, it 
 would puzzle you to do that. I'm used to it." 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 6i 
 
 He led the way into his sitting-room as he spoke . 
 The yellow handkerchief lay on the sofa. Father 
 Roche picked it up and slipped it into his pocket. 
 
 "Sit you down, now," he said, "and if you'll 
 excuse me for one minute I'll run into the kitchen 
 and see if Mrs. Deveril has the kettle boiling. It's a 
 hot day and a cup of tea will do you good after your 
 walk.'" 
 
 " If we're to have tea," said Mrs. Dann, " I'd 
 better go and see after it myself." 
 
 " Is it you ? " said the priest. " No, but you'll sit 
 where you are. It'll be no trouble to Mrs. Deveril to 
 wet it, if so be she has the kettle boiling. And if she 
 hasn't it'll be the worse for her ; for I've often told 
 her that in a house like this tea might be wanted any 
 minute." 
 
 He left the room as he spoke, and it was fully five 
 minutes before he returned. 
 
 " Mrs. Deveril's out ! " he said, " and I don't know 
 how long it maybe before the kettle's boiled. You'd 
 think now that she'd have had enough of going out 
 at her time of life, but she hasn't seemingly. Believe 
 me or not, Mr. Mervyn, but that woman's upwards of 
 sixty years of age this minute, and after burying two 
 husbands and eight children (as well as four that she 
 has in America) you'd think after that she'd have 
 learned to content herself without running off at all 
 hours of the day. But that's the way with all of them, 
 begging your pardon, Mrs. Dann, for saying it ; but 
 I never met a woman yet would rest quiet unless it 
 would be in her coffin. I'm sorry now that I can't 
 give you a cup of tea." 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 " If you've a cousin in Chicago," said Mrs. Dann, " I 
 expect he'll have told you that there's a pile of 
 money going to waste in Druminawona because no 
 one will take the trouble to pick it up." 
 
 Father Roche was not greatly astonished at this. 
 He had heard very much the same thing before, 
 though not quite so emphatically stated. Every one 
 with a plan for the regeneration of Ireland dangles 
 the possibility of wealth before the eyes of people who 
 live in places like Druminawona, and everybody with 
 such a plan reveals it in the first instance to the 
 parish priest. In other countries people who discover 
 ways of making money keep their secret selfishly, go 
 and make money themselves, and refuse to divulge 
 their methods until their own fortunes are secure. If 
 they require help they appeal to financiers and other 
 business men, a notoriously selfish class. In Ireland 
 we are all philanthropists. We press our gold-mines 
 upon other people, refusing to pick up the smallest 
 nugget for ourselves. We seek for allies and con- 
 federates among the clergy, knowing that they will 
 not exploit our discoveries for their own benefit. 
 Father Roche had been told of ten different plans 
 for making Druminawona rich. It did not astonish 
 him to find that Mrs. Dann had an eleventh. 
 
 " My cousin never said anything of the sort," he 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 63 
 
 replied. " What he said, if you want to know — what 
 he did say when he was over here last summer, was 
 that he didn't know how any one could make a living 
 in the place at all." 
 
 " He can't be a business man," said Mrs. Dann. 
 
 " He is not. He's a priest, like myself." 
 
 " They'll never make a bishop of him," said Mrs, 
 Dann. "Not in Chicago anyway. They haven't 
 got much use there for men who don't know dollars 
 when they see them. Druminawona is worth half a 
 million any day if it's worked right." 
 
 Father Roche was a tolerant and forbearing man. 
 As a priest he had learned to bear patiently the 
 extremities of human folly. 
 
 " Of course," he said, " if one of those Government 
 Boards — there's enough of them, dear knows — was to 
 give a substantial grant and let the people have the 
 spending of it in the way they'd select themselves — 
 which is what no Government Board will do, on 
 account of thinking that they know better than the 
 people that has lived in the country all their lives — 
 something might be done. But what's the use of 
 talking ? Our poor people is overlooked in a way 
 that would make you ashamed if I was to tell it to 
 you." 
 
 " My notion- " said Mrs. Dann. 
 
 " If it's lace-making," said the priest ; " or if it's 
 cooking classes for the young girls ; or if it's the pre- 
 vention of tuberculosis, I may tell you straight that 
 these things have been tried, and I don't know that 
 anybody was a penny richer at the latter end, unless 
 maybe the man who prints the notices of the public 
 meetings, and he's in Dublin." 
 
 " You've not quite caught on yet, Father Roche," 
 said Mrs. Dann ; " my notion is, the name of the 
 
64 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 place is good for a big pile as soon as we put it on 
 the market." 
 
 " If anybody will give me a shilling each for the 
 five syllables of it," said Father Roche, " I'd take 
 the money and say I'd made a good bargain." 
 
 "As the home of the Ten Lost Tribes and the 
 scene of a real mediaeval Miracle Play." 
 
 Father Roche looked inquiringly at Mr. Mervyn. 
 He was beginning to think that Mrs. Dann must be 
 mad, even more mad than most people who want to 
 regenerate Ireland. He wanted something, a wink, 
 or a half smile, in confirmation of this suspicion. 
 Mr. Mervyn returned his gaze, but his face, a 
 wrinkled forehead, a mouth with down-drawn 
 corners, troubled eyes, expressed nothing of the 
 humorous appreciation with which everybody regairds 
 an amiable lunatic. Father Roche was puzzled. 
 He had some vague idea of the nature of a Miracle 
 Play, but the cult of the Ten Lost Tribes is almost 
 entirely confined to Protestants. Their creed has 
 been pruned of all excrescences by the doctors of the 
 Reformation period, and those of them who feel the 
 need of some extra belief, a faith of supererogation, 
 as it were, must find it for themselves. The Ten 
 Lost Tribes furnish exactly what is wanted. Roman 
 Catholics, on the other hand, especially the priests, 
 who are much occupied in the study of theology, find 
 all they want in the way of exercise for the faculty of 
 faith in the Papal Decrees, Encyclicals, and Bulls 
 which pour from the Vatican. Father Roche had 
 never given a thought to the Ten Lost Tribes. He 
 did not, at first, remember exactly what they were. 
 
 "I don't think," said Mr. Mervyn, "that we 
 could — I mean to say that we ought — the circum- 
 stances of the place — the general feeling of the 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 6$ 
 
 people — the peculiar intensity of religious feeling in 
 
 Ireland " At this point he looked meaningly at 
 
 Fafher Roche. " It would be totally impossible. I 
 am sure you agree with me about that, Father Roche." 
 
 "I'd be better able to tell you whether I do or 
 not," said Father Roche, "if I knew exactly what it 
 is that the lady's talking about." 
 
 " The Ten Lost Tribes," said Mr. Mervyn. " You 
 recollect, Father Roche, at the time of the Assyrian 
 conquest " 
 
 "I've heard of them," said Father Roche 
 cautiously. 
 
 " And a Miracle Play," said Mrs. Dann. " There's 
 money in the name Druminawona, especially when 
 connected in the public mind with a Miracle Play, 
 acted by the descendants of those vanished Israelites. 
 We'll boom Druminawona into European celebrity. 
 There's a spaciousness about it which leaves the 
 imagination room to saunter round. There's a kind 
 of meandering melancholy which you'd hardly beat 
 among the best place-names in the itinerary of the 
 Children of Israel. Ije-Abarim is a good name, I 
 don't deny it. Bobby Sebright's father would draw 
 tears from your eyes when he proclaims it. But it's a 
 lap or two behind Druminawona in the race. Just 
 ypu two reverend gentlemen let it sink into you. Let 
 it work round and round in your minds, and you'll 
 see." 
 
 " It's a good name," said Father Roche. " I don't 
 deny that it's a good name." 
 
 " There's nothing in Europe to touch it," said Mrs. 
 Dann. " Take Oberammergau now. That's a name 
 that's gone round the newspapers of the five conti- 
 nents in connection with a' play and it hasn't half 
 the charm of Druminawona." 
 
 F 
 
(>& THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 Father Roche knew the name Oberammergau, 
 though he could not at the moment recollect what it 
 was famous for. He felt that he was safe in agreeing 
 with Mrs. Dann about the sound of it. 
 
 " It's as ugly a mouthful as you'd get," he said, 
 " outside of a doctor's dispensary." 
 
 "When Bobby Sebright comes along " said 
 
 Mrs. Dann. 
 
 " Will he have time ? " said Mr. Mervyn. " He 
 has so many other things to do. You told me that 
 he had to write about Irish politics. Surely if he 
 does that " 
 
 " Bobby Sebright will make time if I tell him to," 
 said Mrs. Dann. 
 
 " If he can't do that itself," said Father Roche, 
 "he can borrow it. There's plenty here. I don't 
 know but Mr. Mervyn and myself could make up a 
 week for him between us and not miss it when it was 
 gone." 
 
 It seemed to him that Mr. Mervyn was throwing 
 unnecessary difficulties in Mrs. Dann's way. Her 
 scheme, whatever it was, might be feasible or it might 
 not. There was no reason that he could see why she 
 should not be allowed to explain it. He smiled in an 
 encouraging way. Mrs. Dann's next words seemed 
 to justify his smile. 
 
 "You'll have less time and more money," she 
 said, " once Bobby gets a move on the newspapers. 
 You may put your little all into this speculation, Phil, 
 and not lie awake at night feeling that you're going 
 to rob your orphan daughter of her fortune. Bobby 
 knows the way to go about the business. With a 
 name like Druminawona behind him a worse man 
 than Bobby would hardly be able to mess up the 
 proposition, no matter how hard he tried. You'll 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 67 
 
 see. First of all there'll be a par. here and a par. 
 there, just scattered promiscuously among the most 
 prominent organs of British opinion. Attention will 
 be called to the kind of esoteric glamour that exhales 
 out of Druminav/ona. Then there'll be sonnets in all 
 the high-toned religious weeklies. Bobby's there all 
 the time when it comes to lyrical effusions. There 
 isn't a man on the New York press at present who 
 knows what Bobby does about the note of restraint 
 which, gives its true distinction to the highest art. 
 When he's worked that for a bit he'll turn his attention 
 to the cheap dailies. He'll fill up with light sketches 
 under first-rate pulling headlines — World Forgotten, 
 by the World Forgot — calculated to permeate the 
 hives of industry and persuade the busy workers of the 
 pastoral virtues of the people of Druminawona." 
 
 " It could be done, of course," said Father 
 Roche. "But what I'm thinking is, what'd it all 
 lead to?" 
 
 "We're just coming to that," said Mrs, Dann. 
 "When Bobby has the prominent citizens of the 
 British Isles and America cabling to each other to 
 know who is responsible for there being no cheap 
 excursions to Druminawona, he'll drop right into the 
 middle of them with the Ten Tribes. The principal 
 archaeological journals will have articles describing 
 the way the people of Druminawona have been 
 running a Miracle Play of their own for unnumbered 
 centuries, and how they'd be mad if anybody knew 
 they were doing it. The other papers will copy out 
 bits of those articles, and the general public will say 
 that it would be nothing short of a crime to permit 
 any one to break in upon the sacred relics of the past 
 and vulgarise the play by going to look at it." 
 
 " It could be done, of course," said Father Roche, 
 
68 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 " if so be a smart man took up the job. But what I'd 
 like to put before you " 
 
 "Then Bobby will round up a few legislators,'^' 
 said Mrs. Dann, "and have a Bill before 
 Congress " 
 
 "We'll have Home Rule by that time, please 
 God," said Father Roche. 
 
 " It'll be all the same to Bobby," said Mrs. Dann. 
 " This Bill will forbid any one attempting to inter- 
 fere with the religious and artistic traditions of 
 Druminawona." 
 
 "If a law of that sort was to be made," said 
 Father Roche-^ " and mind you I'm not saying that 
 it could — but if it was, the police would never be able 
 to stop the people that would be wanting to come and ^ 
 see what it was we were doing." 
 
 " That's what I'm figuring on," said Mrs. Dann. 
 " Everybody with credit for a dollar would realise 
 straight away and book right through for 
 Druminawona." 
 
 " I don't see how we'd manage with them when 
 we'd got them," said Father Roche. " There wouldn't 
 be beds in the place for twenty people over and 
 above what's in it this minute ; and if there were they 
 wouldn't be the sort of beds that those people would 
 be accustomed to. But leaving that out of the question 
 for a minute, what I'm trying to say is this " 
 
 "The real difficulty," said Mr. Mervyn, "is the 
 play itself. We can't have a play of any sort, much 
 less — and we ought not to advertise it when " 
 
 " Phil," said Mrs. Dann, " if anybody else but you 
 were to speak to me in that way I'd feel hurt. You 
 never involved yourself in any bigger error than 
 you're doing now if you think that I'm calculating to 
 swindle the innocent public. When Bobby Sebright 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 69 
 
 announces that there's a play here, there will be a 
 play. I haven't settled the subject yet ; but it'll have 
 to be something in the early part of the sacred 
 history. It wouldn't fit in right if we represented 
 those tribes as introducing incidents which took place 
 after they'd got lost." 
 
 "Any plan," said Father Roche, " which would be 
 for the benefit of the neighbourhood and would be 
 the means of bringing a little money into a place 
 where money's badly wanted is what I'd be willing to 
 support to the best of my power, so long " 
 
 He held up a warning forefinger. 
 
 "^So long as there's nothing in it that would be 
 setting the people against their religious duties." 
 
 " Sure," said Mrs. Dann, " I told Phil you'd say 
 that. And the money will eventuate in this case. It 
 can't help it", 
 
 " I don't like the idea," said Mr. Mervyn, " and I 
 don't think — I really cannot thirk " 
 
 " I'd be glad to know a little more about it," said 
 Father Roche, "before I say much one way or the 
 other. What would Mr. Mervyn and I be expected 
 to do?" 
 
 "Nothing," said Mrs. Dann. "Nothing but 
 gather in the royalties. The whole thing is done for 
 you. There's Judas Iscariot in your own back-yard, 
 Phi), ready made." 
 
 " What's that ? " said Father Roche. 
 
 " But he doesn't like it," said Mr. Mervyn. " He 
 told me he wouldn't be called Judas. — She means 
 ^neas Sweeny," he added by way of explanation to 
 Father Roche. 
 
 " Is it ^neas Sweeny ? " said Father Roche, 
 chuckling. " It's a great eye you have for a face, Mrs. 
 Dann, Here I've been looking at vEneas Sweeny 
 
7.0 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 for upwards of thirty years and it never struck me till 
 this minute that he's the dead spit of Judas Iscariot. 
 But he is. Now that it's pointed out to me I see it 
 plain enough." 
 
 " He doesn't like being told so," said Mr. Mervyn. 
 "In fact " 
 
 " Let him not then," said Father Roche. " Who 
 cares whether he likes it or not ? It's what he looks ; 
 and more than that it's what he is. If you weren't an 
 innocent man, Mr. Mervyn, and easy deceived, you'd 
 know that there isn't a bigger thief in Druminawona 
 this minute than that same ^neas Sweeny." 
 
 " But ^neas won't allow himself to be shown off 
 as Judas Iscariot," said Mr. Mervyn. " I'm sure he 
 won't." 
 
 " I'd like to catch him refusing," said Father 
 Roche, "if I tell him he's to do it. Is it ^neas 
 Sweeny to be setting himself up against his clergy ? 
 It would be a queer thing, so it would, for the likes of 
 him that's signed the pledge seven times if he's 
 signed it once, and broke it oftener than that — it would 
 be a curious thing if he was to dare to go against what 
 might be laid upon him as a duty. But that's not what 
 I was wanting to say. If this notion is to be carried 
 out there'll be more wanted than yEneas Sweeny." 
 
 "There's a policeman," said Mrs. Dann, "that 
 looks as if he's the twin brother of the High Priest." 
 
 Father Roche brought his fist down with a bang 
 upon the table. 
 
 " Sergeant Ginty ! " he said. " I'm with you there. 
 Dressed up proper that sergeant " 
 
 " He won't do it," said Mr. Mervyn, " He told 
 me this morning that he'd take an action for defama- 
 tion of character against any one who called him a 
 High Priest." 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 71 
 
 " He's a bitter Protestant, that one," said Father 
 Roche. " The name priest is enough .for him." 
 
 " Can't you manage him, Phil ? " said Mrs. 
 Dann. 
 
 " You can, of course," said Father Roche. " If I 
 put the fear of God into the soul of a blackguard like 
 .(Eneas Sweeny, what's to hinder you talking sense 
 to the police sergeant ? " 
 
 Mr. Mervyn was unwilling to admit that his 
 influence with his flock was inferior to that which 
 Father Roche exercised. But he knew very well that 
 nothing he could say would induce Sergeant Ginty to 
 be posed in public as Caiaphas. He hesitated. 
 
 " If there's money in it," said Father Roche, 
 " Sergeant Ginty will be as ready as any other one 
 to take a share of what's going. But I wouldn't be 
 acting fair with you, ma'am, or with Mr. Mervyn here, 
 if I didn't say " 
 
 "The dollars," said Mrs. Dann, "will roll in like 
 the billows of the eternal ocean. Druminawona will 
 be the brightest spot on the map of Ireland." 
 
 " Tell me this now," said Father Roche. " Wouldn't 
 it do you as well if we were to have a pilgrimage ? 
 Play-acting of the sort you mean is what the people 
 of this country is not accustomed to. But there's 
 been pilgrimages off and on in different parts, and 
 nobody has a word to say against them." 
 
 " Bobby Sebright won't take off his coat to run a 
 pilgrimage," said Mrs. Dann. " He doesn't trade 
 much in back numbers. The world's fed up with 
 pilgrimages." 
 
 " There's a well beyond in the mountains," said 
 Father Roche persuasively, " that's got the reputation 
 of being a Holy Well, ever since the time of 
 St. Patrick and before it. It could be that if the 
 
72 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 pilgrimage was to be organised in connection with 
 it " 
 
 " There's no real novelty about a sacred spring," 
 said Mrs. Dann. " It has its value as an evidence 
 of the poetical nature of the locality. But it's not 
 novel. The ancient Greeks worked sacred springs 
 for pretty well all they were worth. There was a 
 professor from Oxford University lecturing on the 
 culture of the ancient Greeks, and he said quite a lot 
 about one of those springs in Helicon. You'll correct 
 me if I'm wrong, Phil ; but it's my impression that 
 Helicon was the place he named. Still, I don't say 
 but your sacred spring might be made to pay as a 
 side show." 
 
 " I'm afraid," said Mr. Mervyn, " that we couldn't 
 possibly work the plan out in a place like this. It 
 wouldn't — it wouldn't suit us." 
 
 He looked at Father Roche for support. It was 
 plainly the priest's duty to offer some definite and 
 decisive opposition to a plan which was inherently 
 absurd and which would certainly cause an enormous 
 amount of trouble to every one concerned. But 
 Father Roche had been attracted by his own idea of 
 a pilgrimage. Such things have been successfully 
 organised in Ireland in places with no greater natural 
 attractions than his Holy Well. He did not quite 
 understand what Mrs. Dann meant by regarding it 
 as a side show. In a certain sense the avowed object 
 of a pilgrimage is always of subordinate Importance. 
 The actual pilgrimage, a self-existing and self- 
 sufficing thing, is what really matters. 
 
 "It might be of great benefit to the locality, 
 surely," he said. - 
 
 Then, speaking in a meditative way more to 
 himself than to Mrs. Dann, he added — 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 73 
 
 " I've known men made archdeacons for less." 
 
 Mrs. Dann caught his meaning at once. 
 
 " You two reverend gentlemen," she said, " may 
 scoop in all the credit. I shan't want any of it, and 
 I don't expect Bobby Sebright will care to claim his 
 share, but it will be a big thing for you. Your 
 portraits will be in all the papers." 
 
 ■ "It would only be done with the bishop's 
 approval," said Father Roche. 
 
 " Oh, there's plenty of details to be settled," said 
 Mrs. Dann. " I haven't done more than just fasten 
 on the general ideas. I don't know that I deserve 
 much credit for that either. All I did was to kind of 
 grasp it as it flitted by. It was when I went home 
 to-day after listening to that sermon of yours, Phil, 
 that I began to think how pleased Nathan P. Dann 
 would be if he could have stepped into Druminawona 
 and seen Judas Iscariot and the High Priest strolling 
 round. I couldn't help feeling that poor Nathan 
 wouldn't have let them run to waste if he'd been alive. 
 Then I kind of bumped into the idea of the Miracle 
 Play and ran right off to tell Phil." 
 
 " I don't know," said Father Roche, " would the 
 bishop approve of that kind of talk. A pilgrimage 
 to a Holy Well, now " 
 
 " The first thing to do," said Mrs. Dann, " is to 
 supply a general outline of the scheme to Bobby 
 Sebright. He'll be in London the day after to- 
 morrow, and he'd better step right in and get to work 
 before he leaves. I'll get along now' and have that 
 letter written so that it can be mailed to-night. Good- 
 bye, Father Roche. Good-bye, Phil, unless you're 
 coming with me." 
 
 " Wouldn't it be better to go back to your original 
 idea ? " said Mr. Mervyn desperately. He felt that 
 
74 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 if a letter were written to Bobby Sebright an irretriev- 
 able step would be taken. If paragraphs, sonnets, 
 sketches, and articles began to appear in the Press — 
 and he had no doubt that they would — Druminawona 
 and he himself would be hopelessly committed to a 
 Miracle Play, and to some vague but certainly 
 distressing connection with the Ten Lost Tribes. 
 Mrs. Dann stared at him. 
 
 " You're away beyond me, Phil," she said. " I 
 don't know that I quite recollect what that original 
 idea was ; unless it was the improvements in your 
 church. You didn't seem to cuddle up much to the 
 notion of wearing the cope I offered you." 
 
 " I was thinking of what you said about our 
 boosting Druminawona," said Mr. Mervyn. 
 
 He did not want to boost. He hated the very 
 thought of such a thing. But it was the lesser of two 
 evils. The shame of it would not spread far beyond 
 Druminawona. The scandal and disgrace of a play 
 acted by the Ten Lost Tribes would be flaunted in 
 every newspaper. 
 
 " We'll all boost plenty," said Mrs. Dann, " once we 
 get started on the present scheme. Up to that date 
 I don't see that you've much to boost about." 
 
 She waved her hand airily as she spoke, went to 
 the door of the room, turned, and nodded to the two 
 clergymen. Then she left the house. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 Father Roche crossed the room and stood at the 
 window. He watched Mrs. Dann going along the 
 street. She walked with a brisk, springy motion, not 
 unlike the way certain small birds move from place to 
 place when it does not seem worth while to open their 
 wings and fly. Her gait impressed him with a sense 
 of her irrepressible energy. He envied her. It was 
 a long time since he had walked otherwise than 
 ponderously: He also felt a little uneasy. Restless 
 activity always made him uncomfortable. At the 
 back of his mind there was an idea that almost every- 
 thing in the world was better if it were let alone. 
 Little good ever came of trying to do new things or 
 to move old things from their accustomed places. It 
 would be pleasant, of course, to be an archdeacon ; 
 but honour may be purchased at too high a price. 
 Mrs. Dann hopped out of view. Father Roche turned 
 to Mr. Mervyn. 
 
 " I have a box of cigars in the drawer of the table," 
 he said. " It's seldom I smoke them myself, but it's 
 my belief that one of them would be good for you at 
 this moment." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn was perfectly certain that a cigar 
 would be very bad for him. He never smoked. 
 
 " You need something," said Father Roche, " and 
 I need something myself. Will you take it cold or 
 hot?" 
 
76 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 Mr. Mervyn realised that he was being offered 
 whisky. He did not drink whisky in his own home, 
 but only because he could not afford it. He had 
 been through a good" deal of nervous excitement 
 during the day. He felt that a stimulant would be 
 good for him. 
 
 " A little," he said, " a very little, please." 
 
 " There's no soda-water," said Father Roche, " for 
 I drank the last bottle in the house to my dinner. 
 But if the kettle's not boiling it ought to be near 
 enough by this time. It's not tea we're making." 
 
 "Thank you," said Mr. Mervyn, "a very little, 
 and cold water." 
 
 It seemed to him for some reason which he could 
 not explain to be a less abandoned thing to drink 
 whisky with cold water than to sit down to a tumbler 
 of punch. 
 
 Father Roche opened a cupboard which stood in 
 the corner of the room and took out a bottle of whisky. 
 
 "That's good stuff," he said. "I get it down 
 from Dublin. I've a bottle of port if you'd rather 
 have it ; but the other is what's required for the two 
 of us." 
 
 He left the room. In a few minutes he returned, 
 carrying a jug of cold water in one hand and a kettle 
 in the other. He set these down on the table and 
 then took two tumblers from the pockets of his coat. 
 
 " Mrs. Deveril isn't home yet," he said. " When 
 she does come back she'll get a lacerating that she'll 
 remember. What right has she to go stravaguing 
 about the country as if she was a young girl or 
 maybe something worse.'" He put one of the 
 tumblers down opposite Mr. Mervyn and pushed the 
 whisky bottle across the table. 
 
 "If you'll fill up for yourself, Mr. Mervyn," he 
 
THE LOST TRIBES if 
 
 said. He turned away from the table as he spoke 
 and went to the window. 
 
 " I don't see sight nor light of Mrs. Deveril yet," 
 he said. " Will you fill up, Mr. Mervyn ? " 
 
 He peered up and down the street, keeping his 
 back turned to the room. Mr. Mervyn realised that 
 the priest was behaving with extreme delicacy of 
 feeling. There are many men who like a good deal 
 of whisky in their water, and prefer to make the 
 mixture without being watched. A really courteous 
 host considers this and looks the other way while his 
 guest is helping himself. Mr. Mervyn was grateful 
 to Father Roche and appreciated his kindly action in 
 turning his back. He was ashamed that any one 
 should see him pouring out his whisky, not because 
 he intended to pour out much, but because he 
 Intended to take no more than a tablespoonful. He 
 dribbled the spirit into his tumbler and then filled it 
 up to the brim with water. After a decent interval 
 Father Roche turned round again. He made a 
 rather stronger mixture for himself, using hot water, 
 and adding three lumps of sugar. 
 
 For a time neither of the clergymen spoke. Mr. 
 Mervyn sipped nervously. Father Roche took two 
 large gulps. 
 
 " Tell me this now," said the j)riest at last : " is 
 that one right in her head ? " 
 
 " She's very kind-hearted," said Mr. Mervyn, 
 
 " She may be that ; but has she sense ? " 
 
 " She seems to be all right about most things," 
 said Mr. Mervyn. 
 
 Father Roche took another mouthful from his 
 tumbler and again considered the situation silently. 
 
 " The bishop will never stand it," he said. 
 
 Mr. Mervyn also had a bishop to reckon with. 
 
78 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 He drank a little whisky and' water and then 
 expressed his agreement with Father Roche. 
 
 " No bishop would," he said, " No bishop could. 
 It's not to be expected." 
 
 " Supposing the bishop heard of it," said Father 
 Roche ; " but he might not." 
 
 " He'd hardly be able to help hearing of it," said 
 Mr. Mervyn. "You remember what she said about 
 Bobby Sebright and the newspapers." 
 
 Father Roche sighed. It was undeniable that 
 Bobby Sebright's articles and poems were likely 
 sooner or later to attract the attention even of a very 
 retired bishop. \ 
 
 "It's a terrible pity," said Father Roche. "If 
 she'd content herself with an ordinary pilgrimage 
 there'd be no objection to it. And the money that 
 would come into the place would be very useful. 
 We'd be able to snap our fingers at the whole set of 
 them Government inspectors. What would we care 
 for their parish committees and the twopenny little 
 grants they give us? I'll tell you what it is, Mr. 
 Mervyn — I'm sick and tired of going down on my 
 knees every day of the week and presenting petitions 
 to young whipper-snappers of fellows down from 
 Dublin in order to get a fair share of what's going. 
 If I had the handling of the money which a good 
 pilgrimage would bring in I'd laugh at the whole of 
 them. But what's the use of talking .' " 
 
 " It can't be done," said Mr. Mervyn. 
 
 " If she'd be reasonable about it, it might. We 
 can't have the people of the parish, either Catholic or 
 Protestant, passed off as Jews ; and, so far as I can 
 make out, it's that that she wants to do." 
 
 " JEneas Sweeny objects," said Mr, Mervyn, " aqd 
 so does the sergeant." 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 79 
 
 " I wouldn't mind those two ; if it was only them. 
 They deserve it. But the rest of the people — I 
 wonder now couldn't it be done in some way that 
 wouldn't attract so much attention as what she's 
 proposing ? " 
 
 " If it wasn't advertised," said Mr. Mervyn, " the 
 public wouldn't come, and then " 
 
 " I see that well enough — I'm not suggesting that 
 it could be done. I'm only saying it's a terrible pity 
 it can't. There's nothing now that I'd like better 
 than to see Sergeant Ginty displaying himself to the 
 admiration of the public as a High Priest. There'd 
 be a satisfaction in that if we never earned a penny 
 by t. She's a wonderful lady.] I don't know that 
 I ever met a finer. If there were more like her 
 Ireland would be a different country to-day." 
 
 " It would," said Mr. Mervyn, " but on the whole 
 I'm glad it isn't," 
 
 " Here's to her," said Father Roche. 
 
 He held his tumbler at arm's length for a moment 
 and then finished his whisky and water at a draught. 
 
 Half an hour later Mr. Mervyn went home. He 
 was more than ever puzzled and perplexed. Father 
 Roche had not indeed committed himself to a promise 
 of co-operation with Mrs. Dann, but he was evidently 
 tempted by the promise of wealth for the parish. 
 Mr. Mervyn felt that he could not rely on the 
 priest. If his energetic sister-in-law was to be 
 opposed successfully he would have to oppose her 
 himself. He felt quite unequal to the task. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 Mr. Mervyn was a man who had all his life slept 
 well. He had every right to quiet unconsciousness 
 at night. He neither owed money nor ate too much, 
 nor were the worries of his parish of such a kind as 
 to press heavily on his conscience. After his first 
 visit to his sister-in-law he had a very unpleasant 
 experience. He woke twice during the night. Each 
 time he was conscious of a vague uneasiness. Each 
 time the cause of the discomfort became clearer as 
 sleep more completely forsook him. The first time 
 he found that the idea of boosting had been lying, so 
 to speak, undigested, on his brain. The second time 
 — and this was at three o'clock A.M. — he was acutely 
 worried at the thought of Bobby Sebright's marriage 
 with Delia. 
 
 The next night, Sunday night, he suffered much 
 more severely. He went to bed as usual at ten 
 o'clock. Instead of going to sleep, he lay wide awake 
 until eleven. He could not help thinking about the 
 Miracle Play. There is a sonnet of Wordsworth's 
 which treats of sleeplessness at night. Mr. Mervyn 
 said it over to himself several times. But the Miracle 
 Play crept in between the lines. The poet's foolish 
 invocation — 
 
 " Dear mother of fresh thoughts "— 
 was far too successful. The fresh thoughts came in 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 8i 
 
 large numbers, but they were all concerned with 
 iEneas Sweeny and Sergeant Ginty as actors in a 
 Miracle Play. At twelve o'clock Mr. Mervyn felt that 
 his situation was becoming desperate. He got out of 
 bed and groped his way to his study. " The flock 
 of sheep," " the murmuring bees," " the smooth 
 sheets of water" and all the rest had failed him. He 
 determined to try a book. 
 
 On an upper shelf in Mr. Mervyn's study reposed 
 the works of the Reverend John Owen, D.D., in 
 twenty-five large volumes. They were a kind of 
 heirloom in the Mervyn family ; presented originally 
 by grateful parishioners to the Rev. Erasmus Mervyn, 
 they had passed from him to his nephew, the Rev. 
 Canon Latimer Mervyn, D.D. He had guarded them 
 safely for many years and bequeathed them to his 
 son Theophilus. His will contained a clause specially 
 commending John Owen as a master of sound 
 theology. Theophilus, the rector of Druminawona, 
 had for many years intended to embark upon the 
 works of the great Puritan divine. The misfortune 
 of a wakeful night gave him his opportunity. He 
 took down the eighth volume and went back to bed. 
 
 The index promised some curious reading. It 
 stated that on page 43 there was " A short defensa- 
 tive about Church Government, Toleration and 
 Petitions about these things." On page 49 there was 
 "A Country Essay for the Practice of Church 
 Government there." It struck Mr. Mervyn that this 
 essay might contain some profitable thoughts. He 
 lived in the country, and it seemed likely that two 
 bishops, Father Roche's and his own, would, if the 
 Miracle Play came to a head, be goaded into prac- 
 tising some form of Church government He turned 
 to page 49 and readj " Our long expectation of some 
 
 G 
 
82 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 accommodation between the dissenting parties about 
 Church government being now almost totally frustrate 
 — ^being also persuaded, partly through the apparent 
 fruitlessness of all such undertakings, partly by other 
 reasons, not at this time seasonable to be expressed, 
 that all national disputes tending that way will prove 
 
 birthless tympanies " 
 
 Mr. Mervyn paused. The phrase "birthless 
 tympany " arrested his attention. He did not know 
 what a tympany was ; but he gathered from the 
 context that the word was used of something which 
 the author very much disliked. It occurred to him 
 that John Owen would very probably have spoken 
 of a Miracle Play as a tympany. He certainly hoped 
 that Mrs. Dann's tympany would turn out to be 
 birthless. When he got his attention fixed on the 
 book again he found that he had read several lines 
 without receiving any idea at all. It seemed scarcely 
 worth while to re-xead them. He went on from 
 the point which he had reached. "Concealing for 
 awhile," he read, "all arguments for motives and 
 inducements unto this way, with all those rocks and 
 shelves appearing very hideous in former proposals." 
 There was no doubt that John Owen had in mind 
 something similar to the Miracle Play. It was a 
 proposal and it appeared very hideous. Mr. Mervyn 
 reached the bottom of the page. There he made a 
 startling discovery. The pages of the eighth volume 
 of the works of John Owen were not cut. It was 
 evident that neither his great-uncle Erasmus nor his 
 father Canon Latimer had studied the Puritan divine 
 as much as they pretended. Mr. Mervyn felt 
 annoyed. He wanted, if possible, to find out all 
 about the birthless tympanies ; but he was most 
 unwilling to go downstairs for a paper-knife. He 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 83 
 
 tried the experiment of reading only the pages which 
 opened without being cut. He found himself at once 
 on page 56. He read hopefully: "Yet I cannot but 
 be persuaded that such toleration would prove ex- 
 ceeding pernicious to all sorts of men, and at last end 
 in a dispute like that recounted by Juvenal between 
 two cities of Egypt about their differences between 
 their garden and their river deities, or like the con- 
 test related by Vertomannus in his travels among 
 the Mohammedans, about Haly and Homar, the 
 pretended successors to their grand impostor." There 
 are, as every reviewer knows, many books which can 
 be read quite comfortably and profitably without 
 cutting the pages which the publisher has left uncut, 
 but the eighth volume of the works of John Owen is 
 not one of them. That Cromwellian theologian was 
 a close reasoner. It is utterly impossible to gather 
 the meaning of a phrase which occurs on page 49 — 
 " birthless tympanies," for instance — if the argument 
 is only picked up again on page 56. But Mr. Mervyn 
 felt encouraged and cheered. John Owen was a 
 strong man. He would certainly have regarded any 
 toleration of Mrs. Dann's plans as exceedingly 
 pernicious. Mr. Mervyn wanted more language of 
 this kind. 
 
 He got out of bed and went to his dressing-table 
 for his shoehorn. He thought unkindly of his uncle, 
 and, for the first time in his life, of his father, as he 
 got back into bed. A shoehorn is not a good paper- 
 cutter, because its blade is curved. Page 58 was torn 
 in such a way that it became very difficult to read 
 it. Part of it remained attached to page 59. Another 
 portion got altogether loose and hid itself among the 
 bedclothes. Only a fragment, a true church among 
 schismatic communities, remained in its proper place. 
 
84 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 This annoyed Mr. Mervyn very much. He was 
 beginning to realise with great satisfaction that the 
 Rev. John Owen was not at all the kind of man who 
 would have submitted without a struggle to the 
 introduction of a Miracle Play into his parish. A 
 sentence, of which he could neither get the beginning 
 nor the end, appealed to him strongly : " If by non- 
 toleration you mean that which the gloss upon that 
 place ' Haereticum hominem de vita-^ ' intended by 
 adding " supple tolle ' to make up the sense — " At this 
 point a gap occurred, which it was almost impossible 
 to fill satisfactorily. Further on the sentence pursued 
 its way : " To have their new derided lights ex- 
 tinguished in that that, ' qua stantes ardent,' in Nero's 
 bonfire, into the secrets of them that are thus minded 
 let not my soul descend." Mr. Mervyn wriggled and 
 felt the missing part of the page crumple up under- 
 neath his right leg. 
 
 He was a man of naturally good temper, and long 
 residence in Druminawona had taught him the folly 
 of violent emotion. He was besides a clergyman. 
 Instead of swearing he threw away the shoehorn and 
 set himself to think out some way of cutting the 
 pages without tearing them. In less than five 
 minutes he had hit upon a plan. He got out of bed 
 again and took his tooth-brush. It worked much 
 better than the shoehorn. The pages of the " Country 
 Essay on Church Government" were left a little 
 ragged at the edges. One here and there got torn, 
 but not hopelessly. Mr, Mervyn reached page 64 
 and became so absorbed in the account there given 
 of the generations of righteous men that he forgot 
 Mrs. Dann and went to sleep. In less than an hour 
 he woke again. The thought of Sergeant Ginty's 
 libel action against Mrs, Dann had somehow been 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 85 
 
 preying on his mind while he slept. It seemed, when 
 he woke and felt its full intensity, to be a very horrible 
 thing. The works of John Owen had proved to be a 
 refuge before. He determined to return to them. 
 The volume had slipped from the bed and lay on the 
 floor, but it was easily found. The tooth-brush had 
 -unfortunately disappeared. Mr. Mervyn crawled 
 about in search of it. Then his candle went out. 
 He stumbled across the room and began to feel 
 about the dressing-table for a box of matches. He 
 might not be able to find the tooth-brush, but it was 
 better to read one page out of every eight than not 
 to read at all. Before he found the matches his hand 
 came on his comb. It struck him at once that the 
 back of a comb, if carefully used, ought to be a good 
 paper-cutter, much better than a tooth-brush. He 
 lit a second candle and opened John Owen again. 
 This time be began further on at " Ebenezer — A 
 memorial of the Deliverance of Essex County and 
 Committee. In Two Sermons." The result was most 
 satisfactory. He got as far as a statement that " a 
 song upon Shigionoth leaves not one string of our 
 affections untuned," and then went to sleep again. 
 
 It was much later when he woke from this sleep. 
 He realised at once that he had reached that turning- 
 point in the night so greatly dreaded by Words- 
 worth, when " the small birds' melodies " are first heard 
 from orchard trees. A thrush opened the concert 
 with a few disconnected notes of a mellow, almost 
 soothing kind. Several other birds joined in with 
 tentative pipings. Then suddenly a whole choir 
 began to shrill together, shouting against each other 
 with vehement rivalry. It was evidently quite im- 
 possible to read a sober author like John Owen while 
 thousands of exuberant fowls were hymning the 
 
86 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 coming day with irritating and ridiculous exultation. 
 Mr. Mervyn got up. He put on a pair of trousers, 
 his dressing-gown, and bedroom slippers. Then he 
 went out. 
 
 A garden at dawn has many attractive features. 
 There is a freshness about the flowers not to be seen 
 at other times. There is also a freshness about the 
 air. Mr. Mervyn sniflfed, pretended to enjoy the 
 freshness, and felt chilly. There is dew. Most poets 
 have written appreciatively about dew. Mr. Mervyn 
 looked with great curiosity at a rose whose petals 
 were covered with gem-like drops. Then other dew, 
 which happened to be on the grass, began to soak 
 through his slippers. The skirt of his dressing-gown, 
 dew-saturated, flapped unpleasantly against his 
 ankles. He left the garden and went into the yard. 
 It was paved with round stones and therefore drier 
 than the grass. He opened the stable door and 
 looked at Biddy. She seemed to resent his intrusion. 
 The hour was a very early one, and he could not but 
 admit that Biddy's feeling was justified. Her stable 
 afiforded her no privacy during the daytime. It was 
 hard if she could not have it to herself during the 
 night. Mr. Mervyn sighed and shut the door again. 
 
 There was nothing for him to do except go back 
 again to bed. He realised with great satisfaction 
 that the birds had ceased singing. One or another 
 of them twittered occasionally in an excited way, 
 but they 'had stopped trying to drown each other's 
 voices. He supposed that they had gone forth in 
 search of worms. The proverb about the early bird 
 and the worm occurred to him. It seemed even more 
 silly than most proverbs are. He crept cold into bed 
 and decided that the lot of the ordinary wild bird is 
 a very hard one. A worm, even a particularly fat 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 87 
 
 worm, is a poor reward for activity at unhallowed 
 hours. He grew gradually warmer, and began to 
 wonder why the worms got up so early. It would be 
 much pleasanter, apparently also much safer, for them 
 to stay in whatever beds they had until eight or nine 
 o'clock. The thought of the folly of the worms 
 soothed him. He went to sleep for the third time at 
 about half-past five o'clock. 
 
 He slept profoundly through the tapping of Onny 
 Donovan, who brought him a jug of hot water at 
 eight o'clock. It was Delia who woke him at half- 
 past nine by hammering on his door. Mr. Mervyn 
 felt very sleepy indeed and utterly disinclined to get 
 out of bed. Most people under these circumstances 
 complain that they have got bad headaches, have not 
 slept, and cherish no hope of sleeping. Thus they 
 turn the reproach of the knocker at the door into 
 sympathy. They then say they must be left alone to 
 battle with their pain unaided. The murmured con- 
 dolences outside the door die softly away. The whole 
 house is hushed and sleep comes easily again. This 
 is what Mr. Mervyn would have liked to do when 
 Delia knocked at his door, but he allowed himself, as 
 usual, to be enslaved by his conscience. He could 
 not say he had a headache. 
 
 " Breakfast's ready," said Delia, knocking again, 
 "and the tea will be cold." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn promised to dress as quickly as he 
 could. 
 
 "Aunt Sally May," said Delia, "sent down a 
 messenger half an hour ago to say that she wanted 
 Biddy and the phaeton." 
 
 " I suppose .^neas took them up at once." 
 
 " Yes," said Delia, " he didn't ask ray leave. He 
 didn't even tell me he was going. I happened 
 
88 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 to see him start, otherwise I shouldn't have 
 known," 
 
 " He offered to lend them whenever your aunt 
 wanted them." 
 
 " I think it's rather disrespectful of him," said 
 Delia, " to do anything of the sort without consulting 
 you. And he ought to have been weeding the rose- 
 border to-day." 
 
 Delia appreciated her father's submissive gentle- 
 ness at its full value as a Christian virtue. But she 
 thought that ^neas Sweeny took an unfair advantage 
 of it, 
 
 " I wish you'd speak strongly to him about it," 
 she said. " I don't believe he's even dug the potatoes, 
 and he hasn't cleaned the boots." 
 
 " My dear ! If your aunt wants the pony she 
 must have her, of course." 
 
 " Of course," said Delia, " but ^Eneas ought to 
 have asked leave," 
 
 Mr. Mervyn sighed. He was not in the least 
 troubled by .Eneas' want of respect. He was a little 
 anxious about Biddy. Mrs. Dann was very vigorous 
 and seemed to be always in a hurry. Biddy was 
 unused to being hurried. She would, Mr. Mervyn 
 feared, suffer a good deal. And Biddy was far from 
 young. Galloping would be very bad for her, and 
 Mrs. Dann would almost certainly make her gallop. 
 
 After breakfast Mr. Mervyn took a chair out of 
 doors and set it in the sunshine. He felt the effects 
 of his wakeful night and wished to rest quietly for an 
 hour or two, Delia went into the pantry to see that 
 Onny washed the cups and pktes. At half-past ten 
 Mrs. Dann drove up. Mr. Mervyn started. He was 
 not surprised at seeing his sister-in-law. A visit from 
 her was, he felt, inevitable. But he did not expect to 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 89 
 
 see Biddy trotting smartly along, her head well up, 
 her feet lifted cleanly from the ground. The animal 
 had a look of vigour and alertness quite strange to 
 Mr. Mervyn. He hoped that Mrs. Dann had not 
 been violently ill-treating his pet. The phaeton 
 drew up before the rectory door. Mr. Mervyii looked 
 anxiously at Biddy. He fully expected a mute 
 appeal from her, a petition for rescue from the whip 
 of tyranny. Such an appeal would have moved him 
 painfully. But Biddy gave him no more than a 
 single, brief glance, and in her eyes Mr. Mervyn, with 
 quick sympathy, read contempt. She had already 
 learnt to despise him. She was pleased with herself, 
 and under Mrs. Dann's awakening influence was find- 
 ing a joyful pride in her new activity. A feeling of 
 loneliness came over Mr. Mervyn. 
 
 " Phil," said Mrs. Dann, " I'm grateful to you for 
 the loan of this quadruped ; but I won't keep her 
 after to-morrow. I've got to circulate a bit quicker 
 than you're accustomed to. I find I've no real use 
 for the old-fashioned horse. An automobile will suit 
 me better. I've cabled to Dublin to have one sent 
 down. Dublin's reckoned by geographers to be a 
 metropolis. I suppose it will run to a good car." 
 
 " I'm sure you'll be able to get one," said Mr. 
 Mervyn. 
 
 He spoke coldly. It seemed to him that Mrs. 
 Dann was guilty of a want of good taste in mention- 
 ing the motor-car in Biddy's hearing. It would have 
 been both kinder and more decent to complain of the 
 pony's want of speed privately, if a complaint had to 
 be made. He looked at Biddy again, almost fearing 
 to meet the creature's eye. Curiously enough she 
 did not seem to feel the insult. She swished her tail 
 from side to side with remarkable vigour, pawed the 
 
90 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 ground and shook her head as if impatient to be off 
 again. The idea in her mind — a foolish one, but to 
 Mr. Mervyn very pathetic^was to show herself equal 
 in energy to the motor-car from Dublin. 
 
 " I've got to hustle round a bit," said Mrs. Dann. 
 " What I'm out for this morning is the discovery of a 
 proper scene for the play. I've decided on plein-air, 
 and my present idea is a mountain gorge, sort of 
 blasted-heath place with lofty pines in the back- 
 ground. I thought you'd be able to put me on the 
 track of what I want and save me fooling around in 
 the wrong direction." ij 
 
 Mr. Mervyn hesitated. Among the mountains 
 round Druminawona there were many beautiful 
 valleys. He knew them well, and they held for him 
 the recollections of lofty moods when "sounding 
 cataracts haunted him like a passion." He was 
 most unwilling to allow his sister-in-law to find 
 them. 
 
 "A rushing torrent," said Mrs. Dann, "would be 
 an addition, particularly if it burst foaming from a 
 gloomy cavern. The proper sort of mountain is the 
 kind that rises precipitous so that the seats for the 
 spectators can be arranged in tiers." 
 ' Mr. Mervyn shivered slightly. 
 
 " I'm afraid," he said, " that I don't recollect any 
 place which comes up to your description." 
 
 * Theophilus," said Mrs. Dann, "you disappoint 
 me. I'm not asking for street cars in Druminawona, 
 and I don't expect elevators in the principal build- 
 ings. I haven't rung up the general manager to 
 complain that the fountain in the winter gardens 
 doesn't spout eau-de-Cologne. But I don't think it's 
 expecting too much of the resources of the locality 
 to say that it ought to run to a romantic gorge. 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 91 
 
 What's your principal industry anyway ? You don't 
 produce any one useful thing that I've stumbled 
 against so far. If you don't specialise in romantic 
 scenery what good are you ? Come to think of it, 
 there's not room in the world for places like this 
 which don't show up any either in solid stuff or 
 fancy trimmings." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn felt crushed ; but he was not any 
 more inclined to send Mrs. Dann to his favourite 
 scenes. There were valleys of the most desirable 
 kind hidden among the mountains, but he preferred ' 
 to sacrifice the reputation of Druminawona rather 
 than reveal the secret of its beauties. 
 
 " I'm afraid " he began. 
 
 Then he was interrupted by Delia. From her 
 father's study, which she was dusting, she had over- 
 heard the conversation. She could not understand 
 why her father was refusing a perfectly simple 
 request. She flung open her window and leaned out. 
 
 " Aunt Sally May," she said, " if you drive about 
 two miles along the road beside the river and then 
 turn to the left up a bohireen, that looks as if it led 
 to a cottage but doesn't, you'll come to an old gravel 
 pit. I expect it's very much the kind of place you 
 want. There aren't any pine trees, but it's full of 
 bramble bushes. I go there every autumn to get 
 blackberries for jam." 
 
 " Designed on the model of an ancient Roman 
 amphitheatre .' " said Mrs. Dann. 
 
 " I don't know," said Delia, " I never saw an 
 ancient Roman amphitheatre. It's a kind of deep 
 hole with high mounds all round it." 
 
 " Delia," said Mrs. Dann, " you're splendid. Just 
 you come right out through that window and tell me 
 more about the amphitheatre ! " 
 
92 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 The study window was small and there was a 
 prickly briar rose growing beneath it. Delia preferred 
 to go round by the passage and the door. Mrs. Dann 
 confided her satisfaction to Mr. Mervyn. 
 
 " Phil," she said, " Bobby Sebright will be pleased 
 and proud when I tell him that Delia is a business 
 girl who knows how to run things. Old Sebright will 
 admire her some when he gets to know her. He's 
 slick himself. If he wasn't he wouldn't have got that 
 church out of Nathan P. Dann." 
 
 "Please," said Mr. Mervyn, "don't say things 
 like that to Delia." 
 
 " What sort of wild woman do you take me for, 
 Phil .' Delia's modest. That's her great charm. 
 Do you think I want to rub that off her ? " 
 
 Mr. Mervyn had no time to thank his sister-in-law 
 for her consideration for his wishes. Delia appeared. 
 
 " Say, Delia," said Mrs. Dann, " is there a ruined' 
 cross or an ancient round tower anywhere alongside 
 that amphitheatre of yours ? " 
 
 " No," said Delia. " You see it's only a gravel 
 pit really." 
 
 " They'd have been attractions," said Mrs. Dann, 
 " especially if genuine. I reckon the side shows pay 
 pretty near as well as the principal chef-d'osuvre. 
 But if they're not there we'll just have to do the best 
 we can to make them. Anyway we have that sacred 
 spring of Father Roche's to fall back on. We can 
 have the water pumped up by a wind vane and the 
 public will drink it out of antique crystal goblets at a 
 fixed tariff. I don't see any reason why we shouldn't 
 run a bottling industry ; souvenir flasks, filled and 
 corked on the spot, with a portrait of Father Roche 
 on the labels, same style as the Polish count with the 
 long moustaches on the Hunyadi Janos bottles." 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 93 
 
 " I don't think," said Mr. Mervyn, " that Father 
 Roche will ever " 
 
 " He'll get his percentage," said Mrs. Dann. 
 
 " I can't agree " said Mr. Mervyn. 
 
 " We couldn't put you on the bottles," said Mrs. 
 Dann. " You'd be no kind of advertisement of the 
 value of the sacred spring. You're too thin, Phil, and 
 that's a fact. Father Roche's picture would sell two 
 bottles to every one you'd get rid of. The priest is 
 just the figure we want, kind of comfortable-looking, 
 as if the water had agreed with him." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn felt that there were "rocks and 
 shelves very hideous " showing themselves every- 
 where in Mrs. Dann's proposals. The bottling of 
 water from the Holy Well seemed to him the very 
 worst kind of birthless tympany. He knew the well. 
 A little row of white stones, laid with loving care, 
 'encircled it. A thorn tree bent over it. Upon the 
 branches, held fast by the thorns, were bleached, dis- 
 coloured scraps of cotton and flannel, fragments torn 
 from the garments of women who came to the well, 
 who asked that children might be given them or the 
 lives of children spared, or perhaps the souls of 
 children saved, pathetic memorials of the prayers 
 made now to some Christian spirit, the same prayers 
 which had been made centuries before to the deities 
 who held the land before the Cross came to it. 
 
 Mr. Mervyn shuddered. 
 
 " I'll cable off to Dublin to-day," said Mrs. Dann, 
 " and engage a sculptor to run us up an ancient cross, 
 Celtic design, with shamrocks clustering round the 
 base." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn could stand no more. Delia's 
 gravel pit was not one of his favourite haunts. It 
 bore too plainly the impress of human activity to 
 
94 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 attract him much ; but it possessed beauties which 
 appealed to him. The thought of its desecration 
 moved him. Something] of the strength of old John 
 Owen came to him. He made his protest almost 
 fiercely. 
 
 "You mustn't do such things," he said, "you'll 
 ruin the place with your vulgar monstrosities." 
 
 " Father ! " said Delia in astonishment. 
 
 Never in her life had she heard her father speak 
 in such a way. 
 
 " Delia," said Mrs. Dann, " your 'papa's right. 
 He's made me ashamed. Phil, I own up. I admire 
 you some for speaking up straight And you're 
 right. You've got the finest silk-finished gloss of 
 European culture, and when it comes to a question of 
 artistic tout-ensemble you're there all the time. I've 
 studied Italian art some, and I'm considered to have 
 read more poetry than any woman in New York. 
 But I admit that I never properly caught hold of the 
 simplicity of nature. The vulgarity is deep down in 
 me and I don't know that I'll ever get rid of it. 
 You're miles in front of me, Phil, in real refinement. 
 When we're dealing with Europeans of the highest 
 elegance it'll pay us to have that amphitheatre just 
 plain, and let Judas Iscariot and Ananias play about 
 spontaneously among the brambles. I see that now. 
 The high-brow Oxford professor would blush his 
 rosiest if we set him down in front of a faked cross. 
 I'm thankful to you for pointing that out." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn's anger vanished. The extraordinary 
 softness of Mrs. Dann's answer melted him. He felt 
 sorry ^that he had mentioned his objection to the 
 erection of the Celtic cross. He could not bring 
 himself to make another protest, one that would put a 
 stop to the bottling of the water from the Holy Well. 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 95 
 
 "Same time, Phil," said Mrs. Dann, "we've got to 
 have side shows. When we're through with the 
 professors, and the uninstructed public begins to drop 
 in we'll have to provide some sort of supplementary 
 attractions. That may not be art, but it's business. 
 You've kicked against a Celtic cross and I've given 
 in. It wouldn't do. But what do you say now to 
 advertising for a tame wolfhound .' " 
 
 She paused and looked at her brother-in-law 
 apprehensively. 
 
 " The animal wouldn't obtrude," she said. " He'd 
 look natural. The public would gurgle a lot at the 
 notion of being able to go home and say its hands 
 had been licked by a real Irish wolfhound. We'd 
 have the kind that reposes underneath the round tower 
 with the rising sun in the background. That's real 
 art, Phil — you can't deny it. There would be small 
 statuettes of the quadruped on sale, imitation bronze. 
 Nobody would grudge a dollar for a statue of a 
 hound descended straight from the dumb friend of 
 Brian Boru who fought alongside his royal master at 
 the battle of Clontarfl" 
 
 Mr. Mervyn could not refuse his sister-in-law this 
 small concession. After all, a wolfhound or two, 
 even a whole pack of wolfhounds, if a pack should 
 turn out to be procurable, would add very little to 
 the absurdity of the Druminawona Miracle Play. 
 Mr. Mervyn felt sorry that he had made a stand 
 against the round tower. He had, he feared, wantonly 
 humiliated his sister-in-law. He had effected very 
 little good. 
 
 "I kind of feel you don't like the wolfhound," 
 said Mrs. Dann. "Just you say now, Phil, and I'll 
 scratch him off the list." 
 
 "No, no," said Mr. Mervyn, "but " 
 
96 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 " I think a wolfhound would be perfectly sweet," 
 said Delia, " I've never seen one." 
 
 Mrs. Dann turned to the phaeton. 
 
 "I'll be off now," she said. "I'll examine your 
 amphitheatre thoroughly, Delia, and then I'll step in 
 and interview a few of your prominent citizens about 
 the play." 
 
 "Do you really think," said Mr, Mervyn, "that 
 Druminawona's altogether the most suitable place for 
 this experiment of yours ? " 
 
 "You produce, another place with a better name," 
 said Mrs. Dann, " and I'll take it on at once." 
 
 "We're very much out of the way here," said 
 Mr. Mervyn, " and the people are backward in many 
 of their ideas." 
 
 " I'm figuring on that backwardness. It kind of 
 matches the name," 
 
 She took her place in the phaeton and gathered 
 the reins into her hand. Then she cracked the whip, 
 Biddy, who had for some time been showing]every sign 
 of impatience, stood on her hind legs and shook her 
 head playfully, Mr, Mervyn stared at her in amaze- 
 ment. At some remote period of the past, as a long- 
 tailed filly in a field, Biddy may have been in the habit 
 of prancing. Never once during her whole ten years 
 at the rectory had she attempted any form of skittish- 
 ness. Mrs, Dann cracked the whip again. Biddy 
 came down heavily on her front legs, and looked round 
 at Mr. Mervyn for admiration and applause. His face 
 expressed nothing but surprise and sorrow. Biddy felt 
 that she had behaved in a way unbecoming to her years. 
 She was afraid to meet her master's eyes. The look 
 of reproach in them filled her with shame. To Mrs. 
 Dann's disappointment she pranced no more ; but she 
 trotted down towards the gate with unusual energy. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 Delia turned to her father. 
 
 " Aunt Sally May is a darling," she said, " and I 
 think it will be the greatest fun getting up the play. 
 I do hope she'll ask me to act." 
 
 " Oh, I hope not," said Mr. Mervyn. 
 
 He spoke very earnestly. He had before him 
 a horrible vision of Delia as the wife of Heber the 
 Kenite, hammering a nail into somebody's head, 
 perhaps Bobby Sebright's. 
 
 " Father," said Delia, " why are you so hard on 
 Aunt Sally May ? " 
 
 "My dear ! I certainly didn't mean " 
 
 "You were quite rude to her about the Celtic 
 cross. I don't see that it would do any one a bit of 
 harm if she put up a Celtic cross. Lots of people do 
 in graveyards and places." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn felt very much depressed. Biddy had 
 proved disloyal, a fickle friend. She had transferred 
 her allegiance shamelessly to Mrs. Dann Now it 
 seemed to him that Delia was deserting him too. 
 
 " And she was awfully nice about it," said Delia 
 " She gave in to you at once in the sweetest way. I 
 was quite afraid she'd be angry." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn was pained. Delia was unjust to 
 him^ In the bitterness of his heart he made up his 
 
 H 
 
98 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 mind to telLher of the marriage arranged for her 
 with Bobby Sebright. That would offend her. Her 
 pride would rise in rebellion against such a plan. 
 She would, at once, be estranged from Mrs. Dann, 
 would return to her old trusting affection for her 
 father. 
 
 " I must go back to my work now," said Delia. 
 " I've got to start Onny at the washing. She won't 
 do a thing till I go to her. But I do think, Father, 
 you ought to try and be a little kinder to Aunt Sally 
 May." 
 
 She went into the house as she spoke, Mr. 
 Mervyn missed his opportunity. 
 
 A few minutes later the gate at the bottom of the 
 rectoty drive clanged. It was an iron gate and it 
 always clanged unless it was shut with very great 
 care. Mr. Mervyn peered through the trees and saw 
 vEneas Sweeny walking jauntily towards the house. 
 It was quite plain to him that .^neas had been 
 drinking. He was scarcely surprised, .^neas was 
 seldom actually drunk, but it was his custom to drive 
 off approaching sorrow, to welcome every kind of joy, 
 and to cheer monotonous days, the days which had no 
 special sorrow or joy in them, at the bar of one or 
 another of the three public-houses in Druminawona. 
 On the present occasion the coming of Mrs. Dann 
 must have furnished him with his excuse. It was likely 
 too that she had given him a coin, perhaps a coin of 
 considerable value, when he brought up Biddy and 
 the phaeton in the morning. Mr. Mervyn was grieved, 
 but he anticipated no special annoyance. iEneas' 
 manners were good when he was sober. When he 
 reached the state which he himself described as 
 "being a bit careless" he became exceedingly re- 
 spectful and polite. 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 99 
 
 " I beg your reverence's pardon," he said when he 
 reached Mr. Mervyn, "but I'd be glad of a word with 
 you, if so be that I'm not interrupting you, and you 
 busy." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn could not honestly say that he was 
 busy. He might indeed, had he been a less truthful 
 man, have pleaded press of work. A clergyman has 
 this advantage over any other kind of man. No one 
 can tell for certain whether he is working o.r not. 
 Ordinary men go to offices when they work, and if 
 they are not in offices, it is reasonable to suppose that 
 they are at leisure. A clergyman may be in the 
 throes of sermon preparation, even if he is sitting in a 
 chair in the sun. But Mr. Mervyn made no attempt 
 to deceive ./Eneas. He admitted, reluctantly, that he 
 was in a position to receive any word that might be 
 spoken to him. 
 
 " I'd as soon," .(Eneas went on, " that your reverence 
 wouldn't be troubling yourself any more on account 
 of anything I might have said to you, and me not 
 knowing rightly at the time the way things was." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn had several troubles, and was acutely 
 conscious of them ; but he was not fretting over any 
 remark recently made to him by .^neas Sweeny. 
 He thought that .lEneas' conscience must have been 
 rendered morbidly acute by the whisky he had drunk. 
 It was always unwise to argue with a man in such a 
 condition. Mr. Mervyn determined to humour him. 
 
 "Very well," he said graciously, "I'll think no 
 more about it. And now you may as well be getting 
 back to your work in the garden." 
 
 " She's a fine lady, so she is," said .^neas thought- 
 fully, without moving from where he stood. 
 
 Mr. Mervyn knew that he must be referring to 
 Mrs. Dann. He agreed with .^neas heartily, and 
 
100 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 then suggested that some potatoes should be dug up 
 and brought into the house. 
 
 "And if she does speak a bit sharp now and 
 •again," said ^Eneas, " I wouldn't begrudge her the 
 use of her tongue. ' Judas Iscariot,' says she. And 
 I don't deny to your reverence but she had my temper 
 riz, for it's what nobody ever called me before, and 
 it's not a nice name to put on any man." 
 
 " She may not have meant it," said Mr. Mervyn, 
 He knew that Mrs. Dann had meant it and that 
 she intended to do more than merely fix the name on 
 ^neas. But he felt the hopelessness of explaining 
 the nature of a Miracle Play to a man who is not 
 quite sober. 
 
 "I know that well enough now," said .(Eneas, 
 " though at the time when she was speaking, it went 
 through me like as if it was a knife. But I'd be glad if 
 your reverence would speak a word to her so as she'd 
 know that I'll not be interfering with her any way, 
 and her calling it to me as often as may be pleasing 
 to her." 
 
 Delia looked out of a bedroom window and spoke 
 sharply to iEneas. She had disapproved of his conduct 
 in the morning, holding that he had no right to take 
 Biddy without permission. She disapproved still 
 more of his idleness, now that he had returned. 
 
 " I suppose she gave you half a crown," she said. 
 
 " And if she did itself," said.iEneas, " his reverence 
 would be the last man within the four setis of Holy 
 Ireland to begrudge it to me. It's terrible hard you 
 are. Miss Delia." 
 
 " I expect," said Delia, " that any one who gave you 
 half a crown might call you by any name under the 
 sun and you wouldn't mind." 
 
 At this point in the discussion Onny Donovan 
 
THE LOST TRIBES lOi 
 
 appeared on the doorstep. She had heard ^Eneas 
 Sweeny's voice, which was naturally loud, and Delia's, 
 which had to be raised in order to be heard from an 
 upper window. The altercation promised amuse- 
 ment, and Onny liked to hear ^Eneas scolded. He 
 often scolded her. Therefore she left her wash-tub 
 and stood on the doorstep, her sleeves rolled up, the 
 bubbles of her soapsuds bursting one by one on her 
 hands and arms. She grinned with malicious triumph 
 at iEneas. He saw her, and her grin intensified ^the 
 reproachfulness of the tone in which he made his 
 defence. 
 
 " It isn't half a crown. Miss Delia," he said, " nor 
 it isn't twenty half-crowns, nor yet an ass-load of 
 golden sovereigns, if so be that there is an ass-load 
 of them in the world, nor it isn't the jewels out of the 
 crown of the King beyond the sea, nor of the King 
 of Spain along with him, that could make me rest 
 contented with an insult to myself and the Catholic 
 religion the like of what that one put on me ; so 
 don't you be thinking that, Miss Delia." 
 
 "You'd better get on with your work at once," 
 said Delia ; " you're talking the greatest nonsense I 
 ever listened to." 
 
 " I will get on with my work," said ^neas ; " isn't 
 it that I'm here for .' But before I do I'd like your 
 reverence would know, and I'd like Miss Delia would 
 know, ^that it's not by reason of the half-crown she 
 gave me that I'd be willing to let the lady practise 
 her cursing on me, but it's because " 
 
 He sank his voice to an impressive whisper. 
 Delia, who was really interested in what he said, 
 leaned far out of the window to catch his words. 
 
 " They do be telling me down below in the town," 
 said iEneas, "what it is she has put out about 
 
102 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 Sergeant Ginty. It's proud and pleased I was to 
 hear it." 
 
 Delia had her private grudge against the sergeant 
 on account of the obstinate stupidity of his youngest 
 son. She laughed suddenly. 
 
 " Ananias," she said. 
 
 " I disremember the word," said ^neas, " but the 
 meaning the people took out of it was that Sergeant 
 Ginty was the biggest liar ever seen ; and that's what 
 she told him straight up to his face." 
 
 " She meant Annas all along," said Delia. 
 
 "That may be," said ^neas. "But what I'm 
 telling his reverence here and what I'd be glad if I 
 might be so bold as to tell you. Miss Delia, is this : 
 a lady that'll say the like of that to the sergeant — and 
 I'm after hearing" that he's fair mad this minute — a 
 lady that would say the like of that to the sergeant, 
 may put any name she likes on me." 
 
 Once more Mr. Mervyn was strongly inclined to 
 say that Mrs. Dann had more in her mind than the 
 distribution of pleasant nicknames. He doubted 
 whether even the joy of seeing the sergeant humiliated 
 would induce ^neas to act in public a particularly 
 odious part. He was on the very verge of entering 
 upon a description of a Miracle Play when Delia 
 came downstairs. She was in a mood for vigorous 
 action. She began with Onny Donovan, and spoke 
 so forcibly to her that she fled back to her labours 
 without a moment's delay. Then she turned on 
 .^neas and told him to go into the garden and dig. 
 He did not want to go. Labour with a spade was at 
 all times distasteful to him. It was particularly odious 
 at moments when he was enjoying the delightful 
 freedom from all burdens which whisky gives. He 
 wanted to stay where he was and talk politely to Mr. 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 103 
 
 Mervyn. But Delia used threats, and ^neas, still 
 imperturbably polite, gave way. Mr. Mervyn had a 
 feeling that both maid and man were ill-treated. He 
 was not inclined to make excuses for idleness, or for 
 insobfiety, but he felt the strongest sympathy with 
 any one whose leisure was disturbed. The day was 
 becoming hot. He would not himself have liked to 
 be obliged to wash clothes or dig potatoes. He 
 suspected that, having spurred Onny and ^neas to 
 action, Delia might want to make him also go and do 
 something. She did. 
 
 " Father," she said, " don't you think you'd better 
 go off now and see Sergeant Ginty .' " 
 
 Mr. Mervyn looked sorrowfully at her. He had 
 not expected such a request. 
 
 " What about ? " he said. He always disliked 
 interviews with Sergeant Ginty. 
 
 "You ought to talk him round," said Delia. 
 " He's evidently furious with Aunt Sally May, and it 
 won't be at all nice if he tries to go to law with her. 
 Do go, father." 
 
 " But what can I say to him ? " said Mr. Mervyn. 
 " Anything I say will make him worse." 
 
 "Tell him," said Delia, "that she wants him to 
 act in her play." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn gasped. He could imagine nothing 
 more likely to increase the sergeant's fury than to be 
 cast for a part in a Miracle Play. 
 
 "I expect she does want him," said Delia. 
 
 ".I'm sure of it." 
 
 " Then why don't you tell him ? " 
 
 The matter seemed to Delia perfectly simple. 
 She wanted very much to act in the play herself— 
 in any kind of a play. With that total lack of 
 sympathetic understanding which is one of the 
 
I04 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 blessings of youth, she supposed that anybody else, 
 even Sergeant Ginty, must also want to act. 
 
 " He's a cross old beast, I know," she said ; " but 
 if once he understands that there's a chance of his 
 being asked to act, he'll be as pleased as possible." 
 
 " I'm afraid, Delia, that you don't understand the 
 difficulties." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn had no hope of being able to explain 
 them. Delia, apparently, did not believe in their 
 existence. 
 
 - " Go on now, father," she said. " Don't waste the 
 whole morning talking. I'll run and get your hat 
 and stick for you." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn saw that he would have to go some- 
 where ; but he was quite determined not to go to 
 Sergeant Ginty's. Delia returned with his hat and 
 stick. He attempted no further argument with her, 
 
 "You're a darling," she said as he got up, "and 
 Aunt Sally May will be awfully pleased." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn walked towards the gate, Delia 
 watching him until he was out of sight. His plan 
 was to go into the village and buy some biscuits. He 
 would then hasten past the police barrack and the 
 presbytery. Once clear of the village he would strike 
 across the fields and wander, lonely and secure, 
 among the mountains for the rest of the day. The 
 biscuits would save him from actual hunger, and 
 many hours must pass before the drawing in of the 
 evening would drive him home. His spirits rose. In 
 the evening he would, of course, be obliged to return 
 home and meet Delia. But several things might 
 happen in the interval, Delia might have forgotten 
 what she sent him out to do. Mrs. Dann might have 
 found a new and more desirable Caiaphas. Sergeant 
 Ginty might have expressed his opinion of miracle 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 105 
 
 plays publicly and vehemently. Even if nothing 
 happened — if he had to go home and explain himself 
 to Delia — the argument which would follow would 
 be no more unpleasant when the lamp was lit. He 
 would be no worse off then. 
 
 Almost every one who lives in the west of Ireland 
 becomes wise after a time. Mr. Mervyn had spent 
 twenty years in Druminawona and was, therefore, a 
 philosopher. He had learned certain great truths and 
 realised the folly of rebellion against them. It is, 
 for instance, a fixed law that troubles come to every 
 man. Job noted this centuries ago. But life — Job 
 also knew this and expressed it with picturesque 
 force — is a brief affair and hastens to its end. 
 There is, there can be, room in it for no more than a 
 certain number of troubles. It follows — it is just in 
 making these deductions that the true philosopher 
 shines — that the longer the meeting of any trouble can 
 be postponed the less time there will be left afterwards 
 for the coming of other troubles. It is, for instance, 
 very unpleasant to make up accounts of income and 
 expenditure. The foolish man who does this once 
 every three months, finds that there is room in life 
 for many hours of suffering. The wiser man who 
 postpones the production of his private balance-sheet 
 until the end of the year has only one-quarter of the 
 other's experience of that particular trouble. The 
 true philosopher puts off the examination of his bank- 
 book for five years, and so, in the course of his career, 
 escapes nineteen-twentieths of the first man's pain. 
 This is certainly true. It must be true because, life 
 being in or about the same length in all cases, there is 
 not room in it, if it is lived philosophically, for the 
 niany repetitions of the nerve-shaking business which 
 the unphilosophic man actually courts. 
 
io6 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 It was about eleven o'clock when Mr. Mervyn 
 left the rectory. There was no need for him to 
 go home before seven in the evening. He saw his 
 way to gaining eight clear hours on the long 
 procession of his troubles. He had once examined 
 some actuarial tables published by an insurance 
 company. He knew that he might expect to live for 
 another nine years. It was something to secure eight 
 hours of unbroken tranquillity, almost one hour for 
 each year. Fresh troubles — so Mr. Mervyn under- 
 stood — ^were lurking all along the roadway of those 
 nine years ; each trouble at its own milestone, 
 waiting the arrival of its appointed hour. It gratified 
 Mr. Mervyn very much to think that eight of these 
 fiends — the last eight— would be baulked of their 
 prey. He was snatching their hours from them. By 
 postponing his argument with Delia — even granting 
 it was inevitable in the end — he was pushing back all 
 his other troubles into a remoter future. The final 
 eight would necessarily be squeezed out of the term 
 of his life. They might fume and foam, but they 
 would be impotent. He would be dead before they 
 caught him. 
 
 He walked briskly to the village and entered 
 Daniel Fogarty's shop. It was there that .^neas 
 Sweeny, an hour or two earlier, had spent Mrs, Dann's 
 half-crown, .^neas had gone far into the shop and 
 done business with Mr. Fogarty behind a screen. 
 In Ireland, which is Holy Ireland, every one who 
 drinks whisky does so behind a screen. Mr, Mervyn 
 had only twopence in his pocket, so he could not 
 have drunk whisky even if he had wanted to. He 
 took his stand at the outer part of the counter, on the 
 more public side of the screen. He asked for biscuits, 
 mentioning that he only wanted twopennyworth. 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 107 
 
 Mr. Fogarty would willingly have supplied him, 
 without immediate payment, with a whole box of 
 biscuits. But sooner or later there would have been 
 trouble, additional and unnecessary trouble, if he had 
 taken the box. Delia would have seen it entered in 
 her pass-book and would have made inquiries. 
 Twopenny worth of biscuits is an insufficient supply of 
 food for a whole day. Mr. Mervyn preferred partial 
 starvation to future worry. He laid down his two 
 pennies on the counter. 
 
 Fogarty was exceedingly polite. He told Mr. 
 Mervyn that an enterprising manufacturer had 
 recently adopted the plan of supplying various kinds 
 of biscuits in penny packets wrapped up in damp- 
 proof paper, and that such biscuits were invariably 
 fresh and crisp. A tin full of these penny packets 
 was produced and laid on the counter. Mr. Mervyn 
 was invited to choose for himself the kind of biscuits 
 he preferred. Fogarty offered him every facility. 
 He overturned the tin and left the packets in a 
 large pile. Mr. Mervyn picked up two or three and 
 examined them. Each packet bore the name of 
 the biscuit inside it. Mr. Mervyn had nothing 
 to guide him except the names. He laid aside 
 one labelled " Ginger Snap." He was happy for 
 the moment in the prospect of his eight hours of 
 peace ; but he was not actually merry. It seemed 
 to him that a man would need to be in a very festive 
 mood to eat ginger-snap biscuits with sympathy. 
 " Ginger " suggested recklessness ; " Snap " was a word 
 fitted for the use of roysterers. Mr. Mervyn wanted a 
 less flippant biscuit. He decisively rejected the next 
 which he picked up. It was called " The Champion 
 Household." A household is prosaic. It is a society 
 held together by the arts of cookery and polish. 
 
io8 . THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 A champion household is, it may be supposed, 
 managed by a lady from a technical school, one with 
 a highly developed taste for bustling drudgery. Mr. 
 Mervyn was in no mood for spiritual contact with 
 bustling women. At all times he detested drudgery. 
 " The Citron," which came next to his hand, failed to 
 attract him. It sounded opulent and eastern. A 
 certain unrecognised asceticism of temperament held 
 him back. He was unaccustomed to, distrustful of, 
 great luxury. He hesitated over " The Naples," but 
 decided against it. Naples is a beautiful place, but 
 the mention of it reminded him of Italian art. He 
 had heard too much about Italian art from Mrs. 
 Dann. 
 
 He drove his hand far into the pile and drew out 
 a packet labelled " Oceania." He put it into his 
 pocket at once. He knew that he had hit upon the 
 very kind of biscuit he required. Its name was 
 redolent of romance and poetry. It was evidently a 
 biscuit designed for the use of sailors, men accustomed 
 to wide, unbroken horizons ; to long monotonous 
 days ; to the gurgling and laughing of the summer 
 seas. He called to mind a very favourite sonnet 
 about pilgrim ships. He felt that he could eat the 
 Oceania biscuit with intellectual as well as physical 
 delight. Another packet remained to be chosen. 
 " The Corinth " made but a weak appeal to him. 
 What, after all, is Corinth ? A second-rate Greek 
 port doing a small export trade. There is indeed a 
 Latin proverb which laments the fact that every man 
 cannot go to Corinth. It may be presumed that 
 many men want to go there. They would readily 
 buy and joyfully eat biscuits called after the city of 
 their dreams. But Mr. Mervyn did not want to go to 
 Corinth. He hesitated a moment and then laid the 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 109 
 
 packet down. With the next which came to hand he 
 dealt far more promptly. It was called "Boston 
 Cream." There is, of course, a Boston in Lincoln- 
 shire ; but Mr. Mervyn felt certain that the^iscuit- 
 maker was thinking of the more famous city in 
 America. He felt the strongest possible shrinking 
 from any more contact with America. Mr. Fogarty, 
 noticing his difficulty in choosing, strongly recom- 
 mended a packet labelled " Wee Pet." There is a touch 
 of sentiment about the intimate Scottish " Wee " which 
 slightly repelled Mr. Mervyn. But the " Pet " attracted 
 him. He thought of Biddy, trotting beyond her 
 speed, to earn praise from Mrs. Dann, praise which 
 would certainly be withheld contemptuously. He 
 thought of Delia, who had once also been a pet, and 
 climbed upon his knees engagingly. She was a pet 
 no longer, but the memory of the old days survived. 
 He put the package into his pocket and thanked Mr. 
 Fogarty warmly. 
 
 A little beyond the shop stood the police barrack. 
 A constable was sunning himself on a bench outside 
 the door. The three Ginty boys, who at that hour 
 ought certainly to have been at school, were playing 
 in the street. The sergeant himself was not visible. 
 Mr. Mervyn crossed the street to avoid the chance 
 of speech with the constable, and hurried past as 
 quickly as he could. The constable made no effort 
 to stop him. The boys did not notice him. He felt 
 that he was safe. Between him and the open country 
 there was no house except the presbytery. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 There are men whose pleasures, rare enough things 
 for all of us, are spoiled by untimely reminders of 
 physical infirmity. A twinge of rheumatism in a 
 shoulder-blade gives a sudden check to the delight of 
 picnicking. A swift stab of gout in a great toe puts 
 an abrupt end to the joy of some innocent festivity. 
 Those things are the memento mori of life's feasts, and 
 are disagreeable enough in the way they interrupt us. 
 But an active conscience is a much more effective 
 murderer of joy. Mr. Mervyn never suffered from 
 rheumatism and knew the meaning of the word 
 " gout " only by vague report, but he suffered fre- 
 quently and acutely from his conscience. Just when 
 all seemed to be going well with him, when he had 
 passed the dangerous police barrack, when his eight 
 hours lay golden before him, his conscience spoke. 
 
 It dared to suggest that he had promised Delia to 
 call on Sergeant Ginty. He denied that he had made 
 any such promise, denied with emphatic plainness. 
 His conscience, without raising its voice or displaying 
 any strong feeling, accused him of Jesuitical evasion. 
 We notice here how deeply the spirit of religious 
 prejudice penetrates Irish life. Mr. Mervyn's was a 
 Protestant conscience. It used the word " Jesuitical " 
 as a term of reproach. The Jesuits themselves deny 
 that they are more deceitful than other men, and 
 are exceedingly indignant at any suggestion that they 
 
THE LOST TRIBES in 
 
 specialise in the kind of lie which can be defended as 
 literally true. Mr. Mervyn, who had no strong pre- 
 judice against Jesuits, saw his opportunity. He 
 reproached his conscience with an unfair use of the 
 word " Jesuitical " ; thus carrying the war into the 
 enemy's country. His conscience declined altogether 
 to argue the point with him. Delia, it said, certainly 
 understood that he meant to call on Sergeant Ginty. 
 Mr. Mervyn- argued that this might not be so. He 
 said that he could not feel sure that Delia believed 
 that he meant to pay the call. His conscience re- 
 peated the word "Jesuitical," still quietly, but with a 
 scornful sneer. Mr. Mervyn retreated. He said that 
 if Delia were making a mistake about his intentions she 
 had only herself to blame. He had said no word which 
 could be construed into a promise. His conscience said 
 " Jesuitical " again, this time in a most insulting tone. 
 Mr. Mervyn had by this time reached the presbytery. 
 He stood still. The reproaches of his conscience were 
 more than he could comfortably bear. He thought of 
 turning back and going into the police barrack. His 
 conscience, seeing victory within its grasp, began to 
 flatter him. It said that he had always been an 
 honourable and self-respecting man, and that nothing 
 would have surprised it more than to find him shirking 
 an obligation. It spoke in quite a soothing way, and, 
 of course, in quite a low tone. It is characteristic of 
 all consciences that they get their way more by per- 
 sistence than by shouting. 
 
 Father Roche, on the other hand, believed 
 in speaking loudly. In dealing with recalcitrant 
 parishioners who failed to pay their dues at Easter 
 time he seldom had to speak twice, because he always 
 spoke very loudly. Catching sight of Mr. Mervyn 
 from one of the windows of the presbytery, he spoke 
 
112 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 to him very loudly indeed, so loudly as to drown the 
 murmurings of Mr. Mervyn's conscience. 
 
 " I'd be glad," he said, " if you could spare a few 
 minutes, for I want to talk to you." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn crossed the road and took his stand 
 outside the window from which Father Roche was 
 speaking. 
 
 "I don't want to be making trouble," said the 
 priest, " or to be going against a lady that's trying 
 to do the best she can for the people of this parish. 
 But what about this play ? " 
 
 " I don't like it," said Mr. Mervyn. 
 
 " I'd be better pleased myself," said Father Roche, 
 "if it was anything else. It's not what we're 
 accustomed to in these parts." 
 
 " It's a novelty, a complete novelty, and, I must 
 say, very objectionable from every point of view." 
 
 " At the same time, of course, if there's money to 
 be made out of it — mind you, Mr. Mervyn, I wouldn't 
 be one for giving out money to the people that they 
 haven't earned. What I say is, let work be found for 
 the people and decent wages along with it. If it was 
 a bacon factory now that she was proposing to 
 establish among us " 
 
 "But it isn't." 
 
 " It is not," said the priest, " but a play. I'd be 
 sorry to make trouble. The world is full enough of 
 that same without bringing in more. At the same 
 time " 
 
 " There's your bishop," said Mr. Mervyn. 
 " And your own." 
 
 Both clergymen sighed. They stood silent for 
 some time, paying a tribute of reverent recognition to 
 the authority of the episcopate. Father Roche rallied 
 first. 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 113 
 
 " She's a good woman," he said, " and I'd be slow 
 to do or say what would vex her. But there's no 
 denying it, Mr. Mervyn, the bishop would never stand 
 that play. I'm speaking now about my own bishop. 
 As soon as ever I write to him, and it's what I'm 
 
 bound to do sooner or later " 
 
 Then Mr. Mervyn remembered his philosophy, 
 "After all," he said, "you needn't write to him 
 yet." 
 
 Father Roche had lived even longer than Mr. 
 Mervyn in Druminawona. He too had absorbed 
 the spirit of the place. 
 
 "That's true," he said. "There's many a thing 
 might happen between this and then that could 
 prevent the play from coming off. And that would 
 be a pity too, if what she says is true about the 
 money it would bring into the place. Tell me this 
 now. Were you speaking to Sergeant Ginty yet 
 about the part he's to take ? " 
 " I haven't done so yet." 
 
 " Maybe you're thinking of calling at the barrack 
 now?" 
 
 Mr. Mervyn's conscience had been silent for 
 some little time. He was beginning to recover from 
 its last attack. 
 
 " No," he said, " I may call in on my way back. 
 I'm going for a long walk now." 
 
 " It's well for you," said Father Roche. 
 He himself could not go for long walks. He 
 was too fat. He was inclined to envy those who did. 
 Mr. Mervyn stepped into the middle of the road. 
 Father Roche, leaning out of the window, wished 
 him good luck warmly. Mr. Mervyn went a few 
 yards on his way. Father Roche's voice reached him 
 again, 
 
 I 
 
114 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 " Here's Miss Delia," he said, " coming down 
 through the village in the pony phaeton. If you 
 hold on a minute she'll give you a lift to wherever it 
 is you were going." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn looked back. Biddy and the phaeton 
 were plainly recognisable at the far end of the village. 
 But Father Roche had made a mistake. It was not 
 Delia who was coming, but Mrs. Dann. Mr. 
 Mervyn hurried on. Father Roche shouted after 
 him. 
 
 "It's herself," he said, "and not Miss Delia. I 
 see her plain now, and even if I couldn't I'd know it 
 could be nobody but her by the way she's making your 
 old pony trot. Will you come back now and see 
 what it is she wants ? Maybe she's changed her mind 
 about the play." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn did not mean to go back if he could 
 help it. He even refused to look round. He felt 
 strongly inclined to run. But there was a long, 
 straight stretch of road in front of him. He had no 
 hope of being able to get out of sight, however fast he 
 might run. All that he hoped was to get so far from 
 the presbytery as to be able to pretend to be out of 
 hearing. He was not allowed to accomplish this. Mrs. 
 Dann pulled up at the presbytery door, and called after 
 him. Mr. Mervyn heard her, but did not look round. 
 Mrs. Dann got out of the phaeton and ran after him. 
 She evidently wanted him very much, and since it 
 was to be a chase preferred her own top speed to 
 Biddy's. She shouted " Theophilus " once or twice. 
 But the name is a difficult one to articulate while 
 running hard. She fell back again on "Phil." Mr. 
 Mervyn gave up all effort to escape and suffered 
 himself to be led back to the presbytery door. 
 
 " Perhaps," he said, feebly hopeful, "you'd like nie 
 
THELOST TRIBES 115 
 
 to take Biddy back to the rectory while you talk to 
 Father Roche." 
 
 "She won't run away much," said Mrs. Dann, 
 " That milk-white Arab of yours, Phil, has had pretty 
 well all the running she wants for to-day. She won't 
 object any to being allowed to stand still." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn looked anxiously at the pony. She 
 was evidently hot and exhausted. He felt very 
 sorry for her and tried to show his sympathy 
 by patting her neck. But Biddy retained her self- 
 respect. She had exulted in her strength earlier in 
 the day and had proclaimed her attachment to Mrs. 
 Dann. She had too much pride to fawn upon the old 
 master whom she had despised. Mr. Mervyn under- 
 stood her feeling and pitied her the more. He took a 
 packet of biscuits from his pocket and offered her a 
 "Wee Pet." Biddy turned her head away; but 
 there was a look of softness in her eyes. She was 
 touched, though she would not confess it, by the offer 
 of a biscuit. 
 
 " If you will allow me," said Father Roche, " I'll 
 take the pony round to the back of the house where 
 my stable is and give her a rub down. She'd be the 
 better of it." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn refused to allow this. He suspected 
 that Father Roche would stay in the stable once he 
 got there. He shrank from a single-handed encounter 
 with Mrs. Dann. A brisk discussion followed. It 
 ended in both clergymen going to the stable with 
 Biddy. Mrs. Dann went into the house and waited 
 for them in the dining-room. 
 
 Biddy was made thoroughly comfortable. All 
 her harness was taken ofK Her sides and flanks 
 were briskly rubbed with wisps of straw. She was 
 put into a stall and given hay to eat. For awhile Mr. 
 
n6 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 Mervyn and Father Roche stood and watched her ; 
 but they both knew that they could not stand and 
 watch her for ever. 
 
 "I suppose," said Mr. Mervyn at last, "we'd 
 better go into the house." 
 
 " It's before us anyway," said the priest. " We 
 may as well be doing it now as again." 
 
 They crossed the yard together. Then Father 
 Roche stopped. 
 
 " How would it be," he said, " if you were to tell 
 her that your bishop doesn't like the notion of that 
 play ? " 
 
 "She'd write to him at once," said Mr. Mervyn, 
 " and then he'd write to me to know what it all meant. 
 I should have to write back explaining. Then he'd 
 write again asking more questions. Then — I'd really 
 much rather my bishop wasn't dragged into it. He 
 always expects me to answer letters." 
 
 " If that's the -kind of man he is," said Father 
 Roche sympathetically, " we'd better let him alone." 
 
 " It would be much better if you put it on your 
 bishop." 
 
 " She wouldn't care a thraneen for any objections 
 my bishop might make," said Father Roche. " Why 
 should she ? Isn't she a Protestant .' All that would 
 come of writing to my bishop would be trouble for 
 me. I'll have that same whatever way it goes, but 
 I'd rather it didn't come to me through her writing 
 to the bishop. But tell me this now, Mr, Mervyn ? 
 Has she ne'er a bishop of her own ? We might 
 write to him." 
 
 " No, she hasn't. You don't understand perhaps, 
 but as well as I can make out she's a Baptist, a 
 particularly advanced kind of Protestant, that doesn't 
 respect bishops in the least." 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 117 
 
 " If that's so," said Father Roche, " we may as 
 well go in and face her. It's a mortal pity," he added 
 querulously, "that she's so dead set on a play. 
 What ails her that she won't content herself with a 
 pilgrimage ? There wouldn't be a word said against 
 that. And if it didn't bring as much money into the 
 place it would bring some." 
 
 They found Mrs. Dann seated at the dining-room 
 table. She had a sheet of telegraph-forms in front of 
 her and was writing busily. She had already filled 
 four isheets with what seemed an inordinately long 
 message. 
 
 " I'm getting off another cable to Bobby Sebright," 
 she said. " He's a smart young man, but it won't do 
 any harm to keep him on the jump." 
 
 " About this play, now," said Father Roche. " I've 
 been thinking " 
 
 Mrs. Dann rose and shook his hand heartily. 
 
 " I like you," she said, " you're the kind of man it's 
 a pleasure to do business with. There's no trembling 
 on the brink with you. You plunge right in." 
 
 " What I was going to say " said the priest. 
 
 " You get plumb down into the azure depths first 
 dive," said Mrs. Dann. " You see that there's money in 
 the idea and you waste no time about getting it out." 
 
 Father Roche was greatly flattered by this un- 
 expected compliment. He felt a delicacy about 
 pressing his point of view upon a lady who had 
 spoken so handsomely of him. Mr. Mervyn came to 
 his assistance. 
 
 "Since we were talking together yesterday," he 
 said, " it has occurred to Father Roche " 
 
 "Phil," said Mrs. Dann, "that amphitheatre of 
 Delia's is the cunningest romantic gorge in the 
 universe. You can't think. Outside the works of 
 
ii8 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 the late Samuel T, Coleridgethere's nothing equal to 
 it. I don't deny that he had better fittings in his 
 immortal 'Kubla Khan,' but that was a work of 
 imagination. Delia's amphitheatre is cold fact." 
 
 "What Father Roche wants to say," said Mr. 
 Mervyn, " is that he'd like to consult his bishop before 
 all the details are settled." 
 
 " And Mr. Mervyn was telling me," said Father 
 Roche, " that his bishop will be wanting a say in the 
 matter. He's backward about mentioning it, but he 
 told me so this minute." 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. Dann, " I'm not powerful struck 
 with bishops as aids to religion. Seems to me they're 
 kind of superfluous. But I don't undervalue them 
 any when it comes to patronising popular entertain- 
 ments. The general public likes to have a reliable 
 certificate that the show is high-toned and suitable for 
 family use. When it sees the names of a couple of 
 bishops figuring^ in the list of promoters it brings its 
 wife and family along right away." 
 
 " It could be," said Father Roche, " that the two 
 bishops we're thinking about presently " 
 
 He hesitated. Mr, Mervyn expressed part of his 
 meaning for him. 
 
 •' Father Roche," he said, " is afraid that his bishop 
 will object to the play." 
 
 Father Roche saw no reason why his -bishop 
 should be the only one reproached. 
 
 " Mr. Mervyn's bishop won't like it," he said. 
 
 "Well," said Mrs. Dann, "you'll just have to step 
 in and persuade them. Bishops are reckoned to be 
 the incorruptiblest kind of men there are, but we 
 could offer a percentage " 
 
 " The idea of a Miracle Play will be new to them," 
 said Father Roche. " It's not to be expected that 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 119 
 
 either the one or the other of them will take to it. 
 I wouldn't say but they might have liked it well 
 enough one time, but they're getting to be old men 
 now. I'd say that ours is a good bit over sixty, and 
 Mr. Mervyn's is more." 
 
 " If they won't come in," said Mrs. Dann, " we'll 
 have to get others. They're not the only two bishops 
 in these islands. There must be some of them with 
 sense." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn and Father Roche looked at each 
 other helplessly. There seemed no possibility of 
 further protest. Mrs. Dann dismissed the subject of 
 the bishops. It had never really interested her. 
 
 " Druminawona's not progressive," she went on. 
 " It's reminiscent of the Pilgrim Fathers and the 
 Mayflower in its way of getting about. I don't make 
 any complaint about that. It's part of the charm, 
 and we'll boom it for all it's worth. But how to get 
 the public out to that amphitheatre is a problem. 
 I'd have an electric plant laid down and a proper 
 service of cars running right out from the village ; 
 but you'd kick against that, Phil. And you'd be 
 quite right. Any kind of street car would destroy 
 the flavour of the place." 
 
 " It couldn't be done anyway," said Father Roche 
 gloomily, " without you got in strangers to work the 
 cars, and that's what the people of this parish wouldn't 
 stand." 
 
 " That amphitheatre," said Mrs. Dann, " is pretty 
 near three miles from the village, and it's not just 
 the sort of place a stranger would walk right up to. 
 There's a good deal of the modest spring violet about 
 it. It hides its head among the leaves. That's quite 
 right. I'm not proposing to erect sky-signs. They'd 
 spoil the tout ensemble, and you'd just boil over, 
 
I20 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 Phil. Same time we've got to see that folks get 
 there." 
 
 " There's many a one," said Father Roche, " would 
 be glad to earn a shilling by showing the way to any- 
 body that might be asking it." 
 
 " We'll have a properly organised corps of guides ! " 
 said Mrs. Dann, " with brass badges strapped on 
 their arms above the elbow and a printed list of tariffs 
 to show the visitor. That'll show that we don't mean 
 to swindle. There's nothing the travelling public 
 hates worse than any kind of unauthorised robbery. 
 The news of it gets about and nobody goes near the 
 place where it is practised." 
 
 The prospect of an enormous number of shillings 
 to be earned in this simple way greatly encouraged 
 Father Roche. He began to feel quite hopefully 
 about the enterprise. 
 
 " There's them," he said, " that won't care about 
 walking the three miles, more particularly if the day 
 should happen to be hot. How would it be now if 
 we got down some of those motor-cars from Dublin ? 
 I know a few steady lads about the place that would 
 learn to drive them well enough if there was a man 
 got for a week to teach them." 
 
 "You'd be mad if we did that, Phil," said Mrs. 
 Dann. " It won't do, Father Roche. We've got tq 
 preserve the unsophisticated nature of the locality. 
 We can't afford to diminish the poetic refinement of 
 Drurainawona one cent. I give in that the question 
 of transport held me up for a bit, but I've found a way 
 out." 
 
 " There's only four side-cars in the place," said 
 Father Roche, " counting my own, and the shafts of 
 one of them is broke. So if it's them you have in 
 your mind " 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 121 
 
 "The jaunting car," said Mrs. Dann, "is your 
 national vehicle, and of course it's got to be there in 
 considerable numbers. We'll get a couple of dozen 
 down from Dublin. The public would feel they'd 
 been swindled if there weren't jaunting cars on view." 
 
 " I'm not sure," said Father Roche, " would there 
 be that number of horses about the place. It isn't 
 every horse you could put under a side-car. There's 
 fillies, of course, long-tailed fillies running about the 
 bogs. But even if they would be able to draw a car 
 after them — and that's what they wouldn't be fit for 
 on account of being half starved — you daren't put a 
 strap on one of them. Tljey'd have everything before 
 and behind them kicked to smithers." 
 
 " What I'm figuring on," said Mrs. Dann, " is 
 donkeys," 
 
 " Asses," said Father Roche, " is plenty anyway. 
 There isn't a man between this and the city of Galway 
 but has one or more ; and there's others loose about 
 the roads, that you'd be hard set to find owners for." 
 
 "We'll round them up," said Mrs. Dann. 
 
 " But they won't be able to draw cars," said Mr. 
 Mervyn. " They're not big enough." 
 
 " My notion," said Mrs. Dann, " is to invite the 
 public to ride. As I was going along behind that 
 white charger of yours, Phil, trying to find the way 
 to Delia's amphitheatre, I met a whole procession of 
 people coming along on donkeys. I can't say I 
 admired much the way they ride. Seems to me that 
 sitting on the butt of the quadruped's tail isn't safe. 
 The first man I saw, I made dead sure he'd be left 
 standing in the road with the animal gone right 
 away from between his legs." 
 
 " That never happens," said Mr. Mervyn. 
 
 " I guess the donkey's trained to go quietly," said 
 
122 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 Mrs. Dann, " and not let his hind-legs fold up under 
 him. Anyway that kind of riding is novel, and a 
 novelty will take on with the general public. There 
 isn't one man in ten in the British Isles, and there 
 isn't one in a hundred on the other side of the 
 Atlantic that ever sat on the exact spot where the 
 tail is hitched on to the donkey. The people that 
 are mad after local colour — and that's the biggest 
 part of any crowd — will just make a grab at those 
 donkeys. We'll be able to charge what we like for 
 rides, and Father Roche says that donkeys can be 
 had for nothing, so there'll be a hundred per cent, 
 profit." 
 
 " I wouldn't undertake that," said Father Roche. 
 " There's many a thing besides asses that you wouldn't 
 think anybody owned until the time comes when 
 somebody else'd be looking for it. You'd be surprised, 
 so you would, at the number of people that'll come to 
 you laying the claim to that same ass the minute it 
 gets out that there's a shilling to be earned by him. 
 There was a fellow came down here one time, a 
 shabby-looking spalpeen of a man, who was asking 
 questions. Nobody would be bothered answering 
 him, nor there was no notice took of him either good 
 or bad barring that everybody got out of his way 
 when they seen him coming down the road. Until 
 one day he let it out that he was sent down by the 
 Government to make a list of the people that might 
 be in need of seed potatoes, the same to be given out 
 free. Well you never saw such a change in the way 
 a man was treated. There wasn't a question he'd ask 
 but the people would be tumbling over one another 
 who'd get the biggest lie told so as to satisfy him. 
 There wasn't one but said they'd known his father or 
 his mother in the old days, and there was some that 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 123 
 
 made out he was a cousin of their own. I'm telling 
 you this now so as you'll see for yourself what will 
 happen about the asses as soon as ever it gets out 
 that there's money to be earned by them." 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. Dann, " if that's the way of it 
 we'll have to pay, but it won't matter so long as we 
 secure the animals." 
 
 " In the latter end," said Father Roche sadly, 
 " that fellow left, and there never was a word more 
 about the seed potatoes. They were telling me after, 
 one day I was up in Gal way, that it was a newspaper 
 man he was from America, and had no more to do 
 with the Government than I had." 
 
 " Bobby Sebright," said Mrs. Dann, " will " 
 
 " It couldn't be done twice," said Father Roche. 
 " And what's more, I wouldn't be a party to it. The 
 poor people of this parish " 
 
 " All I meant to say," said Mrs. Dann, " is that 
 Bobby Sebright probably knows that man." 
 
 " He'd better not say so, then, when he comes here, 
 for there's a strong feeling in the neighbourhood 
 among those that were taken in, and that's the most 
 of the people." 
 
 " Don't you fret any about Bobby Sebright," said 
 Mrs. Dann. " That young man is as well able to take 
 care of himself as any one I know. Say, Phil, have 
 you reconciled that police-sergeant of yours to the 
 part of Pontius Pilate ? " 
 
 " I haven't done anything about it yet," said Mr. 
 Mervyn feebly. " I — I intended to see him to-day." 
 
 " Your groom," said Mrs. Dann, " was telling me 
 this morning that the policeman's riled. But if you 
 tell him about Father Roche and the bottle of mineral 
 water " 
 
 "What's this ? " said Father Roche. 
 
124 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 " Wasn't Phil telling you ? That sacred spring of 
 yours is going to come in useful. I was thinking the 
 matter over. Seemed a pity to waste it. Nathan 
 P. Dann used to say that the big profits in any 
 business were made out of the by-products, and that 
 half the smashes in the commercial world came 
 through neglecting them. Now we're not going to 
 neglect anything worth a cent, and as I figure it out 
 there's quite a considerable sum to be made on 
 bottling the water of your sacred spring." 
 
 " The people wouldn't stand it," said Father Roche.' 
 " They've a great respect for that Holy Well." 
 
 " When they see your portrait on the labels of the 
 bottles," said Mrs. Dann, " they'll be reconciled," 
 
 "I don't know," said Father Roche slowly, 
 " whether I'm taking your meaning right ; but if you're 
 thinking of selling any kind of soda-water by means 
 of my picture I tell you plain and straight it can't be 
 done. I don't know how it may be where you come 
 from, but in this country the people have some kind 
 of respect for their clergy." 
 
 He glared quite fiercely at Mrs. Dann while he spoke. 
 She seemed very little impressed by his anger. Mr, 
 Mervyn, on the other hand, felt acutely uncomfortable. 
 He moved sideways towards the door. It seemed to 
 him that he might, if he were very fortunate, be able 
 to escape. 
 
 " You're getting riled," said Mrs. Dann to Father 
 Roche, "but there's no real necessity. As far as 
 respect for the clergy is concerned " 
 
 *' What you propose," said Father Roche sternly, 
 " is an insult to the priests of Ireland." 
 
 Mr. Mervyi) slipped out of the door. In the 
 passage, being comparatively safe, he paused to 
 listen. 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 125 
 
 " The green Chartreuse monks," said Mrs. Dann, 
 " aren't above advertising their liqueur with their own 
 name, and I've always reckoned that a monk is away 
 up three flights or more above an ordinary parish 
 priest in the matter of holiness. The Benedictines 
 do the same thing. They're business men, and it 
 doesn't seem to interfere with their being saints." 
 
 " The monks may do what they like," said Father 
 Roche, " but I'll not have my picture on a soda-water 
 bottle." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn went softly down the passage. He 
 reached the hall door and then the street. Neither 
 Mrs. Dann nor Father Roche noticed his departure. 
 As he passed the window he heard Mrs. Dann's voice 
 slightly raised in expostulation. 
 
 " The stuff those monks sell," she said, " is reckoned 
 highly dangerous by the religious world. In one of 
 the dry States on our side it wouldn't be allowed for 
 sale. What you're going to do " 
 
 " I'm not," said Father Roche. 
 
 " Is to persuade the public to drink good plain 
 water, and you stand to become a hero of the 
 Temperance Cause." 
 
 " I'll not do it," said Father Roche sulkily. 
 
 Mr. Mervyn walked quickly away. He felt his 
 two packets of biscuits in his pocket. He had wasted 
 some time at the presbytery, but he still had a long 
 day before him. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 Half a mile from the village the main road crosses 
 the river by a bridge which bends very sharply to 
 the right. The road, as if it protests against the 
 bridge's attempt to alter its direction, turns to the 
 left again as soon as the river is crossed, but there is, 
 at the far side of the bridge, another road at right- 
 angles to the main road. Strangers, the few who 
 ever come to Druminawona, mistake this for the 
 main road and go along it. At first it seems to be 
 a well-kept important road. It passes two or three 
 cottages. The surface is good. Its gradient is 
 moderate. Then after a mile or so of good behaviour 
 it suddenly begins to go uphill and becomes startlingly 
 steep. A gurgling brook runs along one side of it. 
 In winter the brook escapes from its channel and 
 flows over the whole road. It scatters large stones 
 about so that driving is almost impossible, and 
 walkers must go carefully. Half a mile farther on 
 the brook crosses the road and has cut a deep gully 
 for itself across which no wheeled vehicle could 
 possibly pass. From that point on the road dis- 
 appears. The stranger who has been lured into 
 travelling on it is obliged to turn back. The road 
 has led nowhere, it has simply faded away into a 
 mountain-side. 
 
 It was this road which Mr. Mervyn took when he 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 127 
 
 escaped from the presbytery. But he was under no 
 delusions about it. He did not expect it to lead to 
 any human habitation. He crossed the brook by 
 stepping-stones and then picked his way through a 
 stretch of boggy ground. There were thickets of 
 stunted bog myrtle, deliciously scented, on each side 
 of him. Patches of bog cotton waved white feathers 
 in the breeze. Farther on was a narrow valley 
 through which the brook flowed joyously. Tall 
 ferns grew on its banks. On the steep sides of the 
 hills the heather and the bracken struggled toge her 
 for room to spread. Broad grey rocks stretched 
 their bare backs to sun and wind. Under their 
 shelter fraughan bushes nestled, their black fruit 
 already ripening. 
 
 Mr. Mervyn, stumbling among the heather, 
 stepping suddenly into deep holes, sinking ankle- 
 deep in treacherous patches of green moss, was 
 supremely happy. He attained moments of Words- 
 worthian ecstasy and achieved a general oblivion of 
 care. It seemed to him a very small matter that 
 Father Roche should be writhing in his presbytery 
 at the prospect of being used as an advertisement- 
 He did not feel in the least troubled with the thought 
 that Mrs. Dann was making active progress with her 
 abominable plans. He was not, until quite late in 
 the afternoon, disquieted by the necessity of meeting 
 Delia again in the evening. It was about five o'clock 
 that the thought of going home began to vex him. 
 He put it from him resolutely. At half-past five it 
 returned. He fought' it off again. At six he began 
 to consider seriously what he would say to Delia. 
 He became acutely uneasy. Hunger added to his 
 discomfort. He had eaten his biscuits at about one 
 o'clock. The mountain air is invigorating, but not 
 
128 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 sustaining. At half-past six he turned homewards, 
 dreading the interview with his daughter, but looking 
 forward with some eagerness to a meal. 
 
 Hunger was stronger than fear at first. He 
 walked briskly. Then fear subdued hunger, and for 
 the last few miles he walked very slowly. It was 
 eight o'clock when he arrived at the rectory. He 
 skirted round the back of the house and entered it 
 by way of the yard and the kitchen door. He had 
 no clear motive for this surreptitious approach ; but 
 he felt vaguely that it might be easier to meet Delia 
 if he came upon her as it were informally from a 
 direction in which she would not expect him. 
 
 In the kitchen he found Onny Donovan. She 
 had taken off the white cap which Delia insisted on 
 her wearing ; and was sound asleep. Her arms were 
 spread out in front of her- on the table and her head 
 dropped between them. Her hair was exceedingly 
 untidy. The sight cheered Mr. Mervyn greatly. 
 He stood and looked at the girl, reflecting that if 
 Delia were in a vigorous and active mood, Onny 
 would not be allowed to slumber peacefully with her 
 white cap lying unheeded on the floor. 
 
 He coughed gently and Onny woke with a violent 
 start. She at once asserted, with some vehemence, 
 that she had not been asleep. She went on to say 
 that she was at that moment engaged in putting 
 back into its place an iron which she had been using 
 vigorously during the evening. As she spoke she 
 became more thoroughly awake. Her self-possession 
 returned to her. She realised that it was Mr. 
 Mervyn and not Delia who stood before her. She 
 stopped short in the middle of a list of the garments 
 slie wished it to be supposed that she had been ironing, 
 and grinned amicably at Mr. Mervyn. Onny could 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 129 
 
 lie fluently and with great ease. She could lie with 
 rare ability straight in the face of established facts. 
 But she was a young woman with a sense of economy. 
 It was a mere waste of good lies to pour them out for 
 Mr. Mervyn. He did not know whether she ought 
 to have been ironing or not. She had a feeling that 
 he would not be seriously angry with her for being 
 asleep. Mr. Mervyn, though hungry and anxious, 
 smiled back at her. Onny's grin broadened. 
 
 " Miss Delia bid me tell you," she said, " that 
 she'd left the bit of cold meat and the bread and 
 butter sitting in the dining-room." 
 
 " Has she gone to bed ? " asked Mr. Mervyn. 
 
 Delia went to bed early ; but it was beyond ex- 
 pectation that she should have retired before eight 
 o'clock on a summer evening, Onny destroyed his 
 faint hope at once. 
 
 " She is not ; but she bid me say that if you'd a 
 fancy for an egg I was to boil it for you." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn had a very strong fancy for an egg. 
 He would have liked two. He glanced at the kitchen 
 fire, which had gone out. Onny's eyes followed 
 his. 
 
 " It wouldn't be easy," she said, " to boil one all 
 in a minute, but I'd maybe be able to manage it by 
 the time you had the meat ate." 
 
 "Where's Miss Delia?" 
 
 " Up beyond," said Onny. 
 
 This was vague, Mr. Mervyn pressed for some- 
 thing more definite. , 
 
 " The strange lady " said Onny. 
 
 "Mrs. Dann.?" 
 
 " The same," said Onny, " she has her whipped 
 off." 
 
 " Did she say when she'd be back ? " 
 
 K 
 
I30 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 " There was talk of dinner at the big house," said 
 Onny, "but sure Miss Delia had hers ate at two 
 o'clock." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn looked at his watch. He calculated 
 that if Delia had gone to dine with Mrs. Dann she 
 could not possibly be home again much before half- 
 past nine. He had more than an hour before him. 
 He saw at once the wise thing for him to do was to 
 go to bed, actually to be in bed and at least 
 apparently asleep before Delia got home. But an 
 hour is a considerable space of time. It allowed for 
 quite a luxurious meal. He ordered Onny to boil 
 two eggs. Onny looked at the black kitchen grate. 
 " Two ? " she said. 
 
 Mr. Mervyn argued that two eggs can be boiled 
 as quickly as one. Onny seemed doubtful about 
 this. 
 
 " How would it be," she said, " if I was to give 
 them to you bet up in a drop of milk ? " 
 
 Mr. Mervyn did not like the idea. But he did 
 not want to press Onny to do unnecessary work 
 against her will. She saw his hesitation. 
 
 " It's what the doctor ordered for the sergeant's 
 wife," she said, "the time she was ill. 'An egg bet 
 up,' says he, ' in a drop of new milk.' They do say 
 that it did her a lot of good." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn was quite prepared to believe in the 
 value of the mixture, 
 
 " You have some milk, I suppose," he said. 
 " It's set for cream for the breakfast," said Onny ; 
 " but what matter ? " 
 
 Mr. Mervyn was really very hungry. He was 
 averse to further argument with Onny. He went 
 into the dining-room. He ate hastily, being unable 
 to escape from a fear that Delia might return 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 131 
 
 unexpectedly. He had finished before Onny came 
 to him with the eggs and milk. He took the 
 tumbler from her and went upstairs. At his 
 bedroom door he paused and called Onny. 
 
 " If you see Miss Delia when she comes 
 home " 
 
 " I don't know will I," said Onny. 
 
 She would certainly not go out of her way to see 
 Delia. She did not mean to allow Delia to see her 
 if she could possibly help it. There were clothes 
 which she ought to have ironed and had not. 
 
 "Tell her," said Mr. Mervyn, "that I felt tired 
 and went to bed." 
 
 " I will," said Onny, " if so be that I see her, but 
 it could be that I won't." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn might have eaten his supper in 
 leisurely comfort. He might have insisted on 
 Onny's relighting the kitchen fire and boiling 
 the eggs. Delia did not get home till nearly ten 
 o'clock. By that time her father was sound asleep. 
 
 Next morning at eight o'clock Onny knocked at 
 Mr. Mervyn's door. She brought in a jug of hot 
 water, and remarked casually that Delia had been 
 surprised the night before when she heard that her 
 father was in bed. Mr. Mervyn, by way of reply, 
 said that he intended to stay in bed at all events 
 till after breakfast. The prospect of his interview 
 with Delia seemed no pleasanter now that it was 
 close to him. He was, besides, really tired. 
 
 " It could be," said Onny sympathetically, " that 
 them two eggs was too strong for you. They do say 
 that there's a terrible deal of strength in a bet-up 
 egg, and that it was on account of that the doctor 
 ordered them for the sergeant's wife, her being weak 
 at the time." 
 
132 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 " Tell Miss Delia that I'll not be down for break- 
 fast," said Mr. Mervyn, " but there's no hurry about 
 telling her. It will do quite well if she's told when 
 she gets down herself." 
 
 But Onny was not the sort of girl who wraps 
 news of an unusual kind in a napkin and buries 
 it in the earth unfruitfully. She went straight to 
 Delia's room. 
 
 "The master," she said, "is in his bed, and not 
 fit to get out of it. It's my belief that there's some 
 kind of a fever on him. There was a man took with 
 that same fever at the Christmas last year, and he 
 wasn't near as old as the master. What's more, 
 he died on them, before they got him to the 
 hospital." 
 
 Delia jumped out of bed at once and hurried to 
 her father's room, wrapping herself in her dressing- 
 gown as she went. She reproached herself with 
 havi^^ deserted him in order to dine with Mrs. Dann. 
 She remembered, with regret, that she had made him 
 go out the day before, when he plainly wanted to sit 
 quiet in the sun. She was relieved to find that he 
 did not look seriously ill, and was certainly in the 
 grip of no kind of fever. It occurred to her that 
 he might have caught cold. Mr. Mervyn denied the 
 cold. Delia, still convinced that he was ill, suggested 
 neuralgia as a likely disease. Mr. Mervyn denied it. 
 Delia fell back on rheumatism. Mr. Mervyn had 
 never suffered from rheumatism^ but it is a prevalent 
 disease in the west of Ireland. Onny appeared at 
 the door of the room and gave her opinion. 
 
 "As likely as not," she said, "it's them two 
 bet-up eggs that's lying heavy on his stomach." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn was aware that the eggs had caused 
 him no inconvenience whatever. He said so and 
 
THE LOST TRIBES i33 
 
 told Onny to go away. But Onny was not inclined 
 to believe him. 
 
 "There was one time," she said, "that my mother 
 was took with pains and the doctor said it was sciatica." 
 
 Delia did not know exactly what sciatica was ; 
 but it seemed to her certain that her father must 
 have some disease. He had never wanted to break- 
 fast in bed before. 
 
 " Do you think you have sciatica, father ? " she 
 asked. 
 
 Mr. Mervyn was beginning to feel that he would 
 have to own to some malady if he meant to stay in 
 bed. His conscience, having been defeated the day 
 before in the battle about the visit to Sergeant 
 Ginty, was less troublesome than usual. He groaned 
 when Delia mentioned sciatica. Delia looked at him 
 sympathetically and said she would bring him up 
 some breakfast. 
 
 At nine o'clock she brought up a tray. She 
 seemed to have developed some doubts on the 
 subject of sciatica while dressing, for she asked her 
 father pointedly whether he was quite sure that 
 sciatica was the proper name for the disease he had. 
 He was not yet willing to commit himself to a 
 definite lie. He groaned again. Delia pressed him 
 to speak plainly. He said that, not being a doctor, 
 he could not be absolutely sure that he had sciatica ; 
 but that he felt singularly disinclined to get out of 
 bed. Delia very nearly smiled. Mr. Mervyn added 
 that worry of any kind would intensify his symptoms 
 and that he intended to take an absolute rest from 
 business of every kind. Delia, now much less 
 sympathetic than she had been, left him. 
 
 At ten o'clock she came back again, this time in 
 a state of breathless excitement. 
 
134 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 "Father," she said, "the post is just come, and 
 there are hundreds of parcels for me! Oh, I do 
 think Aunt Sally May is the greatest darling that 
 ever was ! " 
 
 " Hundreds of parcels ! What's in them ? " 
 
 "Clothes," said Delia. "Blouses and skirts and 
 gloves and hats and all sorts of things, and quite 
 the sweetest lace scarves you ever saw. Don't you 
 remember Aunt Sally May said she was sending 
 for things for me, but I never dreamed of anything 
 like this." 
 
 " Has Mr. Sebright arrived too ? " 
 
 " Mr. Sebright ! I don't know. What has Mr. 
 Sebright got to do with my clothes? Don't be 
 perfectly horrid, father. Get up and come and see 
 them all. You'll love them." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn firmly declined to get up. He said 
 that he felt sure it would be very bad for him to 
 leave his bed. It seemed to him very likely that 
 Mrs. Dann would call at the rectory in the course 
 of the morning. She would know that the clothes 
 were likely to arrive and would be anxious to see 
 them. 
 
 When Delia left him he began to reflect that 
 although bed is a secure sanctuary for men against 
 most women, it might not be any refuge at all against 
 Mrs. Dann. He got up and locked his bedroom 
 door. He was very glad a few minutes later that he 
 had done so. He heard footsteps in the passage and 
 then a tap at the door. The visitor was Onny. 
 
 " Miss Delia bid me tell you," she said, " that Mrs. 
 Dann's within and waiting to see you." 
 
 " Tell her," said Mr. Mervyn, " that I'm in bed and 
 can't see any one." 
 
 " I will," said Onny, " and what's more, I'll run up 
 
THE LOST TRIBES i35 
 
 and let you know as soon as she's gone, the way 
 you'll be easy in your mind." 
 
 Onny was a girl of quick sympathy and of kind 
 heart. She did more than keep her promise. At 
 half-past eleven she tapped at the door again. 
 
 " She's not gone yet," she said, " and it could be 
 that she won't for a while." 
 
 " Is she waiting for me ? " 
 
 " She is not ; but she's dressing up Miss Delia in 
 all them grand clothes that came this morning. If 
 she puts the half of them on her she'll not be out of 
 this before evening. There's a terrible deal of them, 
 so there is ; for Mikeen Pat, the post boy, did have to 
 come secondly with the boxes that he couldn't carry 
 with him at the first go-off." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn groaned, Onny heard him. 
 
 " Who would have thought now," she said, " that 
 two bet-up eggs would lie that heavy on the stomach ? 
 And the doctor after ordering them for Sergeant 
 Ginty's wife. But sure you never know till after." 
 
 At twelve o'clock Onny returned. 
 
 " She's after going this minute," she said ; " so if 
 it would be any ease to you there'd be no harm in the 
 world for you to get up." 
 
 " She's sure to be back," said Mr. Mervyn. 
 
 " She might, and that's a fact. But she did 
 say as how she was going down to see Father 
 Roche." 
 
 " I won't get up yet." 
 
 " I wouldn't say," said Onny, " but you might be 
 right enough there." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn dozed pleasantly for about an hour. 
 He had enjoyed a good deal of fresh air and exercise 
 the day before ; and he had arrears of sleep to make 
 up after the night spent over the works of John 
 
136 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 Owen. It was possible, under the circumstances, to 
 doze a great deal. At one o'clock he was wakened 
 by the sound of some one fumbling at the handle of 
 the door. 
 
 " If that's dinner," he said, " leave it on the mat 
 outside and I'll get it. The door's locked." 
 
 It was Delia who replied. 
 
 " Aunt Sally May is back again," she said, " and 
 wants to see you." 
 
 "Well, she can't. I thought she'd gone to see 
 Father Roche." 
 
 "So she did." 
 
 " Well, that ought to content her." 
 
 "But she didn't see him." 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 Delia giggled quite audibly. 
 
 " He's in bed," she said. 
 
 " Do you mean to tell me he's ill ? " 
 
 " He's got " Delia's voice was broken with 
 
 laughter — " Oh, father, it's really too funny, but 
 he's got sciatica too. He sent out word to Aunt 
 Sally May that he was in great pain and couldn't see 
 any one." 
 
 "I can't either," said Mr. Mervyn. "That is to 
 say, of course, I'd much rather not. I ought not to 
 have said that I can't." 
 
 A few minutes later Mr. Mervyn heard two people 
 approaching his bedroom together. He guessed at 
 once that the second was Mrs. Dann. He felt very 
 glad that he had locked the door. 
 
 "Phil," she said, "I've a couple of bottles of 
 Patent Pain Killer in my big trunk. They belonged 
 to poor Nathan, and I fetched them away as a kind of 
 personal memorial. Seemed to me at the time that 
 they'd remind me of him more than anything on 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 137 
 
 account of the powerful smell. He thought a heap 
 of that drug and used to rub it in whenever he felt 
 any kind of uneasiness coming on in any of his limbs. 
 I didn't intend to part with those two bottles ; but I 
 guess charity comes before sentiment any day, so I'm 
 sending one to Father Roche and one to you. I 
 wouldn't recommend an excessive use of the stuff. I 
 have it on my mind that Nathan P. Dann hastened 
 his end by over-indulgence. But half an hour's brisk 
 rubbing on the part affected won't lame you any. 
 And it might do you a heap of good." 
 
 " Thank you," said Mr. Mervyn, " thank you very 
 much. But I'm not really very bad. You'd better 
 keep one bottle. Father Roche and I will manage 
 with the other one between us." 
 
 He meant Father Roche to have first use of the 
 bottle. Circumstances might so alter that he himself 
 would be out of bed and walking about before his 
 turn came for the Pain Killer. 
 
 "Say, Phill" said Mrs. Dann, "can you hear 
 what I'm saying ? " 
 
 " I can distinctly." 
 
 " Well, I can't hear you, and I'd be greatly obliged 
 if you'd open that door. Don't you take up the 
 notion that I want to intrude. I respect your feelings 
 of modesty. Nathan P. Dann was the modestest man 
 in New York outside of business. It would have 
 given him fits if he thought any female relative ever 
 watched him shave. That's how you feel, and I 
 respect delicacy of feeling wherever I meet it Same 
 time, Phil, you'll admit it's a bit hard on me not 
 being able to hear a word you say and having to 
 shout like a full-sized gramophone to make you hear 
 me. How would it strike you now if you were to 
 meet me half-way .' You open that door three inches, 
 
138 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 and put a chair against it if you like. I'll pass 
 my oath not to push it any." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn disliked being shouted at through a 
 closed door even more than Mrs. Dann disliked 
 shouting. He agreed to her compromise. Mrs. Dann 
 abode loyally by her side of the bargain and became 
 audible without shouting. 
 
 " I saw your friend the police sergeant yesterday 
 afternoon," said Mrs. Dann. " He's prepared to walk 
 right in and catch on as Ananias." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn gave a gasp of amazement. Such 
 complacence was the last thing he expected from 
 Sergeant Ginty. Mrs. Dann, who heard the gasp, felt 
 that some explanation was necessary. 
 
 " Seems to me, Phil," she said, " that this section 
 is just brimful of personal animosities. They don't 
 interfere with the poetical charm and general pastoral 
 simplicity of the place one bit, but they're mighty 
 powerful as motives for action. This morning that 
 hired man of yours told me he'd be quite willing to 
 undertake the part of Judas Iscariot for the sake of 
 seeing the police sergeant humiliated. When I went 
 round to the police sergeant and told him that Father 
 Roche's portrait was to appear op the bottled waters 
 of the sacred spring, he said he'd put up with any- 
 thing I said on account of the way he admired me for 
 insulting the priest. I don't say those are the most 
 Christian motives ; but this is a business proposition, 
 and poor Nathan always said you couldn't mix 
 religion with business, I expect he was right on that 
 point ; and we've got to take things as we find them." 
 
 Mr, Mervyn began to understand how it was that 
 Sergeant Ginty had consented to talk in a friendly 
 way with Mrs, Dann. He did not yet believe that 
 he had consented to act in a play. 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 139 
 
 " What I want to know from you, Phil, is this : 
 has Father Roche any personal enemies ? " 
 
 For a moment Mr. Mervyn did not see the 
 bearing of the question ; but his intelligence had 
 been quickened by two days' intercourse with his 
 sister-in-law. After a very brief period of thought he 
 realised that Mrs. Dann hoped to win Father Roche's 
 consent by giving a very objectionable part in the 
 play to some one whom he particularly disliked. He 
 drew the bedclothes up to his chin and shivered. 
 
 " He and I have always been excellent friends," 
 he said. " I don't think Father Roche has any dis- 
 like for me." 
 
 "You're a dear," said Mrs. Dann, "and nobody 
 could do anything but like you. I wasn't hoping to 
 play on the reverend father's dislike of you. But, 
 unless he's very different from the rest of the inhabi- 
 tants of Druminawona there must be somebody he'd 
 like to lie in wait for with a gun." 
 
 "The only person I ever heard him complain 
 much about," said Mr. Mervyn, " is his bishop." 
 
 " I'll get on the track of that bishop to-morrow," 
 said Mrs. Dann. 
 
 The extreme audacity of the proposal reduced 
 Mr. Mervyn to gasping silence. In Ireland bishops 
 are really respected. We may, as a people, have a 
 poor opinion of the law, and be quite ready to insult 
 judges if we get the chance. Kings and princes are 
 subjects for open mockery. "The flag," to many 
 Englishmen a sacred syinbol, moves us to no awe or 
 reverence by its flutterings. But we do keep up a 
 fair outward show of respect for bishops. That 
 any one should propose, as Mrs. Dann apparently did 
 to make use of one of the sacred caste as a character 
 in a play seemed to Mr. Mervyn wholly incredible. 
 
140 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 The very idea was an insult to faith and morals, the 
 twin deities who occupy much the same position in 
 Ireland as Baal and Ashtaroth did in the days when 
 the judges ruled Israel. Turbulent reformers protest 
 against them occasionally, but all sober-minded and 
 sensible citizens worship them faithfully, and bishops 
 are, of course, pledged to maintain their dignity. 
 
 "Don't," said Mr. Mervyn—" don't. Whatever 
 you do, don't do that." 
 
 Mrs. Dann took no notice of this protest. Perhaps 
 Mr. Mervyn's voice may have been smothered in the 
 bedclothes. Perhaps she chose to ignore what she 
 heard. At all events she turned sharply to another 
 subject. 
 
 " I'm taking Delia up to my house now," she 
 said, " and I'm keeping her till evening. You'll be 
 all right without her, Phil ? " 
 
 In some ways Mr. Mervyn was rather pleased. 
 He no longer dreaded being catechised by Delia. 
 Sergeant Gintyhad agreed to act, and there would 
 be no necessity for any explanation of his neglect of 
 duty on the previous afternoon. He gave his consent 
 to Delia's going. 
 
 " Run away now, Delia, and put on your hat. I've 
 just one thing more to say to your papa, and I'll be 
 more comfortable saying it if you're not here." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn would have liked to protest. He 
 rather dreaded an entirely private interview with Mrs. 
 Dann. But Delia ran away before he had time to 
 speak. 
 
 " Phil," said Mrs. Dann in a loud whisper, " Bobby 
 Sebright will arrive this afternoon. He cabled ■ from 
 Dublin that he was coming straight through." 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 M RS. Dann did not wait to hear what Mr. Mervyn 
 thought of her news. She went straight along the 
 passage to Delia's room. Mr. Mervyn got up and 
 shut his door. Then he went back to bed again and 
 listened. In a few minutes he heard steps on the 
 gravel outside the house. He went very cautiously 
 to the window and peeped out. Mrs. Dann and 
 Delia were to be seen going down the drive towards 
 the road. He felt satisfied that they had really left 
 him ; and that he might spend the rest of the 
 day in such peace as his thoughts allowed him. 
 He put on his dressing-gown and hunted about 
 for the volume of John Owen's works which was still 
 in his bedroom. Puritan theology is tough matter. 
 He hoped to distract his mind from present troubles 
 by giving his full attention to its intricacies. 
 
 He lighted at once upon a discourse with a 
 curiously attractive title. " Human Power Defeated " 
 had given John Owen the subject for a sermon which 
 must have taken him five or sfoc hours to deliver even 
 if the words were spoken at an extremely rapid rate. 
 Mr. Mervyn wanted to know how human power, Mrs. 
 Dann's, could best be defeated. He began in the 
 middle of the sermon. " They please themselves," he 
 read, " for a little season with strong apprehensions of 
 the accomplishments of their hearts' lusts and cobweb 
 
142 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 fancies." This was a little puzzling. The strong ap- 
 prehensions were his, and he did not please himself 
 with them at all. On the other hand, the phrase 
 " cobweb fancies " undoubtedly referred to the 
 imaginings of people like his sister-in-law. " Foolish 
 and giddy undertakers," said the preacher a little 
 farther on, " do but conceive chaff and bring forth 
 stubble." The words were most comfortable. Mrs. 
 Dann was certainly a foolish undertaker. He gloated 
 a while over the idea of chaff and stubble. Then he 
 came upon a passage which caused him acute self- 
 reproach. 
 
 " A condition of slumber and sleep," said sturdy 
 John Owen, " is a weak condition. A sleeping man 
 is able to do nothing. Jael can destroy a sleeping 
 Sisera." He realised how futile was his policy of lying 
 in bed. While he drowsed, while Father Roche slum- 
 bered, Mrs, Dann might be hammering nails into 
 their heads. John Owen had not preached in vain. 
 Such is the power of great thought and stirring words 
 that, though they lie buried for centuries in the pages 
 of dusty books which no man reads, they will in the 
 end reach and move some human heart. No doubt 
 the Ironsides of Oliver Cromwell gripped their sword- 
 hilts mightily when John Owen exhorted them, 
 " The overthrowing of monarchies " — in their day a 
 very pressing business — " was not to be accomplished 
 by sleeping men." Nor was the overthrow of Mrs, 
 Dann's Miracle Play, Mr. Mervyn laid down his 
 book and pulled on his trousers. 
 
 Then Onny knocked at the door, Mr. Mervyn 
 ordered her to go away sternly. Onny wanted to go 
 away, asked nothing better than to be allowed to 
 go and stay away ; but circumstances were too strong 
 for her. She felt obliged to explain her business. 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 143 
 
 When Mrs. Dann and Delia left the house Onny 
 made up her mind to spend a happy and exciting 
 afternoon. She intended to try on all the clothes 
 which had arrived for Delia in the morning. For this 
 she required several hours free of interruption and 
 was likely to get them, Delia was safely out of the 
 way. Mr. Mervyn was not likely to interfere with her. 
 She went out to the yard and then to the garden in 
 order to make sure that .^neas Sweeny had left the 
 place and gone down to the village to get a drink. 
 It was almost certain that he had done so, but Onny 
 was unwilling to run the smallest risk. She assured 
 herself by the evidence of her eyes that he was 
 nowhere about the rectory grounds. Then she went 
 up to Delia's bedroom. She chose, to begin with, a 
 particularly fascinating blouse, one with an outer skin 
 of very transparent material through which a gold- 
 embroidered inner layer shone gorgeously. She had 
 to wriggle a great deal in order to fasten the garment, 
 for it was one of the sort, designed for ladies who 
 have maids or meek husbands, which fasten at the 
 back. She succeeded in the end in securing twenty 
 out of thirty-five hooks, and then began to admire 
 herself very much in the looking-glass. 
 
 She was interrupted by a sound of gentle whist- 
 ling in the yard behind the house. Delia's window 
 was open, and looked out over the yard, so Onny 
 heard the whistling distinctly.. She recognised it, 
 having often heard it before, as the signal of a 
 friend. She put her head out of the window and 
 spoke. 
 
 " Is that you, Jamesy Casey > " 
 
 Jamesy Casey, who was standing outside the 
 kitchen window, looked up. 
 
 " It is," he said. " Who else would it be > " 
 
144 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 "If it is," said Onny, "the sooner you take your- 
 self away out of that the better. Isn't it enough for 
 you that Miss Delia's never done talking to me about 
 the way you're after me on Sundays without you'd 
 be coming here in the middle of the day ? Do you 
 want my character destroyed on me altogether ? Do 
 you think I've nothing to do but to be wasting my 
 time talking to you ? Get away home with you out 
 of that." 
 
 "If I go away home it's yourself will be sorry 
 after." 
 
 " I will not," said Onny firmly. 
 
 " You will ; for it's a terrible chastising you'll get 
 if old Mervyn doesn't be given the letter I have in 
 my pocket." 
 
 " You've no letter in your pocket. How would . 
 you ? " 
 
 Onny had not read the sermon of the Rev. John 
 Owen, D.D. If she had she might have called 
 Jamesy Casey a foolish and a giddy undertaker. 
 The words exactly expressed her opinion of him, and 
 she liked him all the better for being that kind of 
 man. But Jamesy was not so giddy as she thought 
 him. 
 
 " I have a letter then," he said, " and what's more 
 it's from his reverence. So there's for you, my fine 
 lady ! " 
 
 Jamesy was a little irritated. Onny eyed him 
 carefully. S^e had to decide, and decide quickly, a 
 very difficult point. Would Jamesy stand any more 
 insults or would it be better for her to change her 
 tone and speak kindly to him. She decided that he 
 had not yet quite reached the limit of his endurance. 
 
 " Get along out of that," she said. " What would 
 Father Roche be writing to the master about .' And 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 145 
 
 if he did write, is it likely he'd trust you with the 
 letter ? Doesn't he know you ? " 
 
 By way of reply Jamesy Casey took an envelope 
 from his pocket and held it up. Onny looked at it. 
 Seen from the window of an upper storey it was im- 
 possible to tell whether it contained a letter or not ; 
 quite impossible to make sure that it came from 
 Father Roche. Nevertheless Onny thought it well 
 to recede from her position of entire scepticism. 
 
 " If you have a letter," she said, " why don't you 
 go round to the front door with it instead of stand- 
 ing there whistling tunes under the kitchen window ? " 
 " Sure, I did go round to the door." 
 " You did not. Don't I see you ? " 
 " I did ; and what's more I knocked at that same 
 door, and it wasn't till nobody answered me that I 
 went round to the back. So you may come down 
 now and take it." 
 
 " I'll come when I've finished what I'm at," said 
 Onny. " It'll do you no harm to wait." 
 
 " If you don't come down this minute I'll set the 
 letter on the ground with a stone on top of it, and 
 then you'll be sorry when an ass has it ate before you 
 get it." 
 
 " There's no asses here." 
 
 " Or one of the hens, or the old cock himself," 
 said Jamesy. " It will be equal to you after what 
 eats it so long as it's ate. And let me tell you that 
 there's ' private ' written on the outside of it." 
 
 Onny had all along decided to go down to 
 Jamesy Casey. The mention of the word " private " 
 decided her to wait no longer. 
 
 " Why didn't you tell me that sooner } " she said, 
 " What's in the letter at all ? " 
 
 " I'll tell you that when you come down," said 
 
 L 
 
146 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 Jamesy. "Do you want me to be shouting and 
 bawling his reverence's private business so as every- 
 body could hear it ? " 
 
 Onny went down to the kitchen and opened the 
 door for Jamesy. 
 
 The Rev. John Owen, D.D., has not, anywhere in 
 his writings, commented on the fact that Solomon 
 found the way of a man with a maid something too 
 wonderful for his understanding. This omission is 
 the more striking because John Owen has remarks on 
 almost every other text in the Bible, We may 
 account for this by supposing that to John Owen the 
 way of a maid with a man is a much more incompre- 
 hensible thing. To the modern-minded man — and 
 John Owen, compared to Solomon, was a modern — 
 a man's manner of wooing seems a simple straight- 
 forward affair. It is the maid who gives the air of 
 mystery to the business which makes it fascinating 
 and wonderful to watch. In Solomon's time, one 
 supposes, the maid had very little opportunity for 
 finesse. She was bought or captured and afterwards 
 submitted quietly. No one pretended that she had 
 any choice about her destiny. Now she has asserted 
 herself, and her way of behaving is very much more 
 wonderful than man's ever was. Onny Donovan, for 
 instance, teased Jamesy Casey from an upper window, 
 but she was very much disappointed that he did not 
 kiss her when she came downstairs and opened the 
 kitchen door. It was the splendour of Delia's new 
 blouse which made him forget his duty. He stepped 
 back instead of forwards when he saw it, and stared 
 at Onny. 
 
 " Bedam," he said, " but that's a grand dress you 
 have on you ! Where did you get the like .' " 
 
 Onny was aware that the blouse was grand— % 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 147 
 
 grand beyond experience or dreams; but that did 
 not seem to her any reason why she should not be 
 kissed. She spoke sternly to Jamesy Casey. 
 
 " Give me the letter," she said, " and away home 
 with you." 
 
 Jamesy handed over the letter. Onny examined 
 it carefully, turning it over and over in her hand. 
 
 " I be afeard to touch you," said Jamesy, " with a 
 dress like that on you." 
 
 He was aware that Onny's manner was not 
 cordial. He guessed at the cause of her coldness and 
 offered his apology. 
 
 " He has it sealed," said Onny, still looking at 
 the letter. " What way did you find out what was 
 in it ? " 
 
 " Who gave you the dress ? " said Jamesy. " Tell 
 me that now and I'll tell you what's in the letter. 
 But tell me no lies, for if you do I won't believe you." 
 
 Onny was filled with curiosity. She also felt the 
 want of the kiss she expected. The simplest and 
 quickest thing to tell seemed to be the truth. 
 
 " The American lady," she said, " the same that's 
 above in the big house, is after giving it, and more 
 like it, to Miss Delia." 
 
 " Is she then .' Well, it's herself will be sorry 
 that ever she set foot in Druminawona." 
 
 " She will not be sorry. Why would she ? Hasn't 
 she the full of a bank of money ? " 
 
 "To-morrow," said Jamesy solemnly, "or the 
 day after, or the day after that, she'll be sorry." 
 
 " And what would make her sorry ? It's little 
 you know of the ways of them ones, Jamesy Casey, 
 if you think that she cares for the trifle she's spent 
 on dresses for Miss Delia." 
 * Jamesy paused. He had a weighty and terrifying 
 
148 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 announcement to make. He wished it to have its 
 full effect. Onny was affected by the extreme 
 solemnity of his manner. She stood silently in front 
 of him, her mouth wide open, her eyes staring. 
 
 "The bishop's coming down," he said at last, 
 " and he'll make her sorry." 
 
 He had in the course of the next minute a full 
 revenge for the teasing he had endured. Onny's 
 reception of the news was even more satisfactory 
 than he hoped. 
 
 " The Lord save us and deliver us ! " she said. 
 
 " You may say that," he said. " You may well 
 say that. It's a pity of her, so it is." 
 
 " And is that what's in the letter ? " asked Onny. 
 
 " It is," said Jamesy Casey. 
 
 He spoke as firmly and solemnly as ever ; but 
 the effect of his manner was beginning to wear off. 
 Onny reasserted herself. 
 
 " And how do you know that ? Don't tell me 
 now that you're after reading it, and it sealed ? " 
 
 " It wasn't sealed at the first go off," said Jamesy, 
 " but his reverence gave it to Mrs. Deveril to give 
 to me. I don't know how long it might be that she 
 had it before he was calling for it again and put 
 the seal on it. Anyway it's what I'm after telling 
 you that's in the inside of it ; for she told me so her- 
 self." 
 
 " And why would the bishop want to cross the 
 American lady ? Isn't she a good lady ? " 
 
 " It's on account of the play-acting," said Jamesy. 
 "You've heard about that." 
 
 Onny giggled delightedly. She had heard a 
 great deal about the play-acting and was entirely 
 pleased with the prospect of it. She had a feud of 
 long standing with ^neas Sweeny, a feud kept fresh 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 149 
 
 by daily altercations about water, which ^neas was 
 supposed to carry into the kitchen from the pump 
 in the yard. He maintained that she deliberately 
 wasted water with malicious intention of adding to 
 his labour. She argued that it was impossible to 
 wash clothes and dishes effectively with the miserable 
 dribbles ^neas brought her. She also had a grudge 
 against Sergeant Ginty, partly because he did not 
 arrest ^neas for drunkenness, and partly because 
 once, in a moment of excessive zeal, he had arrested 
 Jamesy Casey. The hope that both .(Eneas and 
 Sergeant Ginty would be held up to public ridicule in 
 Mrs. Dann's play filled her with an unholy glee. She 
 always giggled when the subject of the play was 
 mentioned. 
 
 "There's no call for you to be laughing," said 
 Jamesy Casey. " It's true what I'm after telling you." 
 
 This statement sobered Onny. 
 
 " Maybe," she said, " I'd better be taking the letter 
 up to the master." 
 
 " It would be as well if you did," said Jamesy, 
 " seeing that I'm to wait for an answer." 
 
 Thus it happened that Mr. Mervyn was interrupted 
 in his dressing just at the moment when the energy 
 of John Owen's words had stirred him to activity. 
 Therefore Onny, being afraid to go away when he 
 told her to do so, stood at the door with the letter 
 in her hand. 
 
 Her persistence was rewarded. Mr. Mervyn bade 
 her come in. She turned the handle of the door and 
 then hesitated. She remembered suddenly that she 
 was still wearing Delia's blouse. Mr. Mervyn was 
 not an observant man, but she feared that even he 
 would notice the strange brilliance of the garment. 
 She need not have troubled herself at all. Mr. Mervyn 
 
ISO THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 was too uncomfortable about his own attire to notice 
 hers. It is not pleasant for an elderly clergyman, 
 who believes and hopes that he has secured the 
 respect of his family, to have to face a maid-servant 
 when he is wearing an old dressing-gown and a pair 
 of trousers without braces. But Onny could not 
 guess at his feelings. In fear of being called to 
 account for her blouse she opened the door a very 
 little way only, thrust her hand into the room and 
 dropped the letter. 
 
 " There's a man below," she said, " and he's wait- 
 ing for an answer." 
 
 Then she fled. Mr. Mervyn, thankful to her in 
 his heart, picked up the letter. 
 
 " Dear Mr. Mervyn," he read, " I am writing by 
 to-day's post to the bishop to tell him the vr^ty we 
 are situated- here with regard to the play, and the 
 proposal to make soda-water out of the Holy Well. 
 I'd take it as a favour if you'd write to your bishop 
 so that we'd get the two of them down here and see 
 what can be done in the way of putting a stop to 
 what will be a disgrace to the parish if it's allowed to 
 go on. It isn't necessary for me to tell you that it's 
 not religious bigotry that has turned me against it. 
 I'd be willing to co-operate with any lady in promot- 
 ing the interests of the locality and putting the poor 
 people of Druminawona in the way of earning a few 
 shillings. I wouldn't ask and I wouldn't care what 
 her religion might be. And if she turned out to be 
 a Protestant or worse, nobody would hear me say a 
 word one way or the other. But what I can't be 
 expected to put up with is her settling it in her own 
 mind that I'm to have my likeness on every bottle of 
 mineral water that she sells, So long as it was only 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 151 
 
 ^neas Sweeny she had her eye on I wasn't going to 
 raise objections. Fellows like him, that's never out 
 of the public-house, deserve what they get, and more. 
 Nor I wouldn't greatly care what she did about the 
 sergeant. So long as he's well paid for what he does, 
 I don't see that he has any right to complain. 
 But what she said to me yesterday in my own house 
 is more than I am prepared to stand. I'm in bed 
 since with the shock I got, and I'm worse this morn- 
 ing since I heard that the sergeant is going about the 
 town saying he has withdrawn his objection to the 
 part she has down for him since he heard that she 
 has worse for me. .^neas Sweeny has it put out 
 that you're in your bed too. I don't wonder at it. 
 Any man with the smallest feelings of decency left in 
 him would be. The sergeant has none. I'd be glad 
 if I saw any way out of the fix we're in without bring- 
 ing two bishops down into a locality where they're 
 not wanted either by you or me, but I don't know 
 what else there is to do. It's no use talking to hen 
 We've tried that. And I doubt if a public meeting 
 would be much good, though I have one summoned 
 for this evening, and I'd be glad if you'd find it 
 convenient to attend. It's a chance if she'd care a 
 pin for any resolution we could pass. And what's 
 more, the majority of the people have got it into their 
 heads that there's a heap of money to be made out of 
 the play, and I doubt if they'd be willing to pass a 
 resolution, though of course we'll try." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn realised once more the truth of John 
 Owen's remarks. The policy of staying in bed is an 
 utterly mistaken one. "A condition of slumber and 
 sleep is a weak condition. A sleeping man is able to 
 do nothing. Jael can destroy a sleeping Sisera." 
 
152 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 Even when there was no other danger except Jael — 
 Mrs. Dann with her Miracle Play — he felt it necessary 
 to do something. Now a fresh disaster threatened. 
 The play was bad enough. A visitation from two 
 bishops at once seemed to be worse. He had heard 
 of Father Roche's bishop, chiefly from Father Roche 
 himself. He was a prelate of a masterful kind, one 
 of those who was accustomed to s^y " Do this " to 
 people who did it immediately. He knew his own 
 bishop, a quieter man, but one who would be pro- 
 foundly shocked and pained by any scandal in 
 Druminawona. And there would be a scandal. 
 Mrs. Dann was a lady who liked to have her own 
 way. A conflict between her and two bishops would 
 result in a scandal of the worst kind, would provoke 
 the laughter of the ungodly. 
 
 It seemed to Mr. Mervyn above all things 
 necessary to persuade Father Roche not to write to 
 his bishop. He dressed as quickly as he could, went 
 down to the study and wrote to Father Roche. 
 
 " Dear Father Roche,— I fully understand your 
 feeling about the play and the other plans which Mrs. 
 Dann has made for the good of the parish. We can't 
 have anything of the sort here. It's the wrong place 
 for experiments. The people aren't accustomed to 
 
 them. Up in Dublin, now, or in Belfast But 
 
 there is no use, I am afraid, suggesting that to- her. 
 But don't write to your bishop yet Let me try every 
 means of stopping this unfortunate business before 
 we bring fresh trouble on ourselves. If you have 
 posted the letter — which I hope you haven't — couldn't 
 you send down to the post-office and get it back? 
 I don't think there'd be any difficulty." 
 
 At this point Mr. Mervyn paused and looked at 
 
THE LOST TRIBES iS3 
 
 his watch. It was twenty minutes past one o'clock. 
 The post-car left Druminawona at half-past one. 
 The letter, if Father Roche had posted it, would be 
 out of the Druminawona post-office before it could 
 be rescued. Mr. Mervyn wrote on with feverish 
 haste. 
 
 " If the post-car has started before you get this, 
 send Jamesy Casey after it on a bicycle. The 
 sergeant has a good bicycle and he'd lend it to Jamesy. 
 I'll send him a note by Onny asking him to oblige 
 me by lending it. But we had better not tell him 
 what it is wanted for. If your bishop comes down 
 there'll be trouble. Mrs. Dann isn't accustomed to 
 bishops. There aren't nearly so many of them in 
 America as there are here, I mean in comparison to 
 the size of the population. And she's a Baptist, so 
 she has very likely never met one. I am not writing 
 to my own bishop." 
 
 Having written so far in opposition to Father 
 Roche's bishop plan, it occurred to Mr. Mervyn that 
 he ought to suggest some alternative way of dealing 
 .with Mrs. Dann. None occurred to him. He sat for 
 some moments biting the end of his pen. Then he 
 went on : 
 
 "Mr. Sebright is coming to-day. He is Mrs. 
 Dann's nephew and an American himself. Perhaps 
 he will be able to help us. In the meantime we'll 
 certafnly try a public meeting of protest. I suppose 
 it will be held in your schoolroom. That will be the 
 best place. Will you send round word summoning 
 the people for eight o'clock ? I'll be there and do all 
 I can." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn tried to write hopefully, but he had 
 not much real belief either in a public meeting or in 
 the intervention of Bobby Sebright, It might be 
 
154 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 possible, by the full exercise of a united clerical 
 influence, to get a resolution passed condemning the 
 play. It would be quite a different matter to 
 persuade Mrs. Dann to take any notice pf it. Nor 
 had he much hope that Bobby Sebright would inter- 
 vene. It seemed likely enough that the young man, 
 being an American and a journalist, might support 
 Mrs. Dann. He felt that he must say something in 
 his letter if he wanted to persuade Father Roche to 
 postpone his appeal to the bishops. 
 
 " I shall go up to Druminawona House at once," 
 he wrote, " and lay the whole matter before my sister- 
 in-law. I shall speak very plainly to her, and put 
 our objections as strongly as possible. I am sure I 
 shall be able to persuade her." 
 
 At this point Mr. Mervyn stopped short. He was, 
 in fact, quite sure that he would not be able to persuade 
 her to give up the idea of the play. He sighed, but 
 he was still a man with a conscience. Mrs. Dann's 
 abominable activities had forced him into crooked 
 ways. He had allowed Delia to deceive herself about 
 his visit to Sergeant Ginty. He had left both Delia 
 and Mrs. Dann under the impression that he was 
 confined to bed by a painful illness. But he was not 
 yet prepared to set down a direct lie on a sheet of 
 paper and sign his name to it. He sighed deeply ; 
 but he ran his pen through the last sentence of his 
 letter. 
 
 Then he wrote a note to Sergeant Ginty asking 
 him to lend his bicycle to Jamesy Casey. It occurred 
 to him when he had finished it that there was no real 
 need to send Onny Donovan down to the village. 
 Father Roche's messenger was waiting somewhere. 
 He could quite well carry both letters. It was 
 necessary in any case to pass the police barrack on 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 155 
 
 the way to the presbytery. Mr. Mervyn went into 
 the kitchen with his two letters. 
 
 There was some scuffling when he opened the 
 door. A more observant man might have supposed 
 that Onny was getting, with interest, the kiss she 
 expected at first. But Mr. Mervyn had other things 
 to think of. He did not notice the red face of the 
 girl nor the exaggerated detachment of the man. 
 
 Jamesy Casey raised a series of objections to Mr. 
 Mervyn's plan. He pointed out first that the note 
 to Sergeant Ginty would have more weight if it were 
 left by a special messenger, Onny Donovan, for 
 instance, and not simply dropped in passing by a man 
 who was doing another errand. Then he hinted that 
 he had a special objection, of a private kind, to 
 entering the police barrack. Finally, he urged that 
 it was absolutely necessary for him to hurry back to 
 the presbytery at his highest speed, and that Father 
 Roche would be seriously angry if he stopped to 
 deliver letters on the way. He gave it as his opinion 
 that Onny Donovan ought to take the letter. Mr. 
 Mervyn did not much care who carried it. Onny 
 promised to be ready to start in less than a minute. 
 
 " I've nothing to do," she said, " only to slip on 
 my hat, and then I'll be off." 
 
 This was true. Greatly daring, she intended to 
 walk down to the village in Delia's London blouse. 
 She was beginning to feel at home in the garment, 
 and she liked the idea of the admiration and wonder 
 which would be excited when she appeared in it. 
 She left the kitchen, wondering whether she might 
 venture to complete her costume by wearing one of 
 Delia's hats. Jamesy Casey watched her go and then 
 told Mr. Mervyn that he would not wait for her. 
 
 " You couldn't trust them ones," he said, " not to 
 
iS6 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 be delaying you, and I have it in my mind to be 
 running the most of the way on account of his 
 reverence being in a terrible hurry. Running's what 
 Onny Donovan wouldn't be fit for, though she might 
 be willing to try." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn went upstairs and changed his clothes. 
 He felt that he had a difficult business before him, 
 and he wanted all the moral support he could get. 
 There is a great deal of moral support in a frock coat. 
 Mr. Mervyn wore his so rarely that it added sensibly 
 to his personal dignity. He also got out his silk hat. 
 He needed all the dignity he could get if his remon- 
 strances were to have any effect on Mrs. Dann. 
 
 On the way down to the gate he caught sight of 
 Jamesy Casey and Onny Donovan imperfectly hidden 
 behind a laurel-bush. Many men would have spoken 
 bitter words to them, would have driven them, 
 humiliated and angry, from their refuge. Mr. Mervyn 
 merely turned his head and pretended not to see 
 them. He meditated, as he went his way, on the 
 fondness of all lovers for crooked courses. There 
 was no doubt in his mind — their attitude behind the 
 laurel-bush was convincing — that Jamesy and Onny 
 were warmly affectionate. He wondered why they 
 had taken so much trouble to deceive him. 
 
 It was not till he was half-way to Druminawona 
 House that he stopped thinking about Jamesy and 
 Onny as lovers. Then it occurred to him that as 
 messengers they were singularly unsatisfactory. How 
 long they sat behind the laurel-bush after he left 
 them he could not tell ; but he knew that his letter 
 to Father Roche would be very seriously delayed. 
 He looked at his watch. It was half-past two o'clock. 
 There was no hope whatever of rescuing Father 
 Roche's letter. Even on a bicycle Jamesy Casey 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 157 
 
 could not overtake the post-car. The summons to 
 the bishop had gone forth and could not be recalled. 
 Mr. Mervyn recognised the irresistible hand of destiny. 
 He sighed. The consequences of an episcopal visita- 
 tion would have to be faced. Then a pleasanter side 
 of the matter presented itself. There was no longer 
 any necessity for him to argue vigorously with Mrs. 
 Dann. The bishop, when he came, could do that. 
 Mr. Mervyn was free to go for a quiet, lonely walk. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 Long ago, thirty or forty years ago, the English 
 people used to be much troubled by stories of famines 
 in Ireland. Being themselves well fed and having very 
 tender hearts, the English hate to hear of anybody 
 else being hungry. Whenever they were told that 
 the Irish wanted food they gave orders that food 
 should be provided. The Prime Minister of the day 
 — minister means servant — did what he was told. 
 He took from the public purse ample funds for the 
 feeding of the Irish. 
 
 But the English, besides being tender-hearted, are 
 business men, and, in the days when famines were 
 common in Ireland, they believed in a science called 
 political economy. It is the science which explains 
 and justifies the existence of business men, and there- 
 fore it attracted the English as soon as it was in- 
 vented. Now, according to the science of political 
 economy it Is wrong to feed hungry people without 
 first making them work for the food. The English 
 therefore decided that the Irish must do something 
 which might fairly be regarded as work, for which 
 wages, in the form of food, might be paid. "Let 
 us," they said, " set these Irish to work in the first 
 place. They are, and always have been, lazy 
 beasts. The work will do them as much good as the 
 food." But the professors of political economy, the 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 159 
 
 chosen seers of the English people, had another 
 message from heaven to deliver. It is nol, so it appears, 
 right that men should be paid from the public purse 
 for doing anything useful. This is a profound truth, 
 and the English, though they have lost much other 
 faith, still believe it. They still act upon it, though 
 less crudely than forty years ago. Nowadays when 
 they see an Irishman who has nothing to eat and does 
 not seem to be able to get anything, they make him 
 a Government official. They pay him a salary and 
 feel perfectly certain that they are not outraging the 
 principles of political economy. He will work ; but 
 the most careful critic will not be able to discover the 
 use of what he does. By this policy a stop has been 
 put to the occurrence of Irish famines. No one in 
 Ireland has now any excuse for starving. 
 
 But forty years ago the official class had not yet 
 been invented. The English, tender-hearted philo- 
 sophers, had not hit upon this cure for our chronic 
 poverty. The splendid idea of setting hungry men 
 to prey upon their neighbours by writing letters, 
 collecting statistics and generally worrying, did not 
 occur to any one at first. Indeed, even if it had been 
 thought of, it would not have been practicable. In 
 those days comparatively few of us could read or 
 write. Some other work as useless as the issuing of 
 official papers had to be found for us. The Govern- 
 ment hit upon the idea of making roads which led to 
 nowhere. The starving people were set to work on 
 them, and, in order that as much labour as possible 
 might be used with the smallest possible benefit to 
 the community, the Government insisted on its roads 
 being very well laid down. One of them was made 
 in Druminawona, 
 
 It started at right-angles to the demesne wall of 
 
i6o THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 Druminawona House. A wayfarer who wanted to 
 reach it from that end had first to get into the 
 demesne and then climb the wall, which was nearly 
 twelve feet high. It led to a spot about a hundred 
 yards from the main road. In order to reach that end 
 of it you leave the highway and cross a small bog. 
 Between these two points the Government road ran 
 among hills and over streams for nearly two miles. 
 It was inconceivable to the engineers who planned it 
 that this road could ever be of use to any one. They 
 went home, after seeing it made, with the comfortable 
 conviction that they had saved a number of Irishmen 
 from starving without being false to the principles of 
 political economy. 
 
 But there is [a tricksy spirit — an Irish water 
 fairy perhaps — ^which takes a fiendish delight in up- 
 setting the plans which Englishmen make for the 
 good of Ireland. Policies and laws which look quite 
 perfect in Westminster develop curious twists when 
 they cross St. George's Channel. They do not work 
 out in the least as reasonable men suppose they must. 
 The fate of the famine relief road in Druminawona 
 illustrates the malign ingenuity of the fairy. No one 
 supposed that it could be of any use ; but it turned out 
 that it was. It became a favourite promenade for 
 members of the Royal Irish Constabulary when 
 engaged in what is called patrol duty. It is a nice 
 dry road and there is never the smallest risk of meeting 
 any one on it who ought to be arrested. It was also, 
 of all roads round Druminawona, the one which Mr. 
 Mervyn liked best. He was fond of walking for its 
 own sake. He liked solitude. And there was a series 
 of beautiful views to be seen and several rapid streams 
 to be crossed by picturesque bridges. Thus within 
 forty years of its making the road turned out to be 
 
THE LOST TRIBES i6i 
 
 a real benefit to the police, an important section of 
 society, and to be a source of innocent pleasure to an 
 elderly clergyman of whom assuredly no Govern- 
 ment had ever heard. 
 
 Mr. Mervyn, having made up his mind that he 
 need not call on Mrs. Dann, walked at an easy pace. 
 He crossed the patches of bog, reached the road he 
 loved and meandered along it looking forward to 
 reaching in due time a very favourite resting-place. 
 He went with head up, gazing at the hills on either 
 side of him. His lips began to move, forming words. 
 Soon he spoke aloud, finding strong satisfaction in the 
 words of the poet he loved : 
 
 " Lights and shades 
 Which marched and countermarched about the hills 
 In glorious apparition," 
 
 Then he stopped, for the next few lines of the 
 poem find Wordsworth in his mood of pompous 
 prose. They were not dear to Mr. Mervyn, who was 
 no indiscriminate admirer of good and bad alike. 
 He began to recite another passage, a more famous 
 one, and stopped again when he came to the line 
 about "the dreary intercourse of daily life." He 
 was not thinking particularly of Mrs. Dann, but he 
 wished sincerely that the people whom he met in daily 
 life were not so entirely out of tune with the " haunting 
 passion " of the " sounding cataract." 
 
 The road, skirting a hillside, turned sharply round 
 a large grey rock. Beyond the rock a narrow bridge, 
 supported on a single arch, spanned a rushing brown 
 torrent. It was very pleasant to sit on the wall of 
 the bridge and watch the water flowing underneath. 
 The men of the Royal Irish Constabulary knew the 
 spot and often spent happy hours in gazing at the 
 
 M 
 
i62 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 water. All men who lead a contemplative life — and 
 the Irish police in country places cannot be active — 
 are fond of running water. It reminds them of the 
 passage of time, assures them that the minutes, days, 
 and years are really hastening on, a truth which it is 
 very difficult to realise if you have nothing to do. 
 For the busy man, with engagements to keep, the 
 passage of time is a nuisance. He wants it to stand 
 still. To the meditative quietist time moves too 
 slowly. He finds a pleasure in being reminded, by a 
 brook or otherwise, that it really is going on, that his 
 dinner or his bed is actually nearer than it was 
 because a bubble which he saw far up the stream has 
 passed out of sight. 
 
 But the men of the Royal Irish Constabulary 
 were not selfish. They realised that Mr. Mervyn's 
 need of the brook's teaching was greater than theirs. 
 They liked leaning over the wall of the bridge, but 
 when they saw Mr. Mervyn coming they always stood 
 upright, saluted him, and marched on. 
 
 This afternoon, after rounding the rock, Mr. 
 Mervyn saw that Sergeant Ginty, attended by a well- 
 proportioned constable, was standing on the bridge. 
 With them was a stranger, a young man dressed in 
 a way which gave Mr. Mervyn a feeling of acute 
 discomfort, almost of actual fear. He wore a suit of 
 clothes of an iron-grey colour, cut in such a way that 
 their very appearance suggested mental energy and 
 efficiency. His face was thin, clean-shaved, and 
 eager. His head was slightly tilted to one side 
 and he was looking at Sergeant Ginty over his 
 shoulder and out of the corners of his eyes. 
 
 Mr. Mervyn wished to turn round and slink back 
 out of sight round the corner of the grey rock. He 
 was unable to do this because the strange young man 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 163 
 
 caught sight of him and held him fascinated. 
 Sergeant Ginty and his muscular constable, whose 
 faces were shining with perspiration, turned round, as 
 soon as the stranger's eyes were off them, and walked 
 with undignified haste back towards Druminawona, 
 The young man approached Mr. Mervyn with out- 
 stretched hand. 
 
 "You're the Reverend Theophilus," he said. " I'd 
 have known you anywhere. Old Sally May Dann 
 has told me quite a bit about you. I recognise you 
 as being in complete harmony with a scene which the 
 poet Wordsworth would have admired. Sally May 
 told me of your devotion to that bard. It was amid 
 surroundings like this that he wrote his immortal 
 lines on ' Imagination and Taste, How Impaired and 
 Restored.' I honour you, sir, for your devotion to 
 William Wordsworth. My name is Bobby Sebright." 
 
 He shook Mr. Mervyn's hand heartily. 
 
 "I'm doddering round these islands," he said, 
 " ' Stepping Westward,' if you'll allow me to speak 
 from the point of view of a man who has been having 
 a look round London in the hope of getting material 
 for the instruction of the great American public on 
 the subject of Home Rule. Sally May is of opinion 
 that I don't require to circulate much beyond this 
 locality to get what I want. That simplifies my job 
 some if she's right. So far I haven't struck it rich in 
 the way of copy ; but things may brighten up when I 
 meet your prominent citizens." 
 
 " You've not been here very long, have you > " 
 said Mr. Mervyn. 
 
 "Stepped through Sally May's front door at 
 2.47 P.M.," said Bobby Sebright. " According to my 
 watch, a five-dollar timepiece, guaranteed for twelve 
 months, it is now 4.13 p.m., say one hour twenty-six 
 
i64 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 minutes, of which one hour went in lunch and mixed 
 conversation with Sally May and a charming young 
 lady — your daughter, I believe, Mr. Mervyn. Net 
 balance for study of Irish problem twenty-six 
 minutes." 
 
 He paused. Mr. Mervyn felt bound to make a 
 remark of some kind. He chose a very obvious 
 one. 
 
 " I'm afraid that in so short a time you can 
 hardly have gathered any very valuable impressions." 
 
 "Don't you waste any time in politeness, Mr. 
 Mervyn, when talking to me. I shan't buck any 
 against a plain statement of your opinion. ' Result 
 nil.' That's what you mean to imply. Twenty-six 
 valuable minutes gone. Result nil. But you're 
 wrong." 
 
 "You could scarcely expect," said Mr. Mervyn, 
 " in twenty-six minutes " 
 
 "A natural mistake," said Bobby Sebright, 
 "natural in a man ignorant of the training afforded 
 by our New York journalism. I have here — " (he 
 drew a notebook from his pocket) " an impression 
 gathered from the surrounding scenery, more par- 
 ticularly that section of it which comes in view after 
 climbing Sally May's boundary wall. I propose to 
 cable this impression to New York as soon as I light 
 on your post-office. It will enlighten our politicians 
 some, and tend to clear away the misapprehensions of 
 the general public. Would you care to hear it ? " 
 
 " I should like to, very much," said Mr. Mervyn 
 politely. He was not quite sure what Bobby Sebright 
 was talking about ; but he felt attracted by the 
 young man. Exuberant vitality is one of the most 
 attractive things there is to those who are growing 
 old. Wordsworth felt this when he wrote about " the 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 165 
 
 wantonness of heart" of a joyous band of 
 schoolboys — a passage which Mr. Mervyn often 
 quoted to Delia when Sergeant Ginty's sons were 
 particularly annoying. 
 
 " Britishers mistaken," read Bobby Sebright, " in 
 wanting to retain franchise. No dividends possible." 
 
 " Franchise .' " said Mr. Mervyn. 
 
 The word, so he understood, meant the power of 
 voting ; a blessing much desired, he believed, by 
 clever women ; but quite unappreciated by him. He 
 indeed possessed a double franchise, two votes, being 
 an elector of Dublin University, but he had never 
 used or wanted to use either of them. If Bobby 
 Sebright used the word in the same sense the 
 Britishers were" unquestionably mistaken in wanting 
 to retain the thing. It could be no use to them. 
 
 " On our side," said Bobby Sebright, " franchise 
 means sole right of running street cars, electric light, 
 telephones and general public conveniences granted 
 by State Congress or other representative authority 
 in return for considerations of value given by appli- 
 cant financiers to ward bosses. See .' " 
 
 " No," said Mr. Mervyn, " I don't." 
 
 " Don't you run away with the notion that my 
 cable appears in New York Press as read to you. 
 That's where the assistant editor earns his salary. 
 He sits down to those two statements of mine and 
 inspires into them until they swell. He produces an 
 article of the length required, with cross-headings. 
 I'd like your opinion now, Mr. Mervyn, on that 
 subject of dividends. Can this kind of show be made 
 to pay? Can it cover expenses under proper 
 management ? " 
 
 Bobby Sebright looked round him. He seemed 
 to be reckoning up the commercial possibilities of 
 
i66 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 scattered grey stones, of heath-covered hill-sides, of 
 brawling streams, of patches of fluttering bog cotton 
 and fragrant thickets of bog myrtle, of " the lights and 
 shades which marched and countermarched about the 
 hills." 
 
 " Do you mean this place ? " said Mr. Mervyn. 
 
 Bobby Sebright waved his hand comprehensively. 
 Even the two policemen, visible as tiny figures far 
 along the road, seemed to be included in his 
 view. 
 
 " The country generally," he said, " of which 
 this section is a fair sample according to Sally 
 May." 
 
 " She thinks it can," said Mr. Mervyn. 
 
 " I have heard of that scheme. It strikes me as 
 speculative, Mr. Mervyn. I'm not prepared to say 
 but that, properly advertised, the idea may have 
 money in it. Sally May is a fool ; but she gets a 
 notion now and then that's worth thinking of. As a 
 holiday resort things might move a bit in this neigh- 
 bourhood if run on religious and artistic lines. It's 
 a novelty. Folks are accustomed to holidays, and 
 know all they want to know about religion and art ; 
 but hitherto the three things have been kept separate. 
 Sally May's notion is to mix them. That's so ? " 
 
 This seemed to Mr. Mervyn a very fair way of 
 describing the Miracle Play. It increased his dislike 
 for the project. "It doesn't seem to me," he said, 
 " a right thing to do." 
 
 " I rather gathered from Sally May," said Bobby 
 Sebright, "that you objected on artistic grounds. 
 I don't set any excessive value on art myself, though 
 I admit that it has its uses. But it occurs to me 
 that if this drama is run on what is generally under- 
 stood to be the most elevated lines your objection 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 167 
 
 ought to vanish away. Now I've studied some on 
 the question of dramatic art when I was running the 
 theatrical criticism department of my paper last fall. 
 I see that the regular ballet and musical comedy 
 chorus work wouldn't do for the public you're out 
 after, but I'm of opinion, and so is Sally May, that 
 by proper attention to costume and by the use 
 of select words culled from the genuine writings 
 of the great Elizabethan literary men an effect may 
 be produced which will not jar the most sensitive 
 taste." 
 
 " That's not my objection at all," said Mr. 
 Mervyn. " She has always misunderstood me about 
 that. Perhaps I haven't made my meaning quite 
 plain, but " 
 
 "Miss Delia Mervyn confirmed my impression," 
 said Bobby Sebright, "that you were against the 
 scheme on the grounds of high art, mistrusting the 
 capacity of Sally May. But it doesn't matter any- 
 way. The point we have to consider before we go 
 into the scheme is what your objections are worth 
 stated in terms of dollars. Now, don't you bristle 
 up if I put it straight to you. Are you one of the 
 bosses of this section ? How do you stand with the 
 ring which controls the votes ? Can you arrange for 
 a vocal expression of public opinion ? " 
 
 " I don't think so," said Mr. Mervyn ; " I don't 
 really know. I am not sure that I understand what 
 you mean. I never tried." 
 
 " If you don't know whether you can or not you 
 may take it from me as a fact that you can't, and 
 in that case your objection to the scheme won't 
 matter one cent to Sally May. I respect you for 
 it, but don't you make any mistake about the value 
 of your opinion. It isn't of any value." 
 
i68 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 " I know that," said Mr. Mervyn. " I've felt that 
 all along ; but Father Roche " 
 
 " He's a smart man, according to Sally May. He 
 sees dollars at the far end." 
 
 " But he doesn't like it. In fact " 
 
 " Are his objections artistic or are they business ? " 
 
 " He doesn't want to be used as an advertisement 
 on lemonade bottles," said Mr. Mervyn. "In fact, 
 he's gone to bed and sent for his bishop." 
 
 " Bishop head boss ? " 
 
 " Oh no, certainly not. At least, I suppose from 
 some points of view you might speak of him as that. 
 But I hope that we may be able to do without the 
 bishop. We are thinking of holding a public meeting 
 to-night to protest against the play. If we forward 
 an unanimous resolution " 
 
 " Now that's sense," said Bobby Sebright. " Sally 
 May won't buck against public opinion. We're a 
 democratic country, Mr. Mervyn. We don't lie 
 down and wag our tails because a bishbp or any 
 other kind of lord tells us we ought. But when we 
 find that a boss, either bishop or trust magnate, has 
 his finger on the valve of the steam whistle, and 
 can make citizens of any State squeal, or go hush-a- 
 bye, according to his fancy, then we take off our 
 hats to that boss and invite him to trample. That's 
 democracy, and Sally May knows it. You show me 
 that the voice of the ataiighty people is against this 
 essay in dramatic art, and I'll undertake that Sally 
 May climbs down and squirms pleasantly. I don't 
 mind owning to you that I quite hope you'll succeed. 
 I find that Sally May expects me to act as Press 
 agent and to run the advertising end of the business, 
 and I'm not keen on coming in. In an ordinary 
 way I don't ever shy at taking on an extra contract ; 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 169 
 
 but I see that this proposition of Sally May's will 
 require some booming to get it properly on the 
 market. I haven't the time and I'm not sure enough 
 about the dividends." 
 
 "Perhaps," said Mr. Mervyn, "you'd be so 
 good " 
 
 He stopped and looked doubtfully at Bobby 
 Sebright. He had a request to make and did 
 not feel sure how it would be received. The young 
 man before him seemed to be well disposed. He 
 certainly spoke in a frank and friendly way, and yet 
 Mr. Mervyn hesitated. 
 
 " Anything I can do for you," said Bobby, " you 
 can reckon on as done, unless it amounts to a crime. 
 I like you, Mr. Mervyn. You're a man of a kind I 
 don't run up against every day. I reckon your type 
 has rather died out in America. Unassuming merit 
 is your speciality. Our civilisation hasn't room for 
 it. The violet gets walked on, not having any 
 wire in its stalk ; whereas the silk-petalled azalea 
 flourishes in the hat of the young lady who patronises 
 an expensive artist in head ornament. No one 
 tramples on it. That's why I'm inclined to cherish 
 you. You're a work by one of the Old Masters^ and 
 anything I can do for you I will." 
 
 "Thanks," said Mr. Mervyn; "it's very kind of 
 you to speak like that. What I thought of asking 
 was " 
 
 Again he hesitated. 
 
 " If it's a crime," said Bobby, " I'm not prepared 
 to take it on. In an ordinary way I shouldn't hesi- 
 tate, but I haven't been long enough in these islands 
 to have gotten a proper grip upon your legal system ; 
 and from what I have heard your prisons aren't 
 exactly up-to-date hotels." 
 
I70 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 "I wasn't thinking of anything the least 
 criminal." 
 
 " Then don't hesitate. Ventilate your request." 
 
 " I merely wish to suggest that it would be better 
 not to mention the] meeting in the village this even- 
 ing at Druminawona House." 
 
 " To Sally May or the young lady ? " 
 
 " To neither." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn spoke quite decisively. Delia had 
 deserted him. Like Biddy the grey pony, she had 
 yielded to the fascination of Mrs. Dann. He felt that 
 she was not to be trusted. 
 
 " I don't deny," said Bobby, " that you've got me 
 on a raw place. There are other things, Mr. Mervyn, 
 that I'd have promised with greater cheerfulness. It 
 goes against me to keep that meeting a secret from 
 Sally May. If she'd heard of it, she'd have attended, 
 and she'd have added quite a bit to the interest of 
 the demonstration. It would have gratified me to 
 have seen her opposing your resolution." 
 
 "But you won't tell her?" said Mr. Mervyn 
 anxiously. 
 
 " I've passed my word and I'll stand to it. And 
 the block you've put on intercourse with Miss Mervyn 
 shall be respected. Your daughter, Mr. Mervyn, is a 
 young lady of remarkable innocence and simplicity. 
 I'm not a stained-glass-window white-robed saint, but 
 I'd hesitate to contaminate the mind of your daughter 
 with a guilty secret." 
 
 " I don't think it's exactly guilty," said Mr. Mervyn 
 uneasily. 
 
 " It would be," said Bobby. " You may take my 
 word for it. It would be if communicated to your 
 daughter. Once in possession of that secret she'd be 
 obliged to dissimulate. While holding confidential 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 171 
 
 intercourse with Sally May she'd be aware that silence 
 was equivalent to deliberate deceit. She'd be placed 
 in a difficult position ; and I don't see how she could 
 escape from it without losing that innocence which 
 irresistibly reminds me of an arum lily." 
 
 " I'm afraid that it may be very inconvenient for 
 you to attend the meeting. My sister-in-law dines, I 
 believe, at half-past seven and " 
 
 " Dinner is a consideration which doesn't jog the 
 balance of the scales when duty is in the opposite pan. 
 It doesn't weigh in worth a feather, and anyway I 
 had figured on dining with you." 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 Mr. Mervyn gasped. The reception of a guest of 
 any sort in the rectory at Druminawona was a very 
 rare event. Once a year one of his clerical brethren — 
 a kindly man who held the important office of rural 
 dean — spent half of a day with Mr. Mervyn. It was 
 his business to gather information about the condition 
 of the parish for the use of the bishop. But of his 
 visit there was always ample notice. Delia had time 
 to make .(Eneas Sweeny kill chickens. She and 
 Onny Donovan between them made custard out of 
 eggs laid by the mother of the chickens. The rural 
 dean feasted royally and Mr. Mervyn did not grudge 
 him his food. But Bobby Sebright invited himself to 
 a meal without giving any notice at all. And he in- 
 vited himself to late dinner. The rural dean ate his 
 chicken at half-past one o'clock. 
 
 If Delia were at home — but Delia was not. If 
 even Onny Donovan could be counted on — but it was 
 very unlikely that Onny would leave the pleasant 
 company of Jamesy Casey before nine o'clock. Mr. 
 Mervyn remembered that she seemed to be enjoying 
 herself behind the laurel-bush. The possibilities of 
 such joy are not easily exhausted. She would 
 certainly — and Mr. Mervyn had not the heart to 
 blame her — find a walk with Jamesy a pleasanter 
 thing than cooking a dinner in the rectory kitchen. 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 173 
 
 Bobby Sebright watched the shadows of deep per- 
 plexity gather on Mr. Mervyn's face. He was too 
 quick a reader of character to suppose that the gentle 
 old clergyman was an inhospitable churl. He guessed 
 at the nature of the difficulties. 
 
 " Don't you worry yourself about the aspic for the 
 quails," he said, " or let the thought of there being no 
 ice for the champagne put you out any. A chunk of 
 pie will satisfy my requirements." 
 
 "But," said Mr. Mervyn, "there isn't any pie. 
 We — the fact is we hardly ever have pie." 
 
 " Last fall," said Bobby cheerfully, " I took up a 
 contract for eight bright articles on the simple life. 
 It was booming some at the time and editions of 
 Thoreau's immortal work on Walden were selling off 
 to our gilt-edged aristocracy in thousands, bound in 
 pale green crushed morocco to indicate the vernal 
 nature of the contemplative enterprise. My editor 
 couldn't afford to be out of the boom, so I took hold 
 and promised to write up to the requirements of the 
 public. With a view to perfecting my information 
 and putting on the colours strictly in accordance with 
 nature, I tried the life." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn looked puzzled. He felt that he was 
 very stupid, but he could not grasp the connection 
 between the eight bright articles on Thoreau, and the 
 total want of dinner in his house. Bobby Sebright 
 obligingly explained himself. 
 
 " For six week-ends," he said, " I erected my 
 teepee on the bank of a mountain stream with a 
 proper furnishing of umbrageous pines and other 
 fittings. I hired a milch goat at the rate of half a 
 dollar for the twenty-four hours and her rations. 
 That goat and I had a grey blanket and a bag of 
 maize flour between us, I didn't wear boots any 
 
174 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 more than she did, and the two of us watched the sun 
 getting up out of his bed every Sunday and Monday 
 morning. We communed together on eternal verities 
 during the day, and there wasn't any ill-feeling 
 between us except at milking time. She didn't seem 
 to allow that I was an adopted kid, and I had some 
 work smoothing things out with her. But the articles 
 caught on. They were the real thing. After the 
 publication of the second Thoreau's sales began to 
 droop. When I finished the eighth, the general public 
 swore off the simple life. Folks came to realise that 
 artists in monuments for the deceased were the only 
 people likely to benefit by the spread of the simple 
 life if lived according to the strict rules. I mention 
 this experience," Bobby added, " to explain to you 
 that I'm not altogether dependent on pie." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn realised that Bobby was boasting of 
 a capacity to endure hardness. He became more 
 hopeful. He could, at all events, offer bread, made of 
 wheat flour, and he drew his milk supply from a cow, 
 a gentle beast, submissive to .^neas Sweeny, which 
 was fed on ordinary grass, and kept her thought on 
 the eternal verities strictly to herself. 
 
 "If you really don't mind a very frugal meal," 
 said Mr. Mervyn, " there are sure to be eggs and 
 bread and butter. I shall be very glad " 
 
 There are worse things than boiled eggs, eaten 
 with bread and butter. Bobby Sebright would have 
 been perfectly content with them. But he was seized 
 with the desire to give Mr. Mervyn as good a meal as 
 possible. He had for the old clergyman the same 
 benevolent feeling which prompts a good-natured 
 uncle to offer a hungry schoolboy the free run of a 
 pastrycook's shop. 
 
 Say now, Mr. Mervyn," he said. "We'll just 
 
THE LOST TRIBES i;5 
 
 step round to the principal store in this town and buy 
 up such canned goods and patent farinaceous pro- 
 ducts as the proprietor has in stock." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn groped in his pocket. His fingers 
 closed on a coin, but he did not feel certain whether 
 it was a shilling or a halfpenny. At best it would be 
 insufficient for the purchase of much canned food, 
 but he remembered hopefully the penny packets of 
 biscuits. 
 
 " We shall be able to get some biscuits," he 
 said. 
 
 " Sure," said Bobby, " and " 
 
 He poured out the names of an amazing number of 
 eatable things. Some of them were quite strange to 
 Mr. Mervyn. Others, tinned tongues and sardines, he 
 knew by repute, and suspected of being horribly ex- 
 pensive. He clutched the coin in his pocket and then 
 let it drop from his fingers hopelessly. If it were a 
 shilling and not a halfpenny, even if, by some wild 
 chance, it turned out to be a golden sovereign, it 
 would be insufficient to buy half the things which 
 Bobby mentioned. He determined to pledge his 
 credit to the uttermost, buy every luxury obtainable 
 in Druminawona. It might take him years to pay 
 the bill, but he would entertain Bobby Sebright 
 properly. In the west of Ireland men still retain the 
 savage virtue of hospitality ; and, on occasion, are 
 capable of running into debt cheerfully. Mr. Mervyn 
 had been born east of the Shannon, but he had lived 
 long enough in Connacht to have caught something 
 of the spirit of the country. 
 
 He tried to assert himself and take up his proper 
 position as host when they entered the shop. But 
 Bobby Sebright quelled him. 
 
 "This," he said, "is my show. You're having 
 
176 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 this on me. You're providing the eggs, milk, and 
 butter, I'm undertaking the looting of the store." 
 
 He looked round him as he spoke. There did not 
 appear to be very much to loot. On the floor beside 
 the counter stood a large pile of biscuit tins and two 
 sacks of flour. Bobby kicked the biscuit tins con- 
 temptuously. They appeared to be empty. Behind 
 the counter stood Daniel Fogarty, smiling pleasantly. 
 He had already received large orders from Mrs. Dann. 
 The appearance in his shop of another stranger 
 gratified him very much. Mr. Mervyn had never 
 been a very profitable customer, and Miss Mervyn 
 had a habit — unworthy of a lady, in Fogarty's 
 opinion — of scrutinising her bills very carefully. It 
 was almost impossible to make the usual profit by 
 charging her for a pound of sugar or a pot of marma- 
 lade which she had not actually received. But Mr. 
 Mervyn's American relatives and friends seemed to 
 be people of a different temper. Fogarty hoped 
 that many more of them would come to Drumina- 
 wona. "*^ 
 
 Behind Fogarty, ranged on two long shelves along 
 the side of the shop, were rows of bottles. Bobby 
 looked at them. Here and there was one of strange 
 shape, labelled "Ginger Cordial." Here and there 
 a tall thin bottle of raspberry-vinegar, or a squat 
 flask of lemon-squash. But most of the bottles con- 
 tained whisky. Bobby smiled. 
 
 " This State isn't dry," he said. " If you feel 
 inclined for any of those fancy drinks, Mr. Mervyn, 
 name it, and we'll have the bottle papered up. I'm 
 giving an order for the native wine." He pointed as 
 he spoke to a large bottle of whisky. 
 
 Daniel Fogarty was not accustomed to having 
 orders for whisky given in this blatant, shameless 
 
THE LOST TRIBES l^^ 
 
 way. Irishmen drank whisky, of course, but they 
 have the grace to be ashamed of it. The Temperance 
 Movement has been gathering force for years, and 
 when we want a bottle of whisky now we ask for it in 
 a confidential whisper, leaning over the counter, and 
 speaking into the shopkeeper's ear. We do not 
 actually name the thing, but describe it " as the same 
 as you sent before." A really sympathetic grocer 
 will anticipate our order, gathering from our furtive 
 expression that it is whisky we want, and sparing us 
 the necessity of saying anything. Daniel Fogarty 
 was further put out by hearing whisky called wine. 
 He stared blankly at Bobby. 
 
 " John Jameson," said Bobby, " is, I understand, 
 the local name of the article." 
 
 Daniel Fogarty got down a bottle and wrapped it 
 carefully in brown paper. Bobby found some packets 
 of desiccated soup on the counter. He flicked them 
 contemptuously with his finger. 
 
 " Is this all you have in the way of portable pro- 
 visions } " he asked. 
 
 Daniel Fogarty looked inquiringly at Mr. Mervyn, 
 He smiled feebly. 
 
 " Haven't you sardines .' " he asked. 
 Daniel Fogarty realised that a great opportunity 
 had come to him. He had, stored in a packing-case 
 under the counter, a number of tins. They had been 
 forced on him a year before by a very pushing com- 
 mercial traveller to whom he owed a large bill. He 
 had never thoroughly investigated them, knowing that 
 food in tins is unsaleable in places like Druminawona. 
 Bobby Sebright was a stranger. It was possible that 
 he might be willing to buy strange things. Fogarty 
 dragged out the packing-case. He laid on the 
 counter, one after the other, a tin of anchovy paste, 
 
 N 
 
178 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 another which professed to contain a mixture of 
 chicken and ham, a bottle of sauce which boasted to 
 being an aid to digestion, a tinned tongue and a very 
 large tin of preserved pears. Bobby Sebright ordered 
 them all to be parcelled up. 
 
 There was some difficulty in making up the bill 
 when the time came for paying it. Mr. Mervyn's wish 
 that the things should be charged to his account was 
 overruled by Bobby and ignored by Fogarty. He 
 wanted to open an account with Bobby Sebright, and 
 displayed the greatest dislike of being paid in cash. 
 Bobby was firm. He laid down a sovereign on the 
 counter, and asked for change. 
 
 " I wouldn't like to be telling a lie to you," said 
 Fogarty. " I wouldn't tell a lie to any one, let alone 
 a friend of Mr. Mervyn's. What I say is, what I've 
 never done telling the children is this : it's better 
 to speak the truth even if you lose by it in the 
 end." 
 
 "I admire that spirit," said Bobby, "but I don't 
 see why those high principles should interfere with 
 my paying for what I buy." 
 
 " And it's ten to one I would be telling you a He," 
 said Fogarty, " if I was to name a price for the goods 
 on the counter. I don't know the price of them, and 
 that's the truth, for the invoice that came along with 
 them has got lost on me." 
 
 Bobby Sebright got out his notebook, and wrote 
 rapidly. 
 
 " Local colour," he said to Mr. Mervyn. " Worth 
 money in a descriptive sketch. Business methods of 
 the Western Britisher. Invoice lost. Goods unpriced." 
 
 " How would it be now," said Fogarty, " if I was 
 to say ten shillings for the lot? The last thing I'd 
 like would be to be overcharging you, and if there's 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 179 
 
 to be a loss to any one it's better that I'd be the one 
 to bear it." 
 
 " Including the bottle of whisky ? " said Bobby. 
 
 Fogarty eyed him cautiously. Bobby returned 
 his gaze with a stare of perfect innocence. 
 
 " It's joking you are," said Fogarty. " Sure the 
 whisky's five shillings by itself, and whisky's a thing 
 I do know the price of." 
 
 Bobby made another entry in his notebook. 
 
 " As near as I can figure it out," he said, " the 
 total value of those canned provisions is about one 
 dollar ; but I'll give you the ten shillings you're 
 asking. This illustration of your national methods of 
 encouraging the stranger to trade with you is worth 
 the balance to me. The American business public 
 will appreciate this sketch. It'll be bright and replete 
 with suggestive fact." 
 
 Daniel Fogarty appeared to be entirely unmoved. 
 In his heart he was not a little proud of the im- 
 pression which he had made on the American stranger, 
 a member of a nation notorious for its astuteness in 
 business matters. He was also pleased to think that 
 he was to be the subject of an article in a newspaper. 
 A free advertisement is as welcome as it is rare. But, 
 like all Irishmen, Fogarty had the manners of a 
 gentleman. He made up his parcel without giving 
 any sign of the pleasure he felt. It was only after 
 he had tied the last knot in the string that he 
 pointed out to Bobby his name and address printed 
 in large black letters on the paper. 
 
 " In case you might be wanting it at any future 
 time," he said. 
 
 Bobby laid down a sovereign on the counter. As 
 he did so Father Roche entered the shop. 
 
 The priest went straight to Mr. Mervyn, took 
 
i8o THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 him by the arm and led him out of earshot of Daniel 
 Fogarty, to a corner of the shop. He was evidently 
 upset about something. Under ordinary circum- 
 stances he would have taken some notice of the 
 stranger. Curiosity would have made him try to 
 find out who Bobby Sebright was. Courtesy, 
 habitual with him, would have led him to postpone 
 his own business until he had said words of warm 
 welcome to a man whom he had never seen before. 
 But on this occasion he took no notice of Bobby 
 at all. 
 
 " Mr. Mervyn," he said, speaking in a hoarse and 
 agitated whisper, "I'm annoyed, so I am, with the 
 people of the parish. I haven't been as much 
 annoyed since the first day I came among them. 
 I wouldn't be as much annoyed if the half of them 
 were to refuse to pay their dues, and that's what 
 they'll be coming to soon if they go on as they're 
 going." 
 
 " What's happened } " said Mr. Mervyn. 
 
 " Would you believe it ? — you would not, nor no 
 man would : but there isn't one in the place will come 
 to the meeting to protest against the insult to 
 the religion of the people of Ireland that the 
 American lady is trying to perpetrate. I don't 
 know what the bishop will say when he hears it." 
 
 "Surely — surely, if you ask them to — they'd 
 never refuse ? " 
 
 "Wouldn't they ? Just you listen now till I ask 
 Daniel Fogarty. He's one that I haven't asked yet, 
 and you'll hear what he says." 
 
 Father Roche turned round to face Daniel 
 Fogarty. As he did so he caught sight of Bobby 
 Sebright. 
 
 " Tell me now," he said to Mr, Mervyn, " who's 
 
THE LOST TRIBES i8i 
 
 that young fellow that's leaning on the counter? 
 I don't know did I ever set eyes on him before." 
 
 " His name's ^Bobby Sebright," said Mr. Mervyn. 
 " He's an American journalist, a nephew — I think he 
 said a nephew — of Mrs. Dann." 
 
 " Another Yank," said Father Roche, " and it's 
 Yanks that's playing the mischief with the people of 
 this country. I'm not meaning anything disrespectful 
 to any friend of yours, Mr. Mervyn. But what I say 
 is this, wherever there's a returned Yank you'll find 
 the minds of the people stirred up to be disrespectful 
 to the clergy. Come on now, till you see what 
 sort of an answer we'll get from Daniel Fogarty." 
 
 " Mr. Mervyn," said Bobby Sebright, " will you 
 introduce me to your reverend friend ? " 
 
 Mr. Mervyn did so, a little nervously. Bobby 
 gave the priest no chance of expressing his dislike of 
 Americans. 
 
 " I am proud to meet you, sir," he said. " I 
 understand that you're the principal boss of this neigh- 
 bourhood and keep the votes of the citizens in your 
 pocket. Sally May Dann, the lady who has recently 
 come here, bursting with philanthropic plans for 
 the advancement of this country, is relying on you, 
 sir." 
 
 " She needn't," said Father Roche, " for I'm not 
 inclined to support her. I don't deny that she 
 means well " 
 
 " She does," said Mr. Mervyn. " She's exceed- 
 ingly kind-hearted." 
 
 "But what she proposes," said Father Roche, 
 " doesn't suit." 
 
 He turned from Bobby Sebright and addressed 
 Fogarty. 
 
 " Daniel," he said, " I am calling a meeting this 
 
i82 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 evening at eight o'clock in the schoolroom, and the 
 purpose of the meeting is to make it clear that the 
 people of this parish without distinction of religion or 
 politics are opposed to the making of soda-water out 
 of the Holy Well, or play-acting of a kind that the 
 bishop wouldn't approve of, in our midst." 
 
 Daniel Fogarty shuffled his feet and fiddled with 
 the string of the parcel before him. Without seeming 
 to notice what he was doing he swept Bobby 
 Sebright's sovereign into the till. Father Roche had 
 no right to complain of any sign of truculent 
 disrespect in his attitude so far. He appeared to be 
 excedingly uncomfortable and cowed. 
 
 " What do you say now, Daniel ? " said Father 
 Roche. " Will you come to the meeting and support 
 your priest .' Speak up now, and speak plain." 
 
 "As for going against the clergy," said Daniel 
 Fogarty, " and yourself in particular. Father, not to 
 mention the bishop, it's what I wouldn't do ; and no 
 man has the right to say it of me that ever I did. 
 You know that, Father, and Mr. Mervyn knows it, 
 and everybody knows it. Amn't I the father of a 
 long family, and is there one of them that's ever 
 been neglectful of his religious duties ? There is not. 
 Many's the time I've said to the children : ' Let yees 
 all be attentive to your religion and mind what the 
 priest says to ye even if yees was to lose money by it.' 
 Though I knew well they wouldn't lose money by it, 
 for there's no better friend to the people than the 
 priest, and he wouldn't see e'er a one at the loss 
 of money." 
 
 He smiled in an ingratiating way at Father 
 Roche as he spoke, but the priest was in no way 
 mollified. 
 
 " You're ready enough to talk, Daniel Fogarty," 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 183 
 
 he said, " and to talk smooth and nice ; but what I'm 
 wanting from you now isn't talk. Will you come to 
 the meeting or will you not?" 
 
 Bobby Sebright got out his notebook again. He 
 stood, pencil in hand, waiting for Fogarty's answer. 
 
 " Our feeling," said Mr, Mervyn mildly, " is that 
 the play Mrs. Dann wants us to act is not 
 exactly " 
 
 Fogarty interrupted him. Mr, Mervyn's explana- 
 tions were all well enough ; but Mr. Mervyn did not 
 really matter. He was not a valuable customer. 
 
 " I'd come to the meeting," he said, " and I'd say 
 whatever it was that had to be said if it was any 
 other night but this night. I'm terribly busy, so I 
 am, and herself is sick in her bed, so she can't be any 
 help to me ; so you'll excuse me. Father." 
 
 " I will not excuse you," said Father Roche, " and 
 what's more I won't listen to the way you're talking. 
 You're not busy to-night any more than another 
 night, and I met you're wife with the baby in her 
 arms, and she was looking as well as ever I saw her." 
 
 "Father," said Fogarty, speaking in a kind of 
 deprecating whine, "you won't ask me to do what 
 might mean a loss to me. Your reverence would be 
 the last man to stand in the way of the people of 
 Druminawona making a little money. The Lord 
 knows we want it. You wouldn't do the like and 
 no more would the bishop." 
 
 " I would," said Father Roche — " I would, and 
 what's more I do, when there's talk of Judas Iscariot, 
 and my own picture on the outside of a bottle. It's 
 not decent." 
 
 " I don't know, Father," said Fogarty, " do you 
 rightly understand the way things are. Take my 
 own case, now. There's no reason now in the wide 
 
1 84 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 world why the place I'm standing in at the present 
 moment shouldn't be an hotel. There's room enough 
 in it and there'd be more room if herself and me and 
 the children was to go out to the house at the back 
 of the yard where the cows is presently, and that's 
 what we'd do if we could turn the premises into an 
 hotel." 
 
 " You'd sell your soul," said Father Roche, " for 
 a five-pound note." 
 
 " I would not sell my soul," said Fogarty, " and 
 there'd be more than five pounds in it ; there'd be 
 more than fifty pounds in it, if the American lady 
 was to bring people down to the locality the way 
 they're after saying that she will. That's what I'm 
 thinking of. Father, the good of the parish ; and it's 
 a curious thing, so it is, that you'd be talking to me 
 about selling my soul." 
 
 " Listen to him," said Father Roche^ — " listen to 
 him, Mr. Mervyn ; and it's the same with all of 
 them." 
 
 " Gentlemen," said Bobby Sebright, closing his 
 notebook, " it occurs to me that the public meeting 
 is likely to be a frost. I own I'm disappointed. I'd 
 have liked to have reported the proceedings. The 
 New York public would have been interested. That 
 meeting would have been a scoop for my paper. But 
 I'm not complaining. Sally May Dann was right 
 when she fetched me down to Druminawona. I'm 
 getting the real thing, valuable stuff. The insight 
 I'm acquiring into the religion of this neighbour- 
 hood " 
 
 " It's the fault of you and the like of you," said 
 Father Roche, " coming here and upsetting the minds 
 of the people " 
 
 " Excuse me, sir," said Bobby Sebright, — " excuse 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 185 
 
 my pointing out to you that you're mistaken in your 
 estimate of my intentions." 
 
 " Mr. Sebright," said Mr. Mervyn, " is anxious to 
 help us. Perhaps he may be able to suggest some- 
 thing that may help us out of our difficulty." 
 
 " If that's so," said Father Roche, " let him suggest. 
 I'll be glad to hear him." 
 
 " Come right along," said Bobby, " come right 
 along with me, both of you reverend gentlemen. 
 We'll sit round Mr. Mervyn's festive board and 
 discuss the situation while we eat the miscellaneous 
 tinned goods provided by Mr. Fogarty." 
 
 He tucked the parcel under his arms as he spoke. 
 Then he turned suddenly to Fogarty. 
 
 " I kind of fancy," he said, " that there's some- 
 thing due to me out of that sovereign I laid down 
 before you." 
 
 " Did I not give you your change .' " said Fogarty. 
 
 Bobby Sebright looked at him with twinkling 
 eyes. 
 
 " I admire your business acumen," he said, " and 
 I'll compliment you some when I'm describing the 
 interview in the New York Press ; but there's five 
 shillings coming to me out of that till of yours." 
 
 "That's the way with you," said Father Roche. 
 " You begin with disrespect for the clergy, and the 
 next thing you do is try to cheat a strange gentle- 
 man out of his change." 
 
 Father Roche was wrong. Daniel Fogarty had 
 all his life been anxious to cheat any one who could 
 possibly be cheated. Never before had he found it 
 necessary to resist the will of a priest. If there was 
 any connection between the two sins it was not that 
 suggested by Father Roche. Disrespect to the 
 clergy may have been a consequence of a long course 
 
1 86 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 of petty swindling, the final crisis of his spiritual 
 degradation. The willingness to cheat did not follow 
 a decay of reverence. 
 
 Fogarty fumbled in his till and produced five 
 shillings. To this, after a moment of hesitation he 
 added a penny. 
 
 " Discount," he said, " for prompt cash, and I wish 
 everybody paid what he owed as quick as you do." 
 
 " Thank you," said Bobby, " you encourage me to 
 deal here regularly while in this locality." 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 Of the party which arrived at Mr. Mervyn's rectory 
 Bobby Sebright alone was at his ease. Father 
 Roche was extremely uncomfortable. In going to 
 the rectory he was doing what he knew to be wrong. 
 In Ireland the clergy of the two leading Churches 
 see as little of each other as possible. They meet, 
 because they must, on committees, and they are 
 members of the same deputation when there is any 
 reasonable chance of getting money out of a new and 
 innocent Chief Secretary. But they do not dine in 
 each other's houses. The reason of this is not difficult 
 to discover. The act of eating has a certain almost 
 sacramental value. It is impossible to join any one, 
 even an enemy, in the business of attaining a com- 
 fortable sensation of satiety without feeling that he 
 is, to some extent, a man and a brother. Mr. Mervyn 
 would not, indeed, have been led to believe in 
 Purgatory by eating Father Roche's mutton. The 
 flavour of Mr. Mervyn's potatoes would not have 
 insinuated into Father Roche's mind any doubts 
 about the infallibility of the Pope. But if they — or 
 any other two clergymen — dined together once a 
 week, they would come in time to recognise that 
 dogmas are not the most important things in life. 
 This, of course, from the ecclesiastical point of view, 
 would be disastrous. Neither Church would survive 
 it. The young prc^het who came down from Judah 
 
l88 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 to rebuke Jeroboam, refused at first to eat bread or 
 drink water in the schismatical village of Bethel. 
 Afterwards he departed from his stern attitude and 
 a lion killed him. The Irish clergy, very naturally, 
 do not want to be killed by lions, so they keep 
 away from each other at mealtimes. 
 
 Father Roche felt that he was running a desperate 
 risk when feobby Sebright swept him into Mr, 
 Mervyn's dining-room. Mr. Mervyn was uncomfort- 
 able for exactly the same reason, but he had 
 additional cause for disquiet. Onny Donovan was 
 not at home. The kitchen fire, long untended, had 
 gone out. The table was not laid for a meal. He 
 would have liked, on the occasion of entertaining 
 an American journalist, to have made as good a show 
 as possible. That was a matter of personal honour. 
 He particularly wished, if a Roman Catholic priest 
 was to be his guest, to present a decent meal. There 
 the reputation of his Church was touched. He 
 apologised, making rambling excuses for Delia's 
 absence, and giving a confused account of Onny's 
 doings. He did not want to say much about Onny. 
 Father Roche was responsible for her morals, and it 
 was likely that he would take a severe view of her 
 flirtation with Jamesy Casey. Unfortunately he said 
 enough to give Father Roche a fairly clear idea of 
 what had happened. 
 
 " Girls," said the priest, " is the terror of the world. 
 You might watch them like a cat at a mouse, but 
 you couldn't be up to them. I might have known 
 there was something of the sort going on when I 
 couldn't find Jamesy Casey high or low. I suppose 
 It's him she's out after." 
 
 " It is," said Mr. Mervyn. 
 
 " If you did right," said Father Roche, " you'd 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 189 
 
 take a stick to her. A stick is the only way I know 
 of getting the fear of God into those ones. Talking's 
 no use. You might talk till you were tired, and all 
 they'd do would be to forget the beginning of what 
 you might say before you'd got to the end." 
 
 " If you two reverend gentlemen," said Bobby 
 Sebright, " will sit down, I'll prospect around and see 
 what I can collect in the way of plates and knives." 
 
 " I couldn't think of letting you," said Mr. 
 Mervyn, " and you wouldn't know where to find 
 them. I'd rather — I'd really rather do it myself." 
 
 " You'll allow me," said Bobby Sebright. " Your 
 time is valuable, Mr. Mervyn. You and the Reverend 
 Father have to settle about the kind of stick that 
 ought to be used on that hired girl. I shouldn't be 
 able to help you any, for I'm unaccustomed to that 
 kind of discipline. On our side we don't practise it. 
 It's gone out with the advance of our so-called 
 civilisation." 
 
 He left the room as he spoke. Mr. Mervyn 
 wanted to go after him ; but Father Roche took him 
 by the arm and held him back. 
 
 " Will you tell me now," said the priest, " what 
 sort is that fellow ? " 
 
 Mr. Mervyn scarcely heard and did not heed the 
 question. He could hear Bobby Sebright opening and 
 shutting doors in search of the pantry. 
 
 " Is he queer in the head," said Father Roche, " like 
 the lady beyond at the big house ? " 
 
 Mr. Mervyn started. Bobby Sebright had 
 evidently found the pantry. There was a crash like 
 that made by the breaking of plates in large 
 numbers. Mr. Mervyn did not possess very many 
 plates. It would be highly inconvenient if Bobby 
 Sebright broke a dozen of them. 
 
190 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 " What's he doing here ? " said Father Roche 
 insistently. " You'd think one of the sort would be 
 enough in the place at a time." 
 
 " He may be able to help us," said Mr. Mervyn. 
 " I think he has a great deal of influence with Mrs. 
 Dann. If we can persuade him that the Miracle 
 Play is really undesirable he may " 
 
 " If he's like her," said Father Roche, " it would 
 take more than you and me to persuade him into any 
 kind of sense." 
 
 Bobby Sebright, pushing open the door with his 
 knee, entered the room. He had a large tray in his 
 hand. On it were plates, tumblers, knives, forks, a 
 loaf of bread and some butter. Tucked under his 
 arm he had a tablecloth. 
 
 " I've made good," he said, " in my collection of 
 the various implements required for a banquet. If 
 you two reverend gentlemen will prepare the pro- 
 visions, I'll spread the table. Mr. Mervyn, will you 
 pull the corks from the whisky and the digestive 
 sauce. Father Roche will take the wrappings off the 
 canned goods. I couldn't find a tin-opener, so you'll 
 have to work with a table-knife." Bobby performed 
 his own task rapidly. Mr. Mervyn got his two corks 
 out of their bottles. Father Roche was unsuccessful 
 with the tins. He punched three holes in one of 
 them and turned the edge of Mr. Mervyn's knife. 
 Then he cut his finger — not with the knife, but with 
 the jagged corner of the tin. The knife could no 
 longer cut anything, not even Father Roche's finger, 
 though it was fat and soft. Bobby Sebright had to 
 take over the job. He managed it in the end with 
 Father Roche's pocket-knife which he borrowed. 
 His own, he said, was not a good knife for tin-open- 
 ing, though it was excellent for pointing pencils. 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 191 
 
 The meal began in depressing silence. Neither 
 tinned tongue nor potted chicken and ham are 
 exhilarating kinds of food. The digestive sauce was hot 
 and strongly flavoured. It tended to Ijlister the roof 
 of the mouth of any one who took much of it, but it 
 did not act as a stimulant for the brain or nerves. 
 Father Roche, was frankly sulky. His finger bled 
 obstinately, and the blood soaked through fold after 
 fold of the handkerchief which he wrapped round it. 
 When he succeeded at last in making a bandage so 
 thick that no blood could get through, his finger was 
 of such a clumsy size that he could not hold a fork 
 comfortably. His disgust with the conduct of his 
 parishioners increased as he put morsel after morsel 
 of flabby tongue into his mouth. The human tongue, 
 if one could eat it, would probably be highly flavoured. 
 It is used, while the owner is alive, for sarcasm, jest, 
 and sometimes profane language. It must, we may 
 suppose, acquire piquancy. The nightingale's tongue 
 was esteemed a delicacy by the ancients, which is 
 just what one would expect, for the nightingale sings 
 with remarkable sweetness. But the domesticated ox 
 only lows, and the noise it makes, though soothing to 
 poets on summer evenings, lacks both sparkle and 
 variety. It would be surprising if an ox-tongue had 
 much taste, especially after being sealed up, perhaps 
 for years, in a tin. Father Roche tried to improve it 
 by soaking it in digestive sauce, but the sauce did no 
 more than slightly irritate him. It did not cheer him 
 in the least 
 
 Mr. lyiervyn was even more nervous and de- 
 pressed. He ate potted chicken and ham which he 
 spread on slices of bread and butter. It brought no 
 gladness to his heart. Hot soup might have given 
 him courage and buoyancy. A joint of beef from 
 
192 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 which he could have cut large steaming slices would 
 have done something to restore his self-confidence. 
 But it is impossible for any one to look cheerfully into 
 the eyes of impending adversity when he is scooping 
 minced chicken out of a small tin with a teaspoon. 
 Even D'Artagnan's immense vitality would have 
 failed him under such a trial. 
 
 There was, however, the whisky. Bobby Sebright, 
 the only cheerful member of the party, insisted that 
 both clergymen should take a share of it. Whisky 
 is a genuine stimulant. Unlike digestive sauce, it 
 gets beyond the palate and affects the brain. But it 
 acts slowly, Bobby felt sorry that he had not got a 
 bottle of champagne. It is almost instantaneous in 
 its effects. The dullest dinner-party brightens per- 
 ceptibly when the butler fills the glasses of the 
 guest^ with it. Even the stupidest woman, uncom- 
 fortably conscious perhaps that her dress is hooked 
 crookedly, becomes airily conversational the moment 
 she tastes champagne. The man next her, though up 
 to that point he may have felt that two hours of her 
 company would drive him mad, begins to appreciate 
 her charm when he pushes away his half-finished 
 sherry and allows his fingers to close round the stem 
 of his champagne-glass. Such is the wonderful virtue 
 of this wine. Whisky is different. In the end it 
 produces something of the same effect, but it does 
 its work very gradually. Even if it is mixed with 
 effervescent ApoUinaris it produces ?no immediate 
 cheerfulness. When it is tempered by dead water, 
 poured from a jug, it seems at first to be impotent. 
 Nevertheless it does its business in the end. 
 
 Mr. Mervyn's tumbler contained a weak mixture ; 
 but it was strong enough to cheer him before he had 
 finished it. Father Roche filled his tumbler a second 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 193 
 
 time and began to feel that life was not altogether 
 gloomy. Bobby Sebright was quick to recognise the 
 altered tone of the conversation. The subject, of 
 course, was Mrs. Dann, her Miracle Play and other 
 activities. 
 
 " If it wasn't that I'm parish priest," said Father 
 Roche, " I wouldn't have a word to say against her. 
 But I ask you, Mr. Sebright, and I ask you, Mr. 
 Mervyn, how can a man in my position, with the 
 bishop behind him — how can he give his consent to 
 that kind of work ? " 
 
 He dug his fork into the tinned tongue as he 
 spoke and helped himself to a large chunk of it. That 
 insipid meat was beginning to taste better than it did. 
 
 "If it was any other kind of play," said Mr. 
 Mervyn, " I shouldn't so much mind. I don't 
 approve of plays of any sort ; but just for once, 
 in order to please Mrs. Dann, I wouldn't oppose her 
 getting up a performance of something out of 
 Shakespeare, but when it comes to a scriptural 
 subject " 
 
 "I don't think," said Bobby Sebright, "she's 
 settled the subject yet. I quite realise the force of 
 your objections and I respect them. Now that I 
 know they're not purely artistic I respect them quite 
 considerable, but Sally May has her feelings too, and 
 we've got to reckon on them. How would it strike 
 you now, Mr. Mervyn, if I suggested a compromise ? 
 I dare say Sally May would consent to a subject 
 taken from the Apocrypha. I'm not an expert in 
 that branch of literature, but I kind of recollect a 
 lady who cut off the head of a gentleman she 
 disliked. That would be a dramatic incident, and 
 Sally May would feel that her discovery of the Ten 
 Tribes wasn't being wasted." 
 
 o 
 
194 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 Mr. Mervyn hesitated. The Apocrypha, for a 
 long time hesitating on the boundary wall between 
 the sacred and the profane, has lately been pushed 
 from its perch by the Church of Ireland and now 
 ranks little higher than the Talmud. But Father 
 Roche was still definite in his opposition. 
 
 " The way I'm situated," he said, " the one would 
 be as bad as the other. It may be different with 
 you, Mr. Mervyn, and I hope it is ; but there's men I 
 know — I'm naming no names, but I'll say this much 
 — there's priests I know who'd be only too pleased to 
 get the chance of reporting to the bishop anything I 
 might do that they'd think he wouldn't approve of. 
 If one of them was to see me this minute -" 
 
 He looked round the room. His eyes rested 
 finally on Mr. Mervyn. No doubt his presence in 
 the rectory dining-room, and the fact that he was 
 eating tinned tongue beside a Protestant clergyman, 
 might, if reported by malicious men, become a cause 
 of grave scandal. Mr. Mervyn was uneasily conscious 
 that his own position was not beyond reproach. 
 There were some of his clerical brethren who would 
 be gravely shocked if they discovered him drinking 
 whisky and water with a parish priest and a stray 
 American journalist 
 
 " I'm sure," he said, " that Mr. Sebright won't say 
 anything which might " 
 
 " Gentlemen," said Bobby, " I don't deny that I 
 figured on making a lively article out of my 
 reminiscences of this banquet. The New York 
 public would have liked to hear about Father Roche 
 cutting his finger on the sharp edge of a can. 
 They'd have enjoyed being told that I couldn't 
 induce the Rev. Theophilus to treat the whisky as 
 anything but a dangerous poison. The title that 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 195 
 
 occurred to me, gentlemen, was this : ' Priests and 
 Parsons at Play,' with appropriate cross-headings : 
 ' Irish Whisky as a Tongue-loosener,' and ' Clerical 
 Life without a Tin-opener.' I'd have got credit for 
 that article, and it would have been a pleasure to 
 write it ; but if you desire these proceedings to be 
 treated as confidential I waive my right." 
 
 " If it went no farther than New York," said 
 Father Roche, " I wouldn't mind ; but what I'd be 
 afraid of " 
 
 " It won't go so far," said Bobby Sebright, " you 
 may rely on me. If every editor in the New 
 England States were to gather round me and to 
 go down on his knees for that article I wouldn't 
 write a word that would compromise your cha- 
 racters. I wouldn't do it, sir, at a dollar a word, 
 article to run into two thousand." 
 
 "Thank you," said Father Roche, "thank you. 
 It's no more than I'd expect of a gentleman like 
 yourself; but there's many a one wouldn't have 
 said it." 
 
 "There have been times," said Bobby Sebright, 
 "when the loss of a good article would have been 
 a serious thing for me ; but I don't mind owning up, 
 gentlemen, that I can't claim my medal for generosity 
 in this case. This country of yours is just a little 
 gold mine to me. Since I came to Druminawona 
 first-rate articles have been dropping on me like rain. 
 The loss of one isn't anything. And when Sally 
 May Dann gets the play working I'll have to take a 
 lease of the cable." 
 
 " But do you really think she will ? " said Mr. 
 Mervyn, 
 
 " Surest thing you know," said Bobby. " Once 
 Sally May Dann gets started " 
 
196 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 "We can't have it," said Father Roche. "My 
 mind's made up about that." 
 
 " Appears to me," said Bobby, " that you'll hardly 
 be able to help yourselves. Public opinion is all in 
 favour of Sally May. That business gentleman who 
 sold us the whisky seems to be a bright man. Sally 
 May's plan means dollars to him, and he knows it. 
 The rest of the folks round here seem to kind of 
 agree with him." 
 
 " The bishop," said Father Roche, " will put a 
 stop to it." 
 
 "You know your own bishops, gentlemen," said 
 Bobby, " and I don't ; but I don't mind saying that I 
 wouldn't be inclined to wager heavily on any bishop 
 I ever met, if he's to put on the gloves against Sally 
 May. I rather fancy that your bishops will find 
 themselves knocked out about the middle of the 
 foiirth round." 
 
 "Could you," said Mr. Mervyn — "speaking in 
 confidence of course — we should never tell her what 
 you said — could you make any suggestion that would 
 help us ? " 
 
 " Well," said Bobby Sebright, drawling the word 
 out so that it seemed much longer than any English 
 word could be, "there was a man once who knew 
 how to deal with Sally May, and I expect his 
 methods might be worth imitation." 
 
 " I wish we had him here," said Father 
 Roche. 
 
 " He has gone to a brighter shore," said Bobby. 
 "I'm referring to the late Nathan P. Dann, dead, 
 gentlemen, and buried. His tombstone is a remark- 
 ably fine imitation of a classical shrine similar to that 
 dedicated to the original Dr ^Esculapius in the Pincian 
 Gardens, Rome, Italy. It was seen there by Sally 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 197 
 
 May, while touring, and the plan, with drawings, 
 brought home." 
 
 " If he was the husband of that one," said Father 
 Roche, "he's likely to be more comfortable now, 
 wherever he is. I expect he'd have lived longer if 
 he'd married a peaceable kind of woman." 
 
 " I don't know that Sally May hustled him into 
 his coffin," said Bobby. " He understood how to 
 deal with her. But, of course, she constituted a strain 
 on his nervous system." 
 
 " I wish you'd tell us how he managed," said Mr. 
 Mervyn. 
 
 Bobby Sebright took a cigarette-case from his 
 pocket. 
 
 " Is there anything in the regulations of the two 
 Churches which you gentlemen represent," he said, 
 "which forbids you to sit in the room with a man 
 who is smoking ? " 
 
 " Nothing," said Mr. Mervyn — " nothing whatever, 
 so far as I am concerned." 
 
 "I take a draw at a pipe myself," said Father 
 Roche. 
 
 Bobby lit his cigarette. 
 
 " The following narrative," he said, " may be taken 
 as an illustration of the methods adopted by the late 
 Nathan P. There wasn't a cuter man of business in 
 New York than he was. You never caught him 
 butting against a locomotive or fooling about with a 
 bucket and a spade with a view to staying the 
 progress of the advancing tide. That's the kind of 
 man he was. In earlier days he'd have made a first- 
 class philosopher. On every point except the destiny 
 of the Ten Lost Tribes he was sane." 
 
 Bobby paused and drew in a lungful of cigarette- 
 smoke. Mr. Mervyn and Father Roche tried to 
 
198 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 realise the greatness of Mr. Dann's character. Father 
 Roche failed. 
 
 " If what you're meaning is," he said, " that he 
 gave in to her an' let her have her own way, I don't 
 think much of him, and what's more, his example is 
 no good to us." 
 
 "No, sir," said Bobby. "My meaning is that 
 Nathan P. didn't waste his strength in opposing her. 
 He knew better than that." 
 
 "If he didn't oppose her," said Father Roche, 
 "he let her have her own way. That's what I'm 
 saying." 
 
 "You give your undivided attention to the 
 following narrative," said Bobby, " and you'll under- 
 stand how Nathan P. manipulated the situations 
 which occurred. Sally May is a lady of tip-top 
 amiability of disposition. Her desire is to benefit 
 humanity, especially that portion of the race in which 
 she happens to be interested." 
 
 " She has a very kind heart," said Mr. Mervyn. 
 "That's why it is so painful to have to hurt her 
 feelings." 
 
 " Nathan P. felt that," said Bobby. " and in shaping 
 his conduct he allowed full play to the feeling. I am 
 a journalist, gentlemen, and I'm a kind of cousin of 
 Sally May's. At one time she took the notion of 
 benefiting me. She wanted to set me up with a 
 daily paper of the first class, complete from the 
 linotype-room to the reporters' notebooks. Nathan 
 P., gentlemen, was to find the dollars. Now I don't 
 say that it would have broke him to do it ; but it 
 would have crippled his business. There'd have been 
 a shortage of capital after I'd cashed the cheque. 
 That was the situation, gentlemen. You know Sally 
 May more than a bit, so you see the gravity of it. 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 199 
 
 She was dead set on seeing me in the editorial chair 
 of that daily paper." 
 
 He dropped the end of the cigarette he had been 
 smoking into a tumbler, and lit another. Father 
 Roche drew a pipe from his pocket and filled it 
 slowly. He was deeply interested in the story. 
 
 " What Nathan P. did," said Bobby, " was this. 
 He suggested in a casual way one morning at break- 
 fast that it would be a graceful act if Sally May were 
 to build a new church for my father. He's a minister 
 in the Baptist denomination," he explained, " and up 
 to a recent date has preached in a church that was 
 unworthy of his talents." 
 
 " I don't see that he did much good by that," said 
 Father Roche, '* beyond letting himself in for fresh 
 expense." 
 
 "Next day," said Bobby, without noticing the 
 priest's remark, " he kind of hinted that the 
 ecclesiastical architecture of New York wasn't up to 
 the standard of some of the European towns. When 
 he thought that idea had sunk into Sally May's mind 
 — allowing a little over a week for the process — he 
 went on to observe that any cultured lady who'd 
 build a first-rate Gothic cathedral, mediaeval style, in 
 New York, would benefit the general tone of American 
 society, besides taking the starched conceit out of the 
 inhabitants of Amiens and Cologne. Well, gentle- 
 men, that church cost some money, but it was cheaper 
 than the daily paper." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn and Father Roche looked at each 
 other. Then they looked inquiringly at Bobby 
 Sebright. They did not quite see how the story 
 applied to their position. 
 
 "That was his method," said Bobby Sebright. 
 " I've given you one sample of it, the one that came 
 
200 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 under my'own observation ; but Nathan P. pursued it 
 invariably. He switched her off the main line into a 
 siding whenever he noticed that she was intending to 
 run thrqagh the signals. He diverted her. Sally 
 May has a great mind, but she concentrates. I don't 
 reckon that a fault ; but it does prevent expansion. 
 There's no room in her mind for two ideas at the 
 same time. Nathan F. knew that, and he calculated 
 that if he fixed her attention on the fagade of a Gothic 
 cathedral, she'd forget the newspaper. Well, gentle- 
 men, she did." 
 
 "She offered to do up my church for me," said 
 Mr. Mervyn. " I almost wish I'd let her." 
 
 "And will you tell me why you didn't.'" said 
 Father Roche. " If she'd been building a church for 
 you she'd have left the rest of us alone. What harm 
 would she have done you ? " 
 
 " I don't care for the things she suggested," said 
 Mr. Mervyn. "I refused. But it would have been 
 better — I see now it would have been much 
 better " 
 
 "Do you think now," said Father Roche, "that 
 she'd build a new church for me ? I'd let her do it 
 pretty near any way she fancied." 
 
 "Not a bit of good trying that," said Bobby 
 Sebright. "Sally May isn't by any means a fool. 
 She'll not be diverted the same way twice. If you 
 were to go up to her to-morrow and say you wanted 
 a church she'd laugh at you. What you've got to do, 
 now that I've explained the method to you, is to hit 
 upon something new, something that will arrest her 
 attention and occupy the full energy of her mind." 
 
 Bobby Sebright rose to his feet as he spoke and 
 threw the end of his second cigarette out of the 
 window. 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 201 
 
 " I'll say good-bye to you now, gentlemen. I 
 must be getting back to Sally May and your charming 
 daughter, Mr. Mervyn." 
 
 " Sit you down," said Father Roche — " sit you 
 down for one minute, and tell me this. How would 
 it do if I was to represent to her the benefit it would 
 be to the people of this neighbourhood if she was to 
 start some kind of relief works or an industry that 
 would give employment to the poor people ? " 
 
 Bobby Sebright had reached the door before the 
 priest finished speaking. 
 
 " No good," he said. " She thinks her Miracle 
 Play and the water-bottling business will fill the 
 place with money. So they will, if they're run 
 properly." 
 
 He went out of the room as he spoke and closed 
 the door. Father Roche and Mr. Mervyn were left 
 staring at each other. They heard Bobby Sebright's 
 step on the gravel outside the window. 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 The sound of Bobby Sebright's footsteps died away. 
 Father Roche tapped the bowl of his pipe on the edge 
 of the table, thereby sprinkling a quantity of tobacco- 
 ash on the floor. 
 
 "He's a smart young fellow enough," he said, 
 " and I wouldn't say but he'd be a pleasant enough 
 man to spend the evening with, if you knew him 
 better. Tell me this now, Mr. Mervyi\ — what do you 
 think of what he's after saying ? " 
 
 " I'm afraid he's right," said Mr. Mervyn. " It 
 will be no good to appeal to her to start a factory in 
 Druminawona." 
 
 " It wasn't so much that I was thinking of," said 
 the priest, " though I'm afraid he's right there. But 
 what do you think of what he was saying about dis- 
 tracting her mind ? " 
 
 " I'm sure it would be a very good plan," said Mr. 
 Mervyn, " if only we could do it. But how can we ? 
 Can you think of anything ? " 
 
 " It's hard to know what one like her would 
 consider distraction ; but we might do it. How would 
 it be now — you said she was a tender-hearted kind of 
 a lady, didn't you ? " 
 
 " She is. I'm quite sure of that." 
 
 " Well, how would it be if the people boycotted 
 you and Miss Mervyn ? If Sergeant Ginty had to be 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 203 
 
 mounting guard, day and night, on the doorstep, the 
 way you wouldn't be shot while you were in your 
 bed?" 
 
 "But why should the people think of such a 
 thing ? They wouldn't," 
 
 "They might if I told them to," said Father 
 Roche. 
 
 " I'd rather they didn't — much rather." 
 
 "I'd see to it that you weren't put to any 
 unnecessary inconvenience. Onny Donovan would 
 have to leave you of course, but you would be better 
 without her for all the good she is to you. ^Eneas 
 Sweeny would stay with you so as to look after the 
 pony, but he'd be under police protection. Do you 
 think, now, that her mind would be turned away from 
 foolishness, if she had to spend the most part of the 
 day bringing down what food you wanted, which you 
 wouldn't be able to get any other way ? " 
 
 " I wouldn't like it at all," said Mr. Mervyn. 
 
 " She could be writing letters to the papers about 
 the religious bigotry of the people in these parts, and 
 how there wouldn't be a Protestant left alive when 
 once we had Home Rule. She could have questions 
 asked in Parliament, and the one lot of them fellows 
 would be swearing themselves black in the face that 
 the Irish Catholics were cannibals, and worse. Then 
 the ones on the other side would say that they had it 
 on the best authority that there never was such a 
 place as Druminawona in Ireland, or anywhere else, 
 so there couldn't be boycotting going on there, but 
 that if there was such a thing as a cat, let alone a 
 minister, belonging to a Protestant, ill-treated any- 
 where, it would be a blot on the fair fame of the 
 Nationalists of Ireland, and that they'd resign their 
 seats rather than stand it." 
 
204 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 Father Roche was gradually becoming enthusi- 
 astic over the details of his plan. It appealed to him 
 as in itself a pleasant thing, without regard to any 
 effect it might have on Mrs. Dann. 
 
 " It would all be most disagreeable for me," said 
 Mr. Mervyn. " Can't you think of anything else .' " 
 
 " It wouldn't be for long," said Father Roche. " I'd 
 say three weeks, at the outside, would have her mind 
 distracted, so that she'd forget she ever mentioned 
 the subject of a play. What's more, she'd hate me 
 worse than the devil before she was through with it, 
 and wouldn't be wanting my likeness for the soda- 
 water bottles." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn was a meek and long-suffering man. 
 He seldom asserted himself against any one. But his 
 spirit rose in him at the idea of being treated as a 
 kind of sacrifice, offered up to preserve Druminawona 
 from the peril of a Miracle Play. 
 
 " Why couldn't the people boycott you ? " he said. 
 " If any one has to be boycotted it had better be 
 you." 
 
 " That wouldn't do. If there was any talk of such 
 work as that the bishop would be down here asking 
 what it was for, and I don' t know what we could tell 
 him." 
 
 "Your bishop's coming anyway. You told me 
 yourself you'd written to him." 
 
 " I'm sorry now that I did. I was upset in my 
 mind when I wrote that letter." 
 
 He refilled his pipe and lit it. For a minute or 
 two he smoked without speaking. 
 
 "We'll say no more about the boycotting," he 
 said ; " if you're set against it, I'd be the last man to 
 press it on you. And may be, after all, the people 
 wouldn't do it for me. They're not as obedient to 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 205 
 
 their clergy as they used to be, and that's a fact. It 
 isn't every one I'd say that to, Mr. Mervyn, but I 
 know you'll not make any bad use of it. What would 
 you think now if we had a murder ? ^Eneas Sweeny 
 would be no great loss to any one." 
 
 "You can't mean that," said Mr. Mervyn, "But 
 of course you don't." 
 
 " He's a drunken blackguard," said Father Roche, 
 "but I wouldn't like that he'd be killed altogether. 
 It would give the parish a bad name. What I was 
 thinking of was that he might hide himself somewhere 
 up in the mountains while Sergeant Ginty and the rest 
 of the police would be looking for his body. That 
 might distract her mind, and anyway he's one of 
 them she's depending on to act the play. The 
 weather's fine, and it wouldn't do jEneas any harm. 
 He'd be kept from the drink for a fortnight or so any- 
 way. And at the end of that time he could come 
 back again." 
 
 " I don't see how that possibly could be managed," 
 
 " Easy enough, Jamesy Casey would fire a 
 couple of shots round in your backyard ; and you'd 
 run out to see what was going on. All you'd find 
 would be the marks of Blood on the stable-door — any 
 man that would be killing a pig would give us the 
 half of a bucketful, and that would be plenty. 
 There'd be blood on the floor and on the ground. 
 Jamesy Casey would do it for half a crown, and a 
 pound would be good pay for iEneas. That and his 
 food. We'd have to feed him, of course ; but the 
 expense is nothing. It would be worth double the 
 money if we could distract her ,mind," 
 
 It is not likely that Mr. Mervyn would have 
 agreed to this plan. The difficulties in the way of 
 carrying it out were very great. It was possible, too. 
 
2o6 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 that Mrs. Dann would turn "out to be quite unin- 
 terested in the fate of iEneas Sweeny. And the 
 whole idea, judged by Mr. Mervyn's puritanical 
 standards, was abominably fraudulent. But he was 
 spared the necessity of giving his opinion. There 
 was a tap at the door and .^neas walked in. He was 
 not drunk, but he had had enough whisky to make 
 him brave. The sight of two clergyman, where he 
 only expected one, did not abash him in the least. 
 
 " It's no business of mine, jrour reverence," he said 
 solemnly, " but I thought maybe you'd like to know ; 
 and it might be as well if Father Roche was told 
 too." 
 
 At this point he stopped and bowed with grave 
 dignity to Father Roche. 
 
 " I twonder," said the priest, " that you're not 
 ashamed to be coming in here in the state you're in 
 at present." 
 
 "Begging your pardon," said ^Eneas, "and not 
 wishing to be disrespectful, but if I was what you're 
 after hinting at — and I'm not, for I can talk plain — 
 but if I was itself, there's worse things in the world 
 than a drop of whisky." 
 
 " I think you'd better go home," said Mr. Mervyn. 
 " Whatever you want to say you can say to-morrow." 
 
 "It's no business of mine," said ^neas Sweeny, 
 "and, of course, if your reverence is satisfied, and 
 Father Roche has no objection, I'll not say another 
 word, only just that I'm sorry to think that the 
 clergy, Catholic or Protestant, would encourage such 
 goings on. It's not what I'd expect of them." 
 
 "If I did right," said Father Roche, "I'd 
 encourage you with the heavy end of a blackthorn 
 stick. That's what would suit you and do you 
 good." 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 207 
 
 " There's others," said ^neas impressively, " that 
 might be deserving the stick more than me." 
 
 " Will you tell us what you mean," said Father 
 Roche, " if you have any meaning ? — and it'll surprise 
 me if you have." 
 
 " I was going round by the back of the house this 
 minute," said iEneas, " so as I'd get the cow milked 
 and the hay thrown down to the pony before it came 
 dark upon me, and I took a look in at the kitchen 
 window, so as I'd see whether the chimney might be 
 on fire or the like. Well, sure enough I seen some- 
 thing. I seen " — here his voice sank to a whisper — 
 " I seen Onny Donovan." 
 
 " I'm glad she's home," said Mr. Mervyn, " I 
 didn't hear her come in." 
 
 " She took care you didn't," said ^neas, " and 
 she'd good reason for it. She was dressed up so as 
 her own mother wouldn't know her, so as no respect- 
 able girl would be dressed, with gold and silver, so 
 she was. I've heard of the like of them clothes, and 
 I've heard of the ladies that wear them. Gold and 
 silver she had on her. I wouldn't give a thraneen 
 for the character of one that would dress that way." 
 
 "You're too drunk to talk sense," said Father 
 Roche. " Go home out of that. Where would Onny 
 Donovan get gold and silver ? " 
 
 "It may please you to say I'm drunk," said 
 ./Eneas, " but I wasn't so drunk but I could see that 
 she had Jamesy Casey along with her. I'd be 
 ashamed to tell you what was going on, so I would, 
 but I'll just say this : such kissing as was there, is 
 what I never seen before, drunk or sober." 
 
 Father Roche got up from his chair angrily. He 
 took .^neas by the shoulders and shook him heartily. 
 
 " Get home out of this," he said, " and take your 
 
2o8 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 drunken talk along with you. What do you mean 
 by using such language in the presence of the 
 clergy ? " 
 
 He twisted ^Eneas round and pushed him out of 
 the room. 
 
 It is one of the great glories of Ireland that the 
 use of indecent language is sternly discouraged. 
 Father Roche did no more than express the general 
 feeling of respectable people when he objected to the 
 sound of the word " kissing." Some time ago an 
 association of musicians offered a prize for choral 
 singing. A song was chosen, and choirs were invited 
 to compete. Several choristers very properly objected 
 to singing the song. It contained the word " kiss " 
 twice, and the music was of such a kind as to 
 emphasise the disgusting idea which the word 
 conveyed. Father Roche, as one of the official 
 guardians of our national morality, was not the man 
 to sit quiet while ^Eneas Sweeny said out loud a 
 word which no decent person would do more than 
 whisper in the privacy of a bedroom, and only there 
 to a companion of his own sex. It is to be hoped 
 that the newspapers will soon take to representing it 
 as they do " damn " by its initial letter with a dash 
 after it. Kissing is, no doubt, still practised in 
 Ireland. Mothers, for instance, kiss their babies. 
 Husbands, during the earlier years of married life, 
 kiss their wives. Lovers — Jamesy Casey was an 
 example — occasionally kiss the girls they are in love 
 with ; but the thing ought to be and is discouraged 
 in every section of society, and the fact that it has 
 not yet been entirely stamped out is no reason for 
 speaicing about it. There are many deplorable evils 
 about which it is much better not to speak. 
 
 The only possible excuse for ^neas Sweeny was 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 209 
 
 that he was partially drunk. Father Roche recog- 
 nised this and did not deal with him nearly as 
 severely as he might. He shut the door after him 
 and sat down opposite Mr. Mervyn. 
 
 " I didn't give that fellow the satisfaction of 
 hearing me say so," he said, " but I wouldn't wonder 
 if there was some truth in what he told us." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn remembered Delia's complaints 
 about the way in which Onny spent her Sundays. 
 He had also a very clear recollection of the scene 
 behind the laurel-bush earlier in the day. 
 
 " There is ," he said, " I feel nearly sure there 
 
 is some kind of attachment between them. It may 
 not amount to very much " 
 
 " Much or little," said Father Roche, " the sooner 
 they're married the better. Will you come along 
 with me now, Mr. Mervyn, and we'll lay it before the 
 two of them what it is they have to do." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn had not Father Roche's stern moral 
 strength. He also suffered from an incurable 
 delicacy of feeling, delicacy of a perverted kind. He 
 would at any time rather have talked about kissing, 
 rather have tried to sing a song about it without an 
 accompaniment to obscure the words, than have 
 walked into his kitchen where Onny and Jamesy 
 Casey were occupied in the way described by ^neas 
 Sweeny. He suggested a plan which would have the 
 advantage of saving Onny's self-respect, 
 
 " Perhaps," he said, " it would be better if I rang 
 the bell." 
 
 " A girl like her," said Father Roche, " wouldn't 
 take any notice of a bell, no matter how hard you 
 rang it." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn had a higher opinion of Onny. 
 
 "She might come," he said — "she sometimes 
 
 p 
 
210 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 does. Delia, my daughter, has often explained to 
 her that it is her duty to come whenever a bell is 
 rung." 
 
 "Much [she'd care about her duty! Don't I 
 know girls ? The first thing she'd do when she 
 heard it, and knew that we had caught her, would be 
 to put Jamesy Casey out of the door ; and the next 
 thing would be to be off into her bed as quick as she 
 could, so as to be pretending that she'd been asleep 
 for an hour or more. Believe you me, there's only 
 one way of dealing with her, and that's for me to go 
 round to the yard and wait outside the door, and you 
 to go into the kitchen. Then when Jamesy tries to 
 make off I'll catch him, and when she tries to get to 
 her bed you'll catch her. Then we'll have the two of 
 them. Come on now." 
 
 " I'd rather ring the bell," said Mr. Mervyn. " I 
 think she'll come. I do really." 
 
 " Have it your own way," said Father Roche. 
 
 Mr. Mervyn paused with his hand on the bell; 
 
 "You'll be able to speak to Casey to-morrow 
 morning," he said. " It will come to the same thing 
 in the end." 
 
 " Have it your own way," said Father Roche. 
 
 Mr. Mervyn rang the bell. He waited. There 
 was no response whatever. Father Roche looked at 
 him with twinkling eyes. Mr. Mervyn rang the bell 
 again, violently. There was a minute of dead silence. 
 Then came the sound of a door being shut somewhere. 
 
 " What did I tell you ? " said Father Roche. 
 
 Mr. Mervyn opened the dining-room door. There 
 was a noise of scurrying feet in the passage, and then 
 another door was shut — this one with a bang. 
 
 " She's into her bed now," said Father Roche. 
 
 Mr. Mervyn was annoyed at the failure of his 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 211 
 
 bell-ringing, and did not like the way in which Onny 
 was justifying the priest's prophecy. He went slowly, 
 with great hesitation, along the passage towards 
 Onny's bedroom. Father Roche followed him. Mr. 
 Mervyn reached the door of the bedroom. It was 
 tightly shut. He looked round uncertainly. Father 
 Roche was grinning in a triumphant and malicious 
 way. Mr. Mervyn tapped gently at the door. There 
 was no response. 
 
 " I don't think she can be there," he said. 
 
 "In another minute," said Father Roche in a 
 whisper, " you'll hear her snoring." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn tapped loudly at the door. 
 
 Onny's voice, half-stifled by a yawn, reached 
 them. 
 
 " Who's there ? " she said. 
 
 " Come out," said Mr. Mervyn firmly, " I want 
 to speak to you." 
 
 " Sure how cdn I come out," said Onny, " when 
 I'm in my bed and asleep ? " 
 
 Mr. Mervyn turned helplessly to Father Roche. 
 " I don't think we can do anything more now," he 
 said. 
 
 Father Roche stepped forward, turned the handle 
 and flung the door wide open. 
 
 " Get up out of that, Onny Donovan," he said, 
 " and stop your play-acting." 
 
 Onny was indubitably in bed. Her head rested 
 on the pillow. The blankets were pulled up tightly 
 round her chin. For one moment she gazed with 
 wild surprise at Father Roche. Then she crept out 
 of bed and stood, tousled and dishevelled, but still 
 fully dressed, on the floor. Delia's new blouse looked 
 very much the worse for wear. It had perhaps been 
 subjected to treatment, during the afternoon, that 
 
212 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 was not good for it. It had certainly been tossed in 
 the bed. 
 
 " Come along with me now," said Father Roche, 
 " and give an account of yourself." 
 
 He went back to the dining-room. Mr. Mervyn 
 and Onny followed him. Onny was crying bitterly, 
 but Mr. Mervyn looked the more ashamed and crest- 
 fallen of the two. 
 
 "Now, Mr. Mervyn," said Father Roche, "you 
 talk to her, and when you've finished I'll begin." 
 
 " Onny," said Mr. Mervyn, speaking as kindly as 
 he could, " was there any one with you in the kitchen ?" 
 
 Onny sobbed and wiped her eyes with the sleeve 
 of Delia's blouse. 
 
 " Was Jamesy Casey with you ? " said Mr. Mervyn. 
 
 Onny sobbed again, choked, and wiped both her 
 mouth and her eyes. 
 
 "He was not," she said. 
 
 " Onny Donovan," said Father Roche, " if you're 
 not ashamed of yourself you ought to be. You're a 
 disgrace to the parish, so you are." 
 
 " I never meant any harm," said Onny. 
 
 "There, there," said Mr. Mervyn, "don't cry. 
 We'll say no more about it." 
 
 " We'll say no more," said Father koche, " only 
 this : that you'll marry Jamesy Casey next week." 
 
 " Sure I would," said Onny, her words separated 
 by sobs — " sure I would if he'd ask me." 
 
 " He'll ask you," said Father Roche. "> To-morrow 
 morning he'll ask you before he has his breakfast 
 ate." 
 
 "I hope," said Mr. Mervyn, "that you realise 
 what you are doing, Onny. Marriage is a very 
 serious and solemn thing. I wouldn't like to feel 
 that you have been forced into a union " 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 213 
 
 He hesitated. It seemed to him that Onny was 
 being forced into a union, and that he himself was to 
 a great extent responsible for her position. Onny 
 resolved his doubts. She had stopped crying. 
 
 " Sure it's before me anyway," she said, " and it 
 may as well be Jamesy Casey as another." 
 
 The affair, from her point of view, was turning 
 out well — much better than could have been expected. 
 She had no special objection to marrying Jamesy 
 Casey, and not a word had been said about Delia's 
 blouse. 
 
 " You'd better go back to bed now," said Father 
 Roche, " and this time it would be as well if you took 
 the clothes off you before you got into it. You'd 
 sleep easier." 
 
 Onny, smiling now and highly pleased, left the 
 room. Father Roche helped himself to a little more 
 whisky-and-water. 
 
 " There's men," he said, " who hold the opinion 
 that the Irish people would get on better in the world 
 if it wasn't that they were Catholics." 
 
 This was Mr. Mervyn's opinion ; but he did not 
 feel it necessary to say so. 
 
 " But what I say is this," Father Roche went on : 
 " Is there any other kind of man except a priest 
 would be able to deal with the likes of that one ? " 
 
 Mr. Mervyn felt the force of the argument. He 
 disliked the decision of the Council of Trent in- 
 tensely. He regarded the later developments of 
 ultramontane doctrine with absolute abhorrence ; if 
 Onny Donovan and Jamesy Casey were to be taken 
 as fair specimens of the Irish people — he could not 
 have dealt with them. Yet Mr. Mervyn was not 
 inclined to grant the superiority of Roman Catholicism 
 as a religion for the Irish people. He thought 
 
214 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 he saw a way of replying effectively to Father 
 Roche. 
 
 " But," he said, " if your Church after centuries of 
 power in Ireland " 
 
 " Come now, Mr. Mervyn," said Father Roche, 
 " I've as much respect as any man living for the 
 Protestant clergy. But is there a minister in Ireland 
 could have got Onny Donovan out of her bed the 
 way I did ? " 
 
 In all probability there is not. Even an arch- 
 deacon would have failed. Mr. Mervyn admitted the 
 fact. What he wanted to say — what he felt would be 
 an effective retort — was that if any other Church in 
 Christendom had educated Onny Donovan, her farther 
 and mother, her grandfather and grandmother, her 
 ancestors for a dozen generations, she would not 
 have gone to bed in her clothes. But Mr. Mervyn 
 had not the spirit of the true lover of controversy. 
 He left Father Roche the last word, refraining from 
 making his reply. Father Roche had no such 
 delicacy of feeling. The victory was his. He did 
 not shirk the pleasure of his triumph. 
 
 " It took a priest to do it," he said, "and it will 
 always take a priest to put the fear of God into girls 
 like her. Don't I know them ? " 
 
 This was the last word. The sound of a door 
 being opened prevented reply, even if Mr. Mervyn 
 had been willing to make one. This time the door 
 that [^opened was the front one of the house. A 
 moment later Bobby Sebright and Delia entered the 
 room. 
 
 "Oh, father, I didn't know you were going to 
 have a party. I'm so sorry. I wouldn't have stayed 
 with Aunt Sally May if I'd known." 
 
 " I can hardly call it a party," said Mr. Mervyn, 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 215 
 
 "and I didn't intend — I mean to say it just happened 
 that Father Roche " 
 
 Delia shook hands with Father Roche. 
 
 " Miss Delia," said Bobby Sebright, " felt kind of 
 anxious about your dinner. Sally May was upset. 
 Said she'd have sent down a chicken-pie if she'd 
 been informed of the entertainment. I was blamed 
 quite a bit by Sally May, She seemed to consider 
 it was my fault. I came along now to apologise. 
 That's the ostensible object of my visit, though I 
 don't deny that it was a pleasure to me to escort 
 Miss Delia home." 
 
 " I hope," said Delia, " that Onny got everything 
 ready for you, and had things comfortable." 
 
 She looked at the table. The remains of the 
 tongue in its tin, the chicken and ham also in its tin, 
 the untidy table, did not suggest that the meal had 
 been a very comfortable one. Delia looked distressed. 
 
 " I can't trust Onny," she said, " to do anything if 
 I'm not here to watch her." 
 
 " Onny is going to be married," said Mr. Mervyn, 
 " to-morrow, I think." 
 
 " Next week," said Father Roche. 
 
 " She can't," said Delia, " she hasn't given me a 
 month's notice. I won't let her. Is it to Jamesy 
 Casey?" 
 
 " It is," said Father Roche. 
 
 " I'll speak to her at once," said Delia. " These 
 girls have no conscience." 
 
 "You're right there," said Father Roche; "but 
 what can you expect ? I've known girls, dozens of 
 them, and grown women too, mothers of families, for 
 the last forty years, and I never came across one that 
 had a conscience yet. I'm not talking now about 
 young ladies, Miss Mervyn. They're different." 
 
2i6 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 " I'll speak to her at once," said Delia. 
 
 " I'm afraid she's in bed," said Mr. Mervyn. 
 
 " Then she'll have to get out of bed," said Delia, 
 " for I mean to tell her what I think of her. The 
 idea of arranging to get married " 
 
 She left the room. She had, no doubt, a genuine 
 grievance. Servants are hard to get ; very hard to 
 get when you can only afford to pay low wages, and 
 Delia had spent much time and trouble in training 
 Onny Donovan. It was wholly unreasonable that 
 she should rush into matrimony without due 
 warning. 
 
 " I congratulate you, gentlemen," said Bobby 
 Sebright. "The late Nathan P. tried most things, 
 but he never tried a wedding. I don't say you'll 
 succeed, but the idea's novel." 
 
 "I beg your pardon," said Father Roche, "but 
 I'm not sure do I catch your meaning." 
 
 "I left you an hour ago," said Bobby Sebright, 
 " devising means for diverting the mind of Sally May, 
 and I find you with a wedding arranged. I con- 
 gratulate you. I don't guarantee that your wedding 
 is on a sufificiently important scale. But the idea's 
 good. Good night, gentlemen. I will lie down to 
 sleep to-night with a high opinion of the ability of 
 the Irish clergy." 
 
 He did not wait to explain himself further, but he 
 had said enough for Father Roche. 
 
 "There might be something in it," he said, 
 " though it wasn't that I had in my mind when I said 
 that Onny Donovan would be the better of being 
 married." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn was slower-witted. He did not yet 
 see why Bobby Sebright should congratulate him on 
 Onny's marriage. Father Roche explained. 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 217 
 
 " Women or girls," he said, " it's the same with all 
 of them. Haven't I been watching the ways of them 
 for the last fifty years ? They'd take more interest in 
 a wedding than they would in Home Rule, if so be 
 we had it — and I don't know yet will we get it or not. 
 The better the woman — there's not much choice 
 among them in the matter of sense, but the better 
 they may be in other ways the more fools they'll make 
 of themselves over a wedding. Haven't I seen them 
 crying when you'd think they'd be pleased to get rid 
 of some slip of a girl that had never been anything 
 but a bother to them ? " 
 
 " Do you really think that Mrs. Dann will take 
 such an interest " 
 
 "If there's any crying to be done at a wedding," 
 said Father Roche, •' in my opinion it's the man that 
 has the best right to be doing it." 
 
 " But," said Mr. Mervyn, " she's never even seen 
 Onny Donovan." 
 
 " It makes no matter," said Father Roche, " a 
 wedding's a wedding. That young fellow's right 
 enough. Believe you me, if we let her know what's 
 going on — and I'll take good care she does know — 
 she'll think of nothing else for the next fortnight. 
 Didn't you say she had a kind heart ? " 
 
 "I always said that about her. Whatever her 
 faults " 
 
 " Then we'll have her mind distracted to-morrow," 
 said Father Roche, " and there'll be no need to bring 
 the bishop down here on top of us. I don't say 
 I'm your equal, Mr. Mervyn, in poetry and such-like 
 studies ; but there isn't a turn or a twist in most 
 women but I'm up to it. You may take my word 
 for it, Mr. Mervyn, once she hears about the 
 wedding there'll be no more talk of a play — nor 
 
2i8 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 of the soda-water out of the Holy Well, please 
 God." 
 
 It seemed to Mr. Mervyn that Onny Donovan's 
 wedding was scarcely important or exciting enough 
 to make Mrs. Dann forget all about the Miracle Play. 
 But he did not like to say anything which might 
 damp Father Roche's high hopes. He felt, too, that 
 the priest might be right. He had shown an extra- 
 ordinary knowledge of the nature of girls, when he 
 prophesied what Onny would do when the dining- 
 room bell was rung. He might be equally right 
 about Mrs, Dann. 
 
 Delia burst into the room. 
 
 " Father," she said, " Onny has been wearing one of 
 the blouses Aunt Sally May got me from London. 
 She has been wearing it all day and it's simply 
 destroyed. It was the very nicest of all, too. Why 
 didn't you stop her ? Why didn't you make her take 
 it off?" 
 
 " My dear," said Mr. Mervyn, " I never noticed 
 what she had on." 
 
 " Father 1 you must have ! " 
 
 "iEneas Sweeny," said Father Roche, "was say- 
 ing something about her being dressed up in gold and 
 silver ; but nobody would pay any attention to what 
 he said." 
 
 " A girl like that," said Delia, " doesn't deserve to 
 be married." 
 
 " If it's any comfort to you to know it," said 
 Father Roche, " she'll be sorry for herself after." 
 
 "But she's pleased now," said Delia, "and she 
 oughtn't to be." 
 
 " She may be pleased now," said Father Roche, 
 " but she won't be soon. Haven't I married scores of 
 them in my time ? and weren't ^they all sorry for 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 219 
 
 themselves at the latter end ? Believe you me, she'll 
 have more to think of in a couple of years than 
 peacocking about in silver and gold to be catching 
 the eye of Jamesy Casey. She'll have had her 'nough 
 of him in three months." 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 The village of Druminawona was stirred to unusual 
 excitement next day by the arrival, about noon, of 
 the motor-car which Mrs. Dann had ordered from 
 Dublin. There was, at first, no doubt in any one's 
 mind that it was Mrs. Dann's car. It stopped in 
 front of the police barrack, and the young man in 
 charge of it asked his way to Druminawona House. 
 Sergeant Ginty's first impulse was to give him the 
 directions he needed, but the sergeant looked at him 
 before speaking, and a doubt crept into his mind. 
 The young man struck him as a very superior person, 
 not in the least like a servant. He spoke with a 
 refined accent difficult to trace to any part of Ireland. 
 It was possible that he was not a hired servant, but 
 some new friend of Mrs. Dann's. Sergeant Ginty 
 determined to find out something about him before 
 giving him the information he asked for. He opened 
 a general conversation, making a few intelligent 
 remarks about motor-cars, passing on to the condi- 
 tion of the roads, and then touched on the way in 
 which the County Council did its work. 
 
 Daniel Fogarty, looking oUt from the door of his 
 shop, was also struck by the young man's appearance. 
 He leaped to the conclusion that he must be the first 
 of the great flight of wealthy tourists who were to 
 come to Druminawona under the protection of Mrs. 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 221 
 
 Dann. He crossed the road and joined Sergeant 
 Ginty beside the car. He arrived just in time to 
 hear the sergeant's remarks about the County 
 Council. If the driver of the car were, as seemed 
 likely, a man of wealth and position, it was certain 
 that he would be hostile to any form of popular 
 government in Ireland. Fogarty joined heartily in 
 the abuse of the County Council. The sergeant, he 
 felt sure, would not betray the fact that he was a 
 member of that body. Jamesy Casey was, as it 
 happened, standing at the gate of the priest's yard 
 when the car drove into the village. He was feeling 
 depressed. Father Roche had spoken to him very 
 sternly earlier in the day. He had walked up to the 
 rectory at ten o'clock and solemnly pledged himself 
 to marry Onny Donovan. He felt in need of some 
 cheering excitement. He joined the group round 
 the car. 
 
 Sergeant Ginty was — as a policeman should be — 
 skilled in getting the information he wanted even 
 from a reluctant witness. Few secrets could be kept 
 for long from a man of Fogarty's active intelligence. 
 In a very few minutes it was obvious that the driver 
 of the car was not another wealthy American, but 
 Mrs. Dann's hired servant. His appearance and 
 curious accent were misleading. Daniel Fogarty 
 hospitably invited him into the shop to have a drink. 
 The stranger refused the invitation curtly. Fogarty 
 and the sergeant were both impressed. This was 
 their first experience of a new kind of man. The 
 drivers of motor-cars are not invariably teetotallers, 
 but they are men who have received a scientific 
 education. They are naturally inclined to regard 
 the human body as a machine to be supplied for its 
 work with suitable fuel in the form of food. They 
 
222 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 know that whisky is not food. The old-fashioned 
 groom, who spent his life with horses, was accustomed 
 to living creatures. He knew that other things 
 besides oats and hay went to the making of an 
 efficient horse. The encouragement of cheerful 
 companionship makes no difference to the running 
 of the motor-car. It does affect the temper and 
 willingness of a horse. Whisky is, perhaps, not 
 food. Cheerfulness is not oats nor hayj but it has 
 its value. The groom was therefore not disposed to 
 neglect the possible advantages of whisky. And the 
 disadvantage of drinking whisky, the insidious way 
 in which the spirit robs an unsuspecting man of his 
 self-control, is much more dangerous to the mechanic 
 than to the groom. A machine has no sympathy 
 with a drunken driver. It smashes itself, and 
 probably him, quite relentlessly, A horse, on the 
 other hand, becomes more careful when it recognises 
 that its rider is incapable. A groom can afford to 
 run risks of intoxication which no sane chauffeur 
 would ever take. 
 
 Fogarty, though a philosopher of wide intelligence, 
 did not understand this difference between the new 
 men of engines and the old men of living horses. 
 He repeated his invitation and again heard it 
 refused. 
 
 Then Father Roche came out of his presbytery 
 and approached the motor-car. 
 
 " Is it up to Druminawona House you're going ? " 
 he said. 
 
 " Yes," said the driver, " I want to go there if you 
 will tell me the way." 
 
 "Where's the hurry.'" said Daniel Fogarty. 
 " Sure the day is long." 
 
 " It would suit you better," said Sergeant Ginty 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 223 
 
 severely, "to be minding your own business instead 
 of interfering with a man who's trying to do what 
 he's paid for." 
 
 " It's to Mrs. Dann you're going ? " said Father 
 Roche. 
 
 " Where else ? " said Daniel Fogarty. " Is there 
 any other one in the place ? " 
 
 "I'm thinking of going up there myself," said 
 Father Roche. 
 
 The driver had, we may hope, a proper respect 
 for clergy, but he did not feel justified in offering to 
 take Father Roche with him. He was hired, so he 
 understood, by a Mrs. Dann. He did not yet know 
 what kind of a lady she was. She might like her 
 car used by chance wayfarers ; but she might not. 
 Daniel Fogarty resented the driver's silence. It 
 seemed to him natural and right that any vehicle — 
 horse-drawn or petrol-driven — should be used by any 
 one who wanted to go in the direction of the place 
 for which it was heading. 
 
 " Get in, Father," he said, opening the door as he 
 spoke. " It's two miles, or maybe more, to the big 
 house, and you'll be better driving than walking." 
 
 " How many does the car hold ? " said Father 
 Roche. 
 
 Sergeant Ginty surveyed it critically. 
 
 " Three and the driver," he said judicially. 
 
 "Six," said Daniel Fogarty — "six anyway, and 
 more if you was to sit familiar." 
 
 " Five," said the driver — " four and myself." 
 
 "There's myself and a few other people," said 
 Father Roche, " that has business of a very particular 
 kind with Mrs. Dann. I suppose now that you 
 wouldn't have any objection to driving us up to the 
 house." 
 
224 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 " He would not, of course," said Daniel Fogarty. 
 " It's pleased he'd be to do anything your reverence 
 might ask him," 
 
 " Will you let the young man answer for himself ? " 
 said Sergeant Ginty. 
 
 "You're mighty civil and obliging this morning, 
 Daniel Fogarty," said Father Roche, "but I didn't 
 notice that you were so ready to do what I asked 
 you yourself, last night, when I was talking to you 
 about the meeting." 
 
 Fogarty grinned sheepishly and drew back a little 
 from the motor-car. Father Roche looked round him. 
 Jamesy Casey had also sidled away. He was half- 
 way back to the presbytery yard when Father Roche 
 saw him. 
 
 " As you're so anxious to be obliging," said Father 
 Roche to Fogarty, " you can run after Jamesy Casey 
 and bring him back here. I want to speak to him." 
 
 Daniel Fogarty did as he was bidden promptly. 
 He was not prepared to attend the meeting or in any 
 other way to protest against Mrs. Dann's plans. But 
 he could not possibly lose money by running after 
 Jamesy Casey. It was quite clear then that the 
 young man in the motor-car would drink nothing. 
 
 "I wouldn't ask you to do such a thing," said 
 Father Roche to the driver, " if it was only my own 
 convenience that had to be thought about ; but Mrs. 
 Dann will be wanting to see the people I'm bringing 
 with me as soon as possible." 
 
 The driver, felt that he was being pushed into a 
 difficult position. He hesitated for a moment longer. 
 Then he realised that he had little hope of finding 
 the way to Druminawona House unless he took a 
 guide with him in the car. 
 
 " Very well," he said ; " I'll take you." 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 225 
 
 Fogarty came back, leading Jamesy Casey by 
 the arm. 
 
 " I have him here, your reverence," he said, " and 
 it's a hard enough job I had to make him come." 
 
 " Didn't you tell me, Father," said Jamesy, " that 
 I was to be cleaning out the hen-house, and after 
 that " 
 
 "What I tell you now," said Father Roche, "is to 
 run up to the rectory as fast as your legs will carry 
 you " 
 
 " To the rectory, is it ? " said Jamesy. 
 
 He had been to the rectory once already that 
 morning. He could not suppose that Father Roche 
 wanted him to pledge himself further to Onny 
 Donovan. 
 
 "When you get there," said Father Roche, 
 " you'll tell Mr. Mervyn that I'll call round for him 
 with a motor-car in a quarter of an hour, and that 
 I'd be glad if he'll have Onny Donovan ready to 
 come with us. He'll know what it's for. You'll be 
 wanted yourself too, Jamesy." 
 
 " Sure you won't be for marrying us to-day ? " 
 said Jamesy. 
 
 " I will not marry you to-day, though you deserve 
 it. Go now and do what I tell you." 
 
 Jamesy was vaguely apprehensive. It was a 
 relief to him to know that he was not to be married 
 immediately ; but he dreaded some unknown pre- 
 liminary ceremony which might be horrible. He did 
 not understand why he and Onny should be dragged 
 up to Druminawona House in a motor-car. It was, 
 however, plainly to his advantage to propitiate 
 Father Roche, as much as possible, by prompt 
 obedience. He set out for the rectory at a sharp 
 trot. 
 
226 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 "I'll be with you in ten minutes," said Father 
 Roche to the young man in the motor. " I have to 
 change my coat and lace on a pair of boots." 
 
 He turned and went back to the presbytery. 
 Sergeant Ginty looked after Jamesy Casey with an 
 expression of disgust on his face. The young man 
 in the motor-car was grinning. 
 
 "The people of this country," said Sergeant 
 Ginty, "is priest-ridden something terrible. Isn't 
 it a shame to see a young man running away like 
 that at the bidding of a priest .' " 
 
 Fogarty was standing behind him as he spoke. 
 If the sergeant had known this he would have been 
 more cautious about what he said. 
 
 "Keep a civil tongue in your head, sergeant," 
 said Fogarty. " What right have you to be insulting 
 the people you live among, before a'^bUhg man who 
 might be a good Catholic for all you know ? What 
 did you say your name was } " he added, speaking to 
 the chauffeur. 
 
 " I don't think I told you ; but I don't mind 
 your knowing that it's Michael Staunton." 
 
 " There," said Fogarty ; " what did I tell you ? 
 As good a Catholic name as ever I heard." 
 
 " My mother was a Protestant," said Staunton. 
 
 " I respect her for it," said the sergeant. 
 
 " I haven't seen the necessity for either religion so 
 far," said Staunton. " I'm a free-thinker." 
 
 " The Lord save us ! " said Fogarty, genuinely 
 shocked. "Do you mean to tell us you've no 
 religion at all ? " 
 
 " None whatever." 
 
 "I'm not surprised, then," said Fogarty, "that 
 you refused a glass of whisky when it was offered to 
 you. I suppose you're that way on account of 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 227 
 
 spending all your time with them stinking motor- 
 cars." 
 
 There was evidently a connection in Daniel 
 Fogarty's mind between atheists, teetotallers, and 
 skilled mechanics. It is, indeed, certain that men 
 who look after horses and drink in a natural way 
 are seldom found in active opposition to religion. 
 But it is not necessary to conclude that a knowledge 
 of machinery is, in itself, destructive of faith. The 
 case of Michael Staunton was in many ways peculiar. 
 As the child of a mixed marriage his religious train- 
 ing had been overdone. Most children have one 
 set of doctrines taught to them. Michael Staunton 
 had two. His spiritual stomach — if such a phrase is 
 allowable — was overloaded in infancy. His spiritual 
 digestion suffered in after-life. It is this risk which 
 makes all ecclesiastics afraid of what are called 
 mixed marriages. The clergy have the wisdom born 
 of centuries of experience behind them, and they 
 know that while most men, if taken young, can be 
 taught to believe one creed, hardly any man can 
 be induced to accept two, especially when they 
 contradict each other on important points. Besides, 
 Michael Staunton had served his apprenticeship in 
 England, a notoriously irreligious country. It was 
 this foreign education which gave him the kind of 
 courage required for the making of a dangerous con- 
 fession. There are, it is reputed, several men in 
 Ireland who are not altogether sound in any faith ; 
 but they do not say so out loud. They are afraid 
 of incurring the dislike of devoted souls like 
 Daniel Fogarty. Michael Staunton was made to 
 feel himself an outcast almost at once. Daniel 
 Fogarty turned and walked back to his own 
 shop. The sergeant, no less sincerely religious in 
 
228 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 his own way, scowled at Michael and went into the 
 barracks. 
 
 Father Roche came out of the presbytery and sat 
 down beside Michael Staunton. He was, of course, 
 ignorant of that young man's deplorable lack of 
 belief. At the rectory Father Roche got out. Mr. 
 Mervyn was standing on the steps. His face wore 
 an expression of anxious perplexity. He had 
 received the priest's message and was ready to 
 start ; but he did not know where he was going, 
 or why. Father Roche whispered to him. 
 
 " If we're thinking of distracting her mind by 
 means of the marriage," he said, " the sooner we're at 
 it the better, before she has anything done that it 
 might be difficult to undo after. When I saw the 
 motor-car on the street, it struck me that we 
 couldn't do better than go up to the house in it, 
 taking Onny Donovan and Jamesy Casey along with 
 us so as she'll see them." 
 
 " Very well," said Mr. Mervyn. " If you think it 
 will be of any use." 
 
 Considered by daylight, the plan of diverting Mrs. 
 Dann's energies from the play by means of a marriage 
 did not seem very hopeful ; but Father Roche was 
 evidently still full of confidence. 
 
 " Didn't Mr, Sebright say liEist night," he said, 
 " that a marriage would be a grand thing for the 
 purpose? And wouldn't he know? Tell me now, 
 have you Onny ready ? " 
 
 Onny was ready. She was, in fact, rather more 
 completely prepared for the interview with Mrs. 
 Dann than she wanted to be. Delia had insisted on 
 her wearing the new blouse. Onny feared that if she 
 appeared in it again she might be put in prison. 
 But Delia was determined that she should wear it. 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 229 
 
 It could never, so she pointed out, be worn by any 
 one else after the way she had treated it the day 
 before. Therefore Onny appeared at the rectory 
 door wearing the blouse. She had very much the 
 air of a dog which has been caught killing chickens 
 and condemned to walk about for days with the 
 corpse of one of his victims tied round his neck. A 
 dead chicken is a delightful thing. So is a new 
 blouse. But neither is desirable when it becomes the 
 unescapable mark of evil-doing, a kind of convict 
 uniform, distinguishing its wearer as surely as if it 
 were stamped all over with broad-arrows. 
 
 Father Roche arranged the party in the motor- 
 car. Jamesy Casey was made to sit in front Mr. 
 Mervyn, Onny, and Father Roche got into the 
 tonneau. This was an excellent plan for preventing 
 any intercourse of an undesirable kind between Onny 
 and her future husband. But the designer of the car, 
 though he meant it to hold three passengers at the 
 back, did not calculate on the third being so large as 
 Father Roche was. Onny, herself a plump damsel, 
 could not by any means be squeezed in between the 
 two clergymen. She had to crouch on the floor of 
 the car at their feet — a position which, besides being 
 very uncomfortable, made her feel more than ever 
 that she was a criminal led off to execution. 
 
 Jamesy Casey was less unhappy than she was. 
 He had a seat to himself. The sensation of driving 
 in a motor-car was new to him. He enjoyed a sense 
 of responsibility, for it was his business to point the 
 way to Druminawona House. Michael Staunton sat 
 silent at his steering-wheel, making no attempt to 
 respond to Jamesy's conversation. He had allowed 
 himself to be hustled into accepting a whole car-load 
 of passengers of whom he knew nothing except that 
 
230 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 two of them were clergymen, members of a profession 
 which he despised. He did not know what to hope 
 or fear. If his new employer turned out to be a lady 
 who liked to have her house filled with clergymen, 
 his situation would not suit him. He might possibly 
 be compelled to go to church. If, on the other hand, 
 she was a lady with a proper sense of self-respect, 
 who disliked clergymen, he would at once get into 
 trouble for picking up two of them on the road and 
 bringing them to her. 
 
 The car drew up at the door of Druminawona 
 House. Mr. Mervyn got out. Father Roche, 
 trampling on Onny as he did so, struggled out too. 
 Michael Staunton sat rigidly upright staring straight 
 before him. Jamesy, his original uncertainty return- 
 ing, eyed Father Roche uneasily. Onny, weeping 
 quietly, crouched in the bottom of the car. Mrs, 
 Dann rushed out to them. She had heard the car 
 approaching and was all eagerness to see it. She 
 stopped abruptly. 
 
 " My ! " she said, " what a crowd ! Phil, I'm glad 
 to see you. Feeling better ? And Father Roche. 
 Bobby was telling me last night that you'd dragged 
 yourself from your bed of sickness. Walk right in, 
 both of you. You'll find Bobby inside. I've got 
 Bobby moving ! " 
 
 She turned from the two clergymen and addressed 
 Michael Staunton. 
 
 " This the car I cabled for ? " she said. " Right. 
 And you're the chauffeur ? " 
 
 " Yes, madam," said Michael Staunton. 
 
 "Right," said Mrs. Dann. "But I didn't say 
 anything in my cable about your bringing an 
 assistant-chauffeur with you" — she pointed to Jamesy 
 Casey, who touched his cap politely. " And I didn't 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 231 
 
 say anything about bringing your wife down '' — she 
 was standing on the step of the car and was peering 
 at Onny. 
 
 Mr. Mervyn felt that the time had come for some 
 explanations. 
 
 " That," he said, " is Onny Donovan, our servant. 
 The man in front is Jamesy Casey." 
 
 " If they're candidates for parts in the play," said 
 Mrs. Dann, "take them inside and show them to 
 Bobby. Bobby'll size them up, and see what they're 
 fit for. Seems to me the girl looks kind of sad. I 
 hope now, Phil, that your enthusiasm for the play 
 hasn't led you into extremes. I don't want any girl 
 forced to act against her will." 
 
 She took Onny by the arm and drew her from 
 the car. Onny, desperately frightened, cried bitterly, 
 Jamesy Casey climbed slowly down from his seat and 
 stood, hat in hand, behind the car. He escaped the 
 immediate notice of Mrs. Dann. She pushed the 
 other three into the house. 
 
 "You talk to Bobby, Phil," she said, "while I 
 make his duties plain to the chauffeur." 
 
 Bobby Sebright sat at a table in the middle of 
 the large square hall. In front of him was a pile of 
 paper. Beside him, on the ground, lay a number 
 of loose sheets already covered with writing. He 
 had a pen in his hand. He looked up smiling. 
 
 " Good morning, gentlemen," he said, " I'm 
 middling busy, but I'm glad to see you. Sally May 
 got me started this morning on advance notices of 
 the play. I'm drafting a few pars : likely to strike 
 the British Editor as interesting copy. My object is 
 to get snap without vulgarity. It doesn't do to 
 mislead the public. If I give them vulgarity in the 
 preliminary encomiums they'd expect it right along, 
 
232 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 and this play has got to be high art right along from 
 the word ' go.' " 
 
 " There'll be no play," said Father Roche. 
 
 He looked round as he spoke to see if Mrs. Dann 
 was within hearing. He was gratified to notice that 
 she was still talking to Michael Staunton. 
 
 " We have the matter we were speaking about last 
 night arranged," he added confidentially, " and I 
 expect she'll be pleased when she hears." 
 
 Bobby glanced at Onny, who was crying quietly 
 near the door. 
 
 " Brought the blushing bride right along ? " he said. 
 " She doesn't strike me as exuberant, but the notion's 
 all right. It may wash. I don't say for certain that 
 it won't. But Sally May is powerfully set on this 
 play — more than I reckoned. It'll require to be a 
 real live wedding to switch her ofif. Got a bride- 
 groom ? " 
 
 " Jamesy Casey is outside," said Father Roche. 
 
 " The bride doesn't seem to be very keen on the 
 union," said Bobby. "Seems to me as if the 
 prospect saddened her some. If Jamesy Casey isn't 
 more eager, I think one of you reverend gentlemen 
 ought to keep an eye on him. He might escape." 
 
 " They're willing enough, the two of them," said 
 Father Roche. " Stop your crying now, Onny. 
 Isn't it your own fault ? If you'd behaved yourself 
 when you had the chance you wouldn't be here now." 
 
 Mrs. Dann came in, leading Jamesy Casey by the 
 arm. 
 
 " What's this, Phil ? " she said. " This man seems 
 to me to be frightened. What's he done .' Why did 
 you bring him up here ? " 
 
 " He's going to be married," said Mr. Mervyn. 
 
 " To the girl beyond there," said Father Roche. 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 233 
 
 " It was that brought us up to see you this morning. 
 Will you stop crying, Onny Donovan, when I tell 
 you?" 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. Dann, " I'm prepared to believe 
 that a wedding is a pretty big event in a community 
 like this. You don't have too many of them, I expect, 
 so it's natural that you should want to boast a bit 
 whenever one occurs. But^what I don't quite catch 
 on to is why you've brought them up here. Bobby 
 and I are pretty fully occupied with the play." 
 
 " What occurred to us," said Father Roche — " to 
 Mr. Mervyn and myself — when we were talking 
 matters over last night, was that you might take an 
 interest in them." 
 
 Mrs. Dann looked inquiringly at her brother-in- 
 law. She did not understand why she was expected 
 to take special interest in the wedding of two people 
 totally unknown to her. Mr. Mervyn felt that 
 he must offer some kind of explanation. 
 
 " There are some curious customs in connection 
 with weddings in the West of Ireland," he said 
 desperately. 
 
 " Bobby," said Mrs. Dann, " take down what Phil 
 says. I'm grateful to you, Phil, and I'm grateful to 
 you, Father Roche, for thinking of it. Anything in 
 the way of local colour has its value for purposes of 
 advertisement. I attended a lecture once in New 
 York on the marriage rites practised by the aborigi- 
 nal inhabitants of Borneo. What that professor told 
 us took my fancy. If you've anything of that sort to 
 say, Phil, just buck right in. Bobby's practised in 
 stenography. He'll take down every word you 
 say." 
 
 "Begging your pardon, ma'am," said Jamesy 
 Casey, "but if it's me and Onny Donovan you're 
 
234 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 speaking about, we'd be pleased to do anything your 
 ladyship might wish so long as there'd be no objec- 
 tion to Father Roche marrying us decent in the 
 chapel after." 
 
 "Be quiet now, Jamesy," said Father Roche. 
 " What business of yours is it what the lady wants 
 with you ? What was in our mind is that we might 
 have some kind of an entertainment in the school- 
 room, if you'd be willing to help us. It isn't every 
 day we have a wedding, and I wouldn't be against 
 there being a dance now or the like, if you'd take an 
 interest in it, and show us the way it ought to be 
 done." 
 
 Mrs. Dann pondered the matter for a moment. 
 Then she gave her verdict. 
 
 "As a side-show," she said, "a native wedding 
 would be an attraction. Folks would ilock in. I'm 
 grateful to you, Phil, for bringing the ceremony under 
 my notice." 
 
 Father Roche took Mr. Mervyn by the arm. 
 
 " Come along out of this," he said. " It's waste of 
 time talking to her." 
 
 Jamesy Casey followed them. Onny Donovan 
 was weeping too bitterly to notice what was happen- 
 ing. She did not move from her position near the 
 door. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 Father Roche was thoroughly angry. 
 
 " Did ever you hear such talk ? " he said. 
 
 He still held Mr. Mervyn by the arm and was 
 dragging him down the avenue of Druminawona 
 House at a surprisingly rapid rate. Very fat men 
 often possess a power of moving fast for a short 
 distance. 
 
 " She's mad, so she is," said Father Roche, " or 
 worse." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn said nothing at all. Father Roche 
 said nothing more because he was beginning to feel 
 the want of breath. Half a mile from the hi>use he 
 was panting heavily. A few yards farther on he was 
 obliged to stop. There was, fortunately, the trunk of 
 a fallen tree by the side of the avenue. Father Roche 
 sat down on it. Mr. Mervyn, who was not so com- 
 pletely out of breath, stood and looked at him. 
 Jamesy Casey had followed them at a little distance 
 and overtook them when they stopped. He was not 
 in the least out of breath, for he had not been obliged 
 to exert himself much in order to keep pace with the 
 two clergymen. He took off his hat and addressed 
 Father Roche, 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Father," he said, " but is it all 
 settled about the wedding ? " 
 
 Father Roche glared at him ; but he was not yet 
 
236 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 able to speak without gasping, and he liked to 
 preserve his dignity. 
 
 " For if it is," said Jamesy, " I'd be as glad if your 
 reverence would speak to my mother about it." 
 
 " I don't care," said Father Roche, " if you never 
 marry the girl, or, for the matter of that, any other 
 girl." 
 
 " Whatever way your reverence wishes it to be, 
 I'll be content," said Jamesy ; " but I'm not against 
 marrying the girl, only on account of the trouble 
 there might be after." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn looked at him in some surprise. 
 Incidents in the courtship, which had come under his 
 notice, inclined him to think that Jamesy Casey was a 
 lover of a somewhat ardent kind. 
 
 " Don't you want to marry her ? " he said. 
 
 "I'd be willing enough myself," said Jamesy 
 guardedly. " I haven't a word to say against the 
 girl, for she's a good girl, and if I was to be married 
 I'd as soon it was her as another ; but my mother 
 would be terrible vexed, so she would. Many's the 
 time she's said to me, ' Jamesy,' says she, ' let you 
 not be bringing a strange girl into my own house on 
 top of me. Amn't I able to wash and mend for 
 you ? — and what more do you want ? ' and that was 
 true enough." 
 
 " Get along home with you," said Father Roche, 
 " and don't be standing there talking. Can't you see 
 I want to speak to Mr. Mervyn ? " 
 
 " But why did you ask her to marry you," said Mr. 
 Mervyn, "if you didn't want her?" 
 
 "What could I do only ask her," said Jamesy, 
 '• when his reverence here told me I was to ? And 
 I'd have done it too. I'd have married her if she and 
 my mother were to lift the roof off the house on me 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 237 
 
 after. Don't I know that there's no luck in going 
 against the priest ? " 
 
 Father Roche had by this time completely 
 recovered his powers of speech. 
 
 "Go along home when I tell you, Jamesy," he 
 said, "and mind this now. If I hear of any more 
 goings on between you and Onny Donovan, I'll take 
 a stick to you first, and denounce you off the altar 
 after. We've had enough of that work. If you won't 
 marry the girl " 
 
 " Sure I will if I'm wanted to," said Jamesy. 
 
 Father Roche got up from his log. His appear- 
 ance was threatening. Having driven up to Drumina- 
 wona House in a motor-car he had not a stick with 
 him ; but in the excitement of the moment Jamesy 
 did not notice this. He fled at once. 
 
 " What are we to do at all ? " said Father Roche. 
 
 " I don't know," said Mr. Mervyn. " I really don't 
 know what we can do." 
 
 Bobby Sebright, walking jauntily and smoking a 
 cigarette, came towards them from the house. 
 
 " I could find it in my heart to wish," said Father 
 Roche, " that that young fellow was dead and buried 
 and Mrs. Dann in the coffin along with him, and the 
 two of them in the same grave, and, what's more, I 
 wouldn't greatly care if every other Yank was in the 
 same place. There's little good ever comes from the 
 likes of those ones." 
 
 " Gentlemen," said Bobby Sebright, " Sally May 
 is interesting herself in that weeping bride, so I 
 stepped down to sympathise. I'm downright sorry 
 that things haven't worked out as you anticipated. I 
 feel for your disappointment, and I thought I'd like 
 to speak a word of hope to you. Hope is a white- 
 robed angel girt with glittering wings. That's not 
 
238 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 Wordsworth, Mr, Mervyn, but it's reminiscent of 
 Milton. You'll find words to that effect in 
 " Comus." " 
 
 This striking, but inaccurate, quotation im- 
 pressed Father Roche, He was naturally an 
 optimistic man, and any mention of hope cheered 
 him at once. It was impossible to suppose that 
 Bobby Sebright would have spoken about an angel 
 with glittering wings unless he thought there was 
 some real chance of Mrs, Dann dropping her 
 Miracle Play. 
 
 " If she's interested the way you say," he said, 
 " it might be that she'd forget about the play and the 
 rest of the foolishness that goes along with it." 
 
 "Don't you take up any mistaken notion," said 
 Bobby Sebright. " When I said she was interested 
 in the bride,, I meant you to understand that she's 
 interested in the girl. I don't think she cares a cent 
 about the wedding ; but her heart was touched when 
 she saw the girl crying. She's providing her with 
 refreshments and sympathy at present. I agree with 
 Sally May that the girl needed bucking up. She'd 
 sort of wilted under the prospect of immediate 
 matrimony." 
 
 " It, was on'account of her crying," said Father 
 Roche, " that Mrs. Dann took an interest in her ? " 
 
 "That's so," said Bobby Sebright. "Her heart 
 was touched. Sally May has a sympathetic 
 disposition." 
 
 " If I thought," said Father Roche, " that she'd go 
 on interesting herself, I'd see to it that Onny 
 Donovan didn't stop crying this side of Christmas. 
 It could be, done easy enough and I dare say it 
 would be good for the girl in the latter end. Anyway 
 it would do her no harm." 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 239 
 
 Mr. Mervyn murmured a protest. Onny 
 Donovan, pending her marriage to Jamesy Casey or 
 some one else, was his servant, and it would be very 
 unpleasant for him if she cried, without intermission, 
 for six months. But he was not thinking of himself, 
 or his own comfort. Like Mrs. Dann, he had a kind 
 heart. He felt sorry for Onny Donovan. 
 
 " It wouldn't work," said Bobby Sebright. " I 
 don't deny that you might do what you say. Con- 
 sidering your success this morning, I expect you'd be 
 able to keep the tears flowing ; but Sally May's 
 interest in the cascade would be likely to cool off. 
 Your first idea was better, gentlemen. A wedding is 
 what you want." 
 
 "We've tried that," said Father Roche, "and it 
 wasn't any good. And anyway the wedding's off." 
 
 " You surprise me," said Bobby Sebright. 
 
 "Jamesy Casey's mother didn't like the idea," 
 said Mr. Mervyn. 
 
 " And Where's the use of going on with it," said 
 Father Roche, " if it's only going to make things 
 worse instead of better ? A side-show was what she 
 called it ; but what we're determined on is to have no 
 show at all, either front or side." 
 
 " It's your affair, gentlemen," said Bobby Sebright, 
 "and if you've decided to drop the wedding, I 
 haven't a word to say. Sally May will be wasting 
 her energy trying to make the tender flower of 
 affection blossom in the girl's soul ; but that won't 
 matter any. Sally May can afford to waste a little 
 energy. It isn't necessary, in her case, that every 
 ounce she has should go to making a wheel buzz. 
 She has plenty to spare. But I think you're hasty 
 in condemning weddings right out. The fact is, you 
 didn't try them on a sufficiently striking scale. The 
 
240 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 young couple you produced this morning weren't up 
 to the mark in the way of romantic interest. What 
 you want is a bride of lofty lineage, a member of your 
 ancient but impoverished aristocracy, and the young 
 man of her choice should be kind of lowlier, but well 
 in the public eye. A poet, or other literary worker, 
 of acknowledged merit, would be particularly attractive 
 to Sally May. You lead up a couple of that kind, 
 and Sally May will take hold right away to the ex- 
 clusion of other interests." 
 
 " People of that sort is scarce in Druminawona," 
 said Father Roche. " I don't know could I name one, 
 either girl or boy, that would answer to the 
 description." 
 
 " I'm sure there's no one here," said Mr. Mervyn, 
 "who would do. And if there were, it's not likely 
 that they'd marry just to please us," 
 
 " Would it be any use, do you think," said Father 
 Roche, "if we were to provide her with three or 
 four more weddings of the same kind as Onny 
 Donovan's? I don't say it would be easy, but it 
 might be managed. There's boys and girls in the 
 place — you know some of them yourself, Mr. Mervyn 
 — who'd be none the worse of settling down. What 
 do you say to that, now, Mr. Sebright ? Would it 
 distract her mind if we had five of them ? " 
 
 "Weddings on an extended scale," said Bobby, 
 " would be attractive, for sure, if there weren't too 
 much sameness about them." 
 
 He paused, evidently thinking the matter over. 
 It became clear, by degrees, that Father Roche's 
 suggestion did not strike him as hopeful 
 
 " Gentlemen," he said at last, " I'm as anxious as 
 you are to divert Sally May's mind from her present 
 pursuit. I find myself involved in this Miracle Play, 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 241 
 
 and I haven't time to work it properly. If I could 
 wade in with an unoccupied mind and a proper know- 
 ledge of the position of the Ten Lost Tribes, I 
 shouldn't mind taking on the job. But the way I'm 
 fixed at present I can't do that. I mention this to 
 show you that your interests and mine are identical," 
 
 " I'm pleased to hear you say that," said Father 
 Roche. 
 
 " As a stranger in the locality I can't do much. 
 But the suggestion I'm going to throw out, if acted 
 on, would have the desired effect." 
 
 " If it isn't murder," said Father Roche, " we'll 
 act on it." 
 
 " I'd do almost anything," said Mr. Mervyn, " to 
 avoid the kind of public scandal to which a Miracle 
 Play in Druminawona would give rise." 
 
 " Find a husband for Sally May herself." 
 
 " If we could do that," said Father Roche. " But 
 sure we couldn't. Who'd marry the like of her ? " 
 
 "There's no one here," said Mr. Mervyn, "who 
 could possibly marry her." 
 
 " I was thinking," said Bobby, " that perhaps one 
 
 of you two After all, she's quite a good-looking 
 
 woman still, and you may take my word for it that 
 the dollars are there. What do you say now. Father 
 Roche ? " 
 
 " Only for there being a rule of the Church," said 
 Father Roche, " that a priest can't marry, I'd do it to- 
 morrow. But it's a good notion surely. And I don't 
 see why Mr. Mervyn mightn't be glad enough " 
 
 " I can't," said Mr. Mervyn — " she's my sister-in- 
 law." 
 
 " Well," said Bobby, " I must be getting back to 
 my work. I haven't got half-way through the pre- 
 liminary notices of your play, and Sally May wants 
 
 R 
 
242 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 them mailed to-morrow for sure. Just you think over 
 that proposal of mine, and see if you can't settle it 
 between yourselves." 
 
 He lit a fresh cigarette, nodded to the two clergy- 
 men, and walked briskly towards the house. Father 
 Roche and Mr. Mervyn went together slowly in the 
 opposite direction. For a while neither of them 
 spoke. Father Roche glanced at his companion, 
 from time to time, as if he expected some sign which 
 would encourage him to re-open the discussion about 
 finding a husband for Mrs. Dann. But Mr. Mervyn 
 walked on with his eyes rigidly fixed on a point just 
 ahead of him. It was not until they reached the 
 high road that Father Roche spoke. 
 
 " A man might do worse than marry that one," he 
 said, "supposing he was inclined to marry at all. 
 And they tell me — I know nothing about it myself, 
 of course — but they tell me a wife's a great comfort 
 to a man when he's getting on in years." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn edged gradually away from Father 
 Roche. He was walking along the edge of the ditch 
 on the far side of the road when the priest spoke 
 again. 
 
 " And t'lat one's old enough to have sense," he 
 said, " and it's likely that she would have sense if she 
 had a husband that she had to look after. A man 
 might do worse, and that's a fact. If she was a 
 young girl I wouldn't suggest it ; but she's turned 
 fifty if she's a day." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn was not inclined to discuss Mrs. 
 Dann's merits as a wife. An argument on the 
 subject, even if conducted in an impersonal way, 
 seemed to him dangerous. 
 
 " There's no doubt," said Father Roche, " that if 
 any one was to marry her it would distract her mind. 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 243 
 
 We'd hear no more of the play, nor the lost tribes 
 nor the soda-water, if she was to be occupied in buy- 
 ing wedding-dresses." 
 
 This was probably quite true, but Mr, Mervyn 
 refused to express any opinion about it. 
 
 " Tell me now," said Father Roche, " wasn't there 
 a law passed by Parliament that a man might marry 
 his deceased wife's sister if he wanted to ? " 
 
 Mr. Mervyn felt that he must in the end make 
 some kind of reply to Father Roche. Like most 
 meek men, he was capable, when driven into a corner, 
 of surprising audacity. He made a bold counter- 
 attack on Father Roche. 
 
 " So far as laws go " he said, " there's no law 
 made by Parliament whfch forbids your marrying 
 her. Why don't you .' " 
 
 "There's the law of the Church." 
 
 " Well," said Mr. Mervyn, " the law of my Church 
 doesn't allow me to marry my deceased wife's sister." 
 
 It struck him while he spoke that Mrs. Dann was 
 not his deceased wife's sister. She was the widow of 
 the brother of his deceased wife. He could not, at 
 the moment, recollect whether a lady in such a position 
 did, or did not, come within the table of forbidden 
 degrees. The matter might be open to argument. 
 He looked round, uneasily, hoping that Father Roche 
 did not know exactly the relationship between him 
 and Mrs. Dann. But the priest vias unexpectedly 
 well informed. 
 
 " Now that I come to think of itj" he said, " she's 
 not your deceased wife's sister. My own opinion is 
 that she's no relation to you, either good or bad." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn took refuge in silence again. 
 
 " If you were to marry her," said Father Roche 
 — " and I'm not saying now that you should ; but 
 
244 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 supposing you were married to her it might be a very 
 good thing for you." 
 
 " There's no use talking about that," said Mr. 
 Mervyn ; " I don't believe I could even if I wanted 
 to. And I don't want to. I'd rather — I'd rather 
 have the Miracle Play than that." 
 
 "She's a lady," said Father Roche, "with a 
 wonderful way of getting what she wants done. 
 There's few that would stand up against her, I'd 
 say now that if she married a lawyer she'd have him 
 made a judge before long. Or if it was a military 
 man she fancied, he'd be a general before any one 
 would be able to stop it. If it happened to be a 
 clergyman, like yourself now — not meaning anything 
 personal by that — he'd be an archdeacon for certain, 
 and very likely a bishop after that," 
 
 The prospect, an alluring one for many men, had 
 no attraction for Mr. Mervyn. Life held trouble 
 enough for a simple rector of a tiny country parish. 
 Archdeacons and bishops have, of course, worse things 
 to bear and are harder pressed by difficulties. It 
 was not in vain that Mr. Mervyn had steeped him- 
 self in the philosophy of Wordsworth. He shrank 
 from the responsibility of greatness with a genuine 
 jfear, 
 
 "I'd say too," said Father Roche, "that Miss 
 Mervyn wouldn't have any objection to living in the 
 house with Mrs. Dann, A young lady like her 
 would be all the better of having somebody to look 
 after her, and to take her here and there as might be 
 required. It's balls and parties that they're looking 
 for at that age, and small blame to them. It's little 
 enough of such amusements any young lady gets in 
 Druminawona. I'm not blaming you, Mr. Mervyn, 
 for I know it's not your fault. You can't give her 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 245 
 
 what you haven't got. There's no young men about 
 here that's her equals ; and it's a pity, so it is, to see 
 her wanting what she ought to have." 
 
 They reached the gate of the rectory. Mr. 
 Mervyn held out his hand. Father Roche shook it 
 heartily. 
 
 " You'll think over what I've been saying to you," 
 he said. 
 
 •' No," said Mr. Mervyn. "I can't. I can't even 
 consider it. Besides, I'm sure she'd never think of 
 marrying me." 
 
 "I'd put in a good word for you," said Father 
 Roche, "and Mr. Sebright would do the same. It 
 would be a good thing for yourself, and for her, and 
 for Miss Mervyn, and for the whole of us, if you 
 could see your way to do it." 
 
 " Hush," said Mr. Mervyn. 
 
 He had good reason for wishing Father Roche to 
 be silent. Delia was coming towards him. 
 
 " Will you look at her .' " said Father Roche. 
 " Will you look well at her now, and tell me this : 
 Isn't it a sin and a shame to keep a young lady like 
 that in Druminawona ? It's in the Lord Lieutenant's 
 court she ought to be drinking tea with the highest 
 in the land." 
 
 Delia deserved admiration. When her father had 
 left her, carrying off Onny Donovan with him, she 
 had gone to her room and dressed herself. Onny 
 had, indeed, taken the smartest of the blouses, but 
 there were others hardly less delightful. One after 
 another Delia tried them on. There was a dress, a 
 whole dress, bodice and skirt, made of pale pink silk, 
 draped with swathes of delicately shaded chiffon. 
 By great good luck it almost fitted her. The putting 
 in of pins here and there, the ripping off and 
 
246 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 re-sewing of some hooks and eyes was a pleasure, not 
 a toil ; and Delia, who for years had been her own 
 dressmaker, did it skilfully. A hat was found — one 
 of nine hats, all beautiful, which suited the dress. It 
 was white, trimmed with the daintiest lace, and pink 
 roses clustered round it. Delia thrilled as she snipped 
 the shop label off it. The price of it was five guineas. 
 Before she put it on she loosened and re-arranged her 
 hair, patted errant tresses into subjection, trained 
 curling swathes over her ears. A hat which cost five 
 guineas deserved a well-ordered resting-place. Laid 
 out in a drawer were eighteen pairs of gloves, each 
 pair deliciously wrapped in tissue-paper. Delia 
 turned them over pair by pair. There were pale grey 
 gloves, fawn-coloured, brown and white. They were 
 of various lengths — wrist long, elbow long, and there 
 was one pair which would have reached about to 
 Delia's shoulder. She chose a white pair, with three 
 buttons and a long smooth space beyond the buttons. 
 The sleeves of the dress were short. Delia wanted 
 gloves to reach to the elbow. In a small box, all by 
 themselves, were stockings. There were twelve pairs 
 of them, all of silk. Delia drew them through her 
 hands, delighting in the feel of them. She crushed a 
 pair in her hand, holding it to her ear that she might 
 listen to the curious creaking of the silk. In the 
 end she chose a thick black pair to wear. She was 
 troubled only about her shoes. There were no 
 London shoes. 
 
 She set the looking-glass on her dressing-table at 
 the proper angle, and propped it securely with a 
 clothes-brush. She turned round and round, with a 
 small mirror in her hand, viewed herself from the 
 front, the back, and the sides, and dimpled with 
 delight. She brought the looking-glass from her 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 247 
 
 father's room and set it on a chair. It gave her new 
 and fuller views of the wonderful clothes. From the 
 bottom of one of the boxes she took a parasol, lace- 
 trimmed, exquisitely white, with a long handle of 
 mother-of-pearl. She went downstairs and out of 
 doors. She felt that she must let the sun shine on 
 her. 
 
 There is no doubt — all women and most men 
 agree on the point — that expensive and fashionable 
 clothes add greatly to the beauty of the wearer. 
 Poets, and even novelists, sometimes write as if the 
 simple frock of russet brown and such-like garments 
 are the truest adornments of a good figure and a 
 pretty face. But their statements are not true, unless 
 the lady of whom they write is particularly un- 
 sophisticated. Any woman, who has given thought 
 to the subject of clothes, knows that fine raiment 
 makes her look beautiful, and that home-made gowns 
 of simple stliff do not. The particular form which is 
 fashionable at the moment does not matter. Skirts 
 may be flounced or tight as the sheaths of beech-leaf 
 buds, bellowed out all round with crinolines, or puffed 
 in one particular spot with bustles — the only essential 
 thing is that the garment should be fashionable. The 
 truth is that no clothes, in themselves, whatever their 
 shape, do much to set off the beauty of a beautiful 
 girl or to disguise the plainness of a plain one. If 
 there were any clothes which would do such things, 
 we should long ago have found out what they are, 
 and women would never wear anything else. What 
 good clothes do for a woman is to make her happy, 
 and to increase the brightness of her eyes, add to her 
 sense of self-respect, and so give grace and confidence 
 to her pose. They bestow on her a feeling of 
 superiority to other women, and therefore create in 
 
248 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 her a consciousness of queenliness which makes her 
 movements charming. It is not a case of artistic 
 drapings setting off a beautiful object. The drapings 
 very seldom are artistic and almost always tend to 
 destroy the natural beauty and grace of the wearer. 
 This is the reason why no statue can be dressed in 
 modern clothes without becoming ridiculous. Statues 
 of women wear sheets if they wear anything at all ; 
 because the makers of statues, being artists, know that 
 skirts and bodices would spoil their work. 
 
 But clothes, any conceivable kind of clothes, so 
 long as they are fashionable at the moment, improve 
 instead of spoiling the living woman. The fact is 
 that the woman differs from the statue in having a 
 soul. The clothes acting through the soul improve 
 her body. There is an actual creation of new beauty, 
 by means of an inward joy, which finds expression in 
 face, form, and gait. Therefore fashionable clothes, 
 which would ruin any Venus ever carved in stone, 
 improve the living wearer. Therefore also — our 
 instinct in this matter is perfectly sound — fashions 
 must be perpetually changing. There would be no 
 inward satisfaction, and therefore no splendour of 
 fresh beauty, to be got by wearing clothes which were, 
 so to speak, stale. 
 
 Delia was a girl of natural good taste. She had 
 often 'succeeded in dressing herself neatly and 
 becomingly. She had never before in her whole life 
 worn clothes which were expensive and fashionable. 
 Standing in the sunshine on the steps of the shabby 
 little rectory, she was conscious of a glow of un- 
 imagined joy. She felt that she was beautiful, and 
 therefore she became beautiful. For a few minutes 
 the sunshine was sufficient for her. She required no 
 companionship, It was happiness enough to stand, in 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 249 
 
 radiant glory with the bright light on her frock, 
 swinging, opening, and furling again the white sun- 
 shade. Then there came to her a desire for human 
 sympathy. If Onny Donovan had been at home 
 Delia would have called her. Onny was a tiresome 
 girl with a strong distaste for the work she was paid 
 to do. But Onny could be relied on to admire new 
 clothes. Delia was angry with her — very angry that 
 she had gone away to be married with her work un- 
 done, still angrier that she had dared to take the best 
 and grandest of the London blouses. But Delia, 
 magnanimous now, would have forgiven her for the 
 sake of hearing her rapturous gasps of surprise and 
 admiration. But Onny was not there. Nor was her 
 father. There remained the possibility that .(Eneas 
 Sweeny might, contrary to his habit, be working in 
 the garden. 
 
 Delia went round to the garden, stepping delicately, 
 the pink skirt lifted daintily lest grass or gravel should 
 touch it, the sunshade held proudly above her hat. 
 JEne&s was sitting, wrapped in deep thought, on a 
 corner of the wheelbarrow. Past experience taught 
 him that Delia was likely to upbraid him for idleness. 
 He stood up ready to; produce plausible excuses as 
 soon as she spoke. But a single glance convinced 
 him that this time, at all events, Delia would see 
 nothing wrong about sitting on a wheelbarrow. She 
 was too radiantly happy to find fault with any one. 
 ^neas was quick to sympathise. 
 
 " Begging your pardon, miss, for making so free," 
 he said, " but that's the finest dress that ever I seen, 
 and the hat along with it beats all." 
 
 This was what Delia wanted. ^Eneas had not the 
 educated eye which discerns excellence of detail, but 
 his praise sounded absolutely sincere. She paraded 
 
2SO THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 slowly along the garden path, passed ^Eneas, turned, 
 and passed him again. The back of the dress was as 
 effective as the front. 
 
 " The Queen of Spain's daughter," said ^neas, 
 " wouldn't be finer, nor half as fine." 
 
 The daughter of the present Queen of Spain is, of 
 course, a mere infant, and cannot be expected to 
 parade garden paths in pink frocks, .^neas was not 
 thinking of her, nor of any other actual daughter of 
 any queen. He had inherited from a long line of 
 ancestors a dim legendary conception of Spain as the 
 greatest of the world powers. All splendour was hers 
 when her galleons brought unimaginable wealth from 
 the Americas, and she landed" steel-clad men-at-arms 
 on Irish soil to test their strength in battle against 
 the buccaneers of Queen Elizabeth: A daughter of 
 the royal house might then be fitly conceived of as 
 beautiful exceedingly, and clad in cloth of gold. It 
 was to her that he compared Delia, and, partly under- 
 standing him, she was pleased. She closed the sun- 
 shade, and allowed him to admire the mother-of-pearl 
 handle, and the great gilt knob at the end of it 
 
 "Jewels," he said fervently — "jewels out of gold- 
 mines. Now what might the like of that umbrella 
 cost, Miss Delia ? " 
 
 " Pounds," said Delia ; " I don't quite know how 
 many. The hat cost five." 
 
 " Glory be to God ! " said ^neas, " but I'll say 
 this. There isn't one in Ireland has a better right to 
 wear it, for there isn't one it would look better on 
 than yourself. And to think of Onny Donovan 
 having the brazen impudence to be wearing some 
 of them clothes. It's bet she ought to be instead 
 of married ; but there's some that doesn't get what 
 they deserve." 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 251 
 
 Delia did not want to hear more about Onny and 
 her blouse. It is foolish to allow annoying thoughts 
 to spoil the emotion of a glorious hour. Besides, 
 iEneas had said all that any man could be expected 
 to say in the way of compliment. When you have 
 been compared favourably to the Queen of Spain's 
 daughter, and have been assured that no one in 
 Ireland can look better than you do, there is no 
 further admiration possible. Delia left the garden, 
 picked her way trippingly to the front of the house 
 again, and went down to the gate at the end of 
 the drive. There she came upon her father and the 
 priest. 
 
 "I was just saying to your father," said Father 
 Roche, "that it's in Dublin you ought to be, driving 
 up and down Grafton Street in a motor-car, with a 
 bouquet of lilies in your hand and two of the aides- 
 de-camp of the Lord Lieutenant sitting the one on 
 each side of you." 
 
 Delia smiled delightedly. She had not expected 
 compliments from Father Roche. 
 
 "I'm afraid," said Mr, Mervyn, "that there's not 
 much chance " 
 
 " There's every chance," said Father Roche, " and 
 it's a fine match she'd make, God bless her, if you 
 did your duty by her and gave her the opportunities 
 she ought to have. There's many a lady now sitting 
 in her castle, with a maid attending on her, that 
 wouldn't be there at all if the man who married her 
 had seen Miss Mervyn before he did it. Will you 
 think it over, Mr. Mervyn .' " 
 
 This time Mr. Mervyn said good-bye, firmly. 
 Father Roche went on towards the village. Delia 
 and her father went up to the rectory together. 
 
 " Delia," said Mr. Mervyn, " I hope " 
 
252 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 "Father," she said, "you're not vexed with me, 
 are you ? " 
 
 The tone in which he spoke told her that he was 
 troubled and perplexed. 
 
 " They're only the things Aunt Sally May gave 
 me," she said. " It isn't wrong to wear them." 
 
 " No, no, Delia. It's quite right of you to wear 
 them. I don't want to deprive you of any little 
 pleasure — indeed, I wish I could give you more. 
 But I hope all those fine things won't make you 
 discontented with your home, Delia. We've always 
 been very happy here together ! " 
 
 Delia sighed. The rectory at Druminawona is 
 not a very lively home. The daily task of harassing 
 Onny Donovan was dull and wearing. But Delia 
 was loyal. 
 
 "But I anr quite happy, father," she said. "I 
 don't want any other home — only I do like wearing 
 nice things when I get them." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn went into his study. He took up a 
 Prayer-book and turned to the last page of it. He 
 was desperately anxious to find that the table of 
 forbidden degrees is definite about the illegality of a 
 man marrying his deceased wife's brother's widow. 
 But the table of forbidden degrees is puzzling. It 
 begins simply enough. A grandmother is unmistak- 
 able. Farther it becomes difficult to keep track of 
 the exact relations who are banned. " 17. Wife's 
 sister. 18. Brother's wife." Was Mrs. Dann the 
 sister of Mrs. Mervyn in the eye of the Church ? 
 Was Nathan P. Dann, looked at ecclesiastically, Mr. 
 Mervyn's brother ? These are hard questions. Mr. 
 Mervyn wished he could be sure about the answer to 
 them. 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 When Mr. Mervyn and Father Roche left her house 
 Mrs. Dann stared after them in amazement. She 
 found it difficult to realise at first that they had 
 actually goflie. She felt annoyed with them for going 
 because she wanted to talk over several points 
 connected with the Miracle Play, and since the day 
 on which she interviewed them in the presbytery she 
 had found it hard to catch either one or other of 
 them. Then she began to wonder why they had 
 gone so suddenly. 
 
 " Say, Bobby," she said, " Phil and the priest 
 seemed to me to bolt rather unexpectedly." 
 
 " That's so," said Bobby ; " it struck me in the 
 same light." 
 
 " Do you think that Phil was riled ? I'd be sorry 
 to say anything to get his back up. I didn't mean 
 to ; but the artistic nature — Phil's an artist, Bobby, 
 don't you forget that, and the more I study on the 
 artistic nature the less I seem to be able to calculate 
 exactly when it will erupt." 
 
 " Seems to me," said Bobby, " that it wasn't so 
 much the Reverend Theophilus as the other clergy- 
 man who misunderstood you." 
 
 " I don't altogether get on to intimate terms with 
 his soul either," said Mrs. Dann. " I expect it's 
 religion in his case that keeps us apart. I'm not so 
 
254 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 much at home in religion as I ought to be, Bobby, in 
 spite pf your papa. I didn't get a chance of practising 
 sympathy along those lines with poor Nathan. If 
 that priest's a religious man — and he's not artistic, 
 so it can't be anything else — I'm not altogether 
 surprised that I lacerate his nervous system now and 
 then without meaning it. But I thought I spoke 
 with great respect of the marriage tie. You don't 
 think I underrated its sanctity, Bobby ? " 
 
 At this point Onny Donovan sobbed. She had 
 been crying quietly and unobtrusively ever since she 
 had entered the house. She was beginning to regain 
 confidence and to hope that nothing very terrible 
 was going to be done to her. She felt that she had 
 better call attention to her presence. She sobbed 
 again, quite loudly. Mrs. Dann turned round and 
 saw her. 
 
 " They've left the weeping orphan behind them," 
 she said. 
 
 " The bride," said Bobby Sebright. 
 
 Mrs. Dann went over to Onny and looked at her 
 carefully. Her attention was caught and held by 
 Onny's blouse. 
 
 " I kind of recognise that shirt waist," she said. 
 
 "She gave it to me," said Onny. "Miss Delia 
 gave it to me." 
 
 Then she burst into tears again, covered her face 
 with her hands, and sobbed convulsively. 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. Dann, " Delia's got as good a 
 right as any one to do what she likes with her 
 property. I'm not inclined to blame you. No girl 
 need refuse a present when it's offered her. So don't 
 you cry any more about that" 
 
 She spoke kindly, so kindly that Onny's courage 
 and presence of mind returned to her. 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 255 
 
 " What Miss Delia said was this," said Onny. 
 "She says, standing as it might be where your 
 ladyship is standing now : ' You may have the best 
 of them blouses for yourself, Onny, for you're a good 
 girl and you're going to be married, and I hope you'll 
 live long to enjoy it and that it may be more use to 
 you than ever it was to me.' That's what she said, 
 and it's the truth I'm telling you. Miss Delia was 
 always a real lady." 
 
 "I've seen girls," said Mrs. Dann, "that looked 
 brighter at the prospect of getting married than you 
 do. I don't remember shedding any tears when the 
 late Nathan P. Dann took me to Europe for our 
 wedding journey. But I expect you're modest." 
 
 "I am not," said Onny. "Why would I ? Isn't 
 Jamesy Casey a decent, well-living boy ? And didn't 
 the priest tell him he was to marry me .' " 
 
 "The priest told him to marry you! Do you 
 hear that, Bobby ? " 
 
 " Sure he wouldn't do it," said Onny, " if it wasn't 
 that Father Roche said he must. What would he 
 want with a wife when he has his mother to do for 
 him ? " 
 
 Mrs. Dann was shocked and horrified. She was 
 a woman of keen business instincts, but she was 
 intensely sentimental. It is a very curious thing that 
 business capacity and sentimentalism generally go 
 together. The English are businesslike and at the 
 same time such lovers of stories in which there is 
 a tender love interest that the editors of their 
 magazines cry out for them. The most usual occupa- 
 tion in England is money-making, and the most 
 popular poem is "Casablanca," by Mrs. Hemans. 
 The Americans are more sentimental even than the 
 English. They are also keen men of business. The 
 
256 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 Germans are rapidly coming to the front as the 
 world's most efficient clerks, and the Germans, while 
 drinking beer, weep over love poetry and squander 
 their souls in singing tunes like " The Lorelei." 
 Onny Donovan, on the other hand, could not be 
 taught to work methodically, but she had no illusions 
 whatever about love and marriage. The wife "did 
 for" her husband, washed his clothes and cooked 
 for him. He earned enough to feed and clothe 
 her. 
 
 "Are you going to marry a man," said Mrs. 
 Dann, "who wouldn't marry you unless he was 
 told to ? " 
 
 " I am, of course," said Onny. " What else 
 would I do?" 
 
 "But that's wrong," said Mrs. Dann. "Bobby, 
 what would your papa say to that ? I have heard 
 him speaking of loveless marriages as the crying 
 evil of civilisation. He's eloquent about that ; and he 
 sets a good example. You ask your mamma, Bobby, 
 what his feelings are. She's often talked to me 
 about him." 
 
 "The young lady," said Bobby, "may be shy 
 about discussing her inner emotions before* me. 
 Suppose you take her away and give her a cup of 
 tea. I expect she'd soften some in private, with 
 tea." 
 
 "Bobby," said Mrs. Dann, "you're real smart. 
 As a reader of the human heart you're far before me 
 I might have known she was modest." 
 
 " I am not," said Onny. 
 
 " Come right along," said Mrs. Dann. 
 
 She put her arm round Onny's waist and drew 
 her from the room. Onny stiffened under the clasp. 
 She was not accustomed to the embraces of ladies 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 257 
 
 like Mrs. Dann. She felt very uncomfortable ; but 
 she submitted, seeing no way of escape. 
 
 Mrs. Dann took Onny into the servants' hall. 
 The servants' hall was indeed a concession to 
 Onny's sense of propriety. Mrs. Dann went first to 
 the drawing-room, but Onny could not be persuaded 
 to sit down there. It was clearly impossible to talk 
 confidently about love while Onny stood bolt upright, 
 and the situation would have become worse if she 
 were obliged to hold a teacup in her hands. Mrs. 
 Dann tried the dining-room. Onny recognised that 
 Mrs. Dann meant kindly by the change of room. 
 She perched on the extreme corner of the last of a 
 long row of chairs which stood with their backs against 
 the wall. She sat bolt upright with her hands 
 folded on her lap. Mrs. Dann felt the absurdity of 
 taking the next chair, but she could not shout the 
 things she wanted to say across the room. The 
 dining-room in Druminawona House is very large. 
 It was built in the days when country gentlemen were 
 able to entertain their friends very hospitably because 
 there was no need to consider where guests were to 
 sleep. They had as many people as they liked to 
 dinner even in very remote country houses, for they 
 knew that all but a few survivors would spend the 
 early morning hours under the table. The houses 
 of that time had huge dining-rooms and compara- 
 tively few bedrooms. Halls of this kind are unsuited 
 to maidenly confessions. Mrs. Dann felt this, and 
 retreated to the housekeeper's room. Her house- 
 hold was not yet completely organised, and the 
 housekeeper's room, though fully furnished, was not 
 yet used by any one. It was therefore a good place 
 for a confidential talk, and Onny felt that she had a 
 right to be there. 
 
 S 
 
2S8 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 Mrs. Dann herself brought tea. By way of 
 establishing perfect confidence she filled two cups. 
 It was pleasant to see that Onny drank hers eagerly. 
 She had been through a trying morning. She had 
 received, within an hour of each other, a proposal of 
 marriage and a severe lecture for misappropriating 
 a blouse of great magnificence. She had been taken, 
 for the first time in her life, for a drive in a motor- 
 car, and had crouched at the feet of two clergymen, 
 who, if they had not intentionally kicked her, had 
 certainly wiped their boots on her clothes every time 
 the car jolted. She had been set by herself in a 
 corner of a large hall, and had felt that all her 
 misdeeds, her use of the blouse and others, were 
 likely to be brought up against her. Onny was not 
 a young woman of highly strung or very sensitive 
 nerves, but after such experiences the tea was 
 comforting. She had also cried a good deal, and 
 crying, like other forms of exercise which rob the 
 body of its moisture, induces thirst. Mrs. Dann 
 placed the sugar bowl within easy reach. Onny 
 helped herself freely and enjoyed her tea. 
 
 " Say now," said Mrs. Dann, " about this young 
 man of yours, you love him some, don't you ? " 
 
 " He's a decent, quiet kind of a boy," said Onny. 
 
 " I'm sure he loves you quite considerable," said 
 Mrs. Dann. 
 
 Onny was embarrassed. She bent her head 
 down and covered one of her eyes with her left hand. 
 Kisses are supposed to be, sometimes actually are, 
 pledges of affection. Onny did not want to talk 
 about her kisses. 
 
 " I wouldn't like to be talking of them things," 
 she said. 
 
 " There was a philosopher lecturing in New York 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 259 
 
 two years ago," said Mrs. Dann, " whose name I have 
 forgotten, but he was a big man from one of the 
 universities on this side, German, I think. His 
 subject was the psychology of sex. Some of our 
 society leaders didn't think his talk quite correct for 
 mixed audiences, and I admit it went rather over the 
 outside edge of our notion of female propriety. 
 We're rather strong on delicacy of language over our 
 side, though we admire the Bible. I didn't attend 
 any more after the first discourse ; but I don't forget 
 that he said some things about the value in the 
 evolutionary process of the reserve of militant maiden- 
 hood. If he was right about that I expect you'll be 
 an inestimable kind of ancestor for the flying man of 
 future ages to look back to. I can't remember that I 
 ever met any one with more reserve." 
 
 " I don't know will I be all that," said Onny, 
 "though I might, of course. Them things weren't 
 taught when I was going to school." 
 
 " But I don't see that you need be ashamed 
 to own up to a middling warm affection for your 
 future husband." 
 
 " He's a decent boy," said Onny, " and he has a 
 nice place to take any girl home to if it wasn't for 
 his mother." 
 
 "You oughtn't to marry him," said Mrs. Dann, 
 explosively. 
 
 " Is it on account of his mother ? I was thinking 
 that myself." 
 
 " No, no. It does not matter about his mother," 
 
 " It's all very fine to be talking," said Onny, " but 
 it's me that'll have to live with her.'' 
 
 Mrs. Dann was moved to high emotion. It 
 seemed to her horrible that a young girl could thus 
 weigh the advantages and disadvantages of what 
 
26o THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 should be life's great romantic adventure. It was 
 not in this spirit that she had entered: upon her union 
 with Nathan P. Dann, nor had she ever allowed the 
 early glamour of her love for her Irish husband to die 
 completely away. On birthdays and anniversaries of 
 every kind she had reminded him by gifts, often 
 accompanied with poetical quotations, that love was 
 worth more than gold, that even the passage of many 
 years could not quench it. Nathan had always been 
 slightly bored, often as seriously embarrassed as 
 Onny Donovan. He did not indeed, as she did, 
 cover his eye with his hand or hang his head. He 
 either changed the subject Rapidly or left the room. 
 But Mrs. Dann never doubted him. She explained 
 to him — when he gave her the opportunity — that his 
 apparent coldness was in reality the cloak of deep, 
 unutterable feeling, that it was the reticence charac- 
 teristic of strong, virile natures. 
 
 This excuse would not fit the case of Onny 
 Donovan. Young girls have no right to be virile, 
 and extreme reticence is not admirable in any 
 woman who has just been wooed and won. 
 
 " You ought not to marry him," said Mrs. Dann, 
 " indeed you ought not, unless you love him and he 
 loves you." 
 
 Her voice was usually high pitched, but it 
 dropped a whole tone when she reached the word 
 " love." She said " he loves you " in a deep contralto, 
 almost religious in its suggestion, eloquent of con- 
 fidential intensity. Onny, strengthened and cheered 
 with tea, was becoming self-confident, and the con- 
 viction was gaining in her mind that Mrs. Dann was 
 not quite sane. 
 
 " Talk sense, can't you ? " she said. 
 
 " Sense," said Mrs. Dann, " isn't natural in a 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 261 
 
 girl in your position, and what's not natural is 
 wrong." 
 
 It is not likely that Onny knew what Mrs. Dann 
 meant. If she had known she would certainly have 
 protested strongly against being blamed for running 
 counter to nature. Onny was Irish, and Ireland is 
 an island of saints. It is the leading characteristic of 
 saints that they despise and defeat nature. If they 
 merely followed it they would not be saints. Onny 
 had, indeed, yielded to the blandishments of nature 
 when she hid behind a laurel-bush with Jamesy 
 Casey, and when she had received him in the rectory 
 kitchen. But, so far from glorying in being natural, 
 she was deeply ashamed of herself afterwards — so 
 deeply ashamed that she went to bed in all her 
 clothes in the hope of concealing her lapse. 
 
 "It's not natural," said Mrs. Dann again 
 despairingly. 
 
 Then Michael Staunton entered the room. He 
 had a cigarette in his mouth and a copy of a weekly 
 journal of the motor trade in his hands. 
 
 The position of a chauffeur in society is a difficult 
 one. He refuses to regard himself as, strictly 
 speaking, a servant, holding, very properly, that he is 
 a scientific expert. On the other hand, be is a new 
 man ; and domestics of old-established position, 
 butlers, housekeepers and lady's-maids, will not admit 
 him to the rigidly defined circle of upper servants. 
 To them he is no more than the successor of the 
 discarded coachman. And the coachman never 
 dined in the housekeeper's room. Michael Staunton 
 had been in several situations and was aware that his 
 position was a delicate one. He consented to din e 
 in the kitchen on the day of his arrival at Drumina- 
 wona House, partly because he was very hungry 
 
262 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 and wanted to dine somewhere as soon as possible, 
 partly because he thought it wise to be on good 
 terms with the cook. But he did not wish to sit in 
 the kitchen afterwards. He said that he wanted to 
 smoke, and suggested that the smell of tobacco 
 might be disagreeable to the cook and the other 
 ladies present. The cook directed him to the house- 
 keeper's room. She did not want him in the kitchen, 
 suspecting that he might distract the scuUerymaid 
 from her duties by flirting with her. The house- 
 keeper's room was unoccupied, and the cook, though 
 she might have called herself cook-housekeeper, had 
 the soul of a democrat. She had no objection to a 
 chauffeur using a room which she did not want herself. 
 
 Michael Staunton took his cigarette out of his 
 mouth when he saw Mrs. Dann. He was not, and 
 knew he was not, entitled to sit and smoke in the 
 housekeepers room. On the other hand, Mrs. Dann 
 had certainly much less right to be there than he 
 had. No lady, who understood what was due to her 
 household and herself, would drink tea with a strange 
 maid in the housekeeper's room in the middle of the 
 day. But Michael Staunton had good manners. 
 He tried to make Mrs. Dann feel that he, and not 
 she, was the intruder. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, madam," he said. 
 
 All good servants say "madam" rather than 
 " ma'am." The abbreviation is a vulgarism, and is 
 used now only by the higher nobility and favoured 
 courtiers when addressing the queen. 
 
 Mrs. Dann rose at once. She had failed to make 
 any impression on Onny Donovan, and was glad of 
 some excuse for getting out of the room. 
 
 " I hope you've had your dinner," she said. " I 
 guessed you'd be hungry when you arrived, and I 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 263 
 
 just told the cook to give you a proper dinner right 
 away without waiting for the regular hour." 
 
 "Thank you, madam," said Michael Staunton. 
 " Most kind of you." 
 
 " You might have a fancy for a cup of tea," said 
 Mrs. Dann. " If so there's the teapot, and there's 
 quite a complete service of china in the cupboard 
 behind the door. When you've finished just you 
 wind up that automobile and take this young lady 
 down to the rectory. She'll be wanted there. But 
 don't be in a hurry about starting. I'll send you 
 down a letter which you can deliver to my niece." 
 "Yes, madam," said Michael Staunton. 
 Mrs. Dann found Bobby Sebright finishing a 
 cigarette on the steps outside the hall door. It was 
 the same cigarette he had lit when he left Mr. 
 Mervyn and Father Roche. He had just got back to 
 the house after his interview with them. 
 
 "Bobby," she said, "that girl's got no heart. 
 She's not like any mortal girl I've ever met. I'm 
 sorry for the man that marries her. He has an 
 unhappy life before him for sure." 
 
 " The young man," said Bobby, " won't suffer any. 
 He's been let off. Your reverend brother-in-law told 
 me that that particular wedding wasn't going to 
 eventuate." 
 
 " I'm right down glad to hear it." 
 " Seems to have been a mistake right the whole 
 way along," said Bobby. " Prospective bride in 
 tears ; husband elect not enthused ; parish priest 
 regretful of having misapprehended situation with 
 the intention of benevolence. Life's chock full of 
 tragedies arising out of good intentions. According 
 to recent scientific research, all criminals are bubbling 
 over with good intentions, though mistaken." 
 
264 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 " Bobby," said Mrs. Dann, " I'm going to write a 
 note this minute to Delia Mervyn, asking her to 
 come up here and spend the rest of the day with me. 
 I want the society of a properly-minded, natural girl 
 to restore my faith in human nature. And Delia's 
 that. Theophilus may be a bit high-toned, but 
 Delia's natural. It gratified me to see her going 
 wild over the outfit I had sent along from London. 
 You'll take that note down to the chauffeur, Bobby, 
 and tell him to bring Delia back with him. I own 
 up that I'm a little shy of that chauffeur. His 
 manners are European, and I'm not accustomed to 
 them yet." 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 Michael Staunton was as courteous to Onny 
 Donovan as he had been to his mistress. After Mrs. 
 Dann left the room he still held the cigarette in his 
 hand without puffing at it. 
 
 " I hope you don't object to smoke, miss," he said. 
 
 Onny had never been addressed as " miss " before. 
 She was greatly pleased. She had not the slightest 
 objection to the smell of tobacco, and at the moment 
 there was no smell to object to. The cigarette, being 
 one of those -made of Virginian tobacco, had gone out 
 while Michael Staunton was talking to Mrs. Dann. 
 Onny smiled pleasantly. 
 
 "I do not," she said. "Why would I? Isn't 
 yEneas Sweeny always smoking in and out of the 
 kitchen } " 
 
 Michael Staunton struck a match and relighted 
 his cigarette. It struck him that Onny Donovan was 
 a good-looking girl. He took the packet which had 
 contained the cigarette out of his pocket, and drew 
 a small picture from it. It was one of a series of 
 pictures of eminent musicians. One portrait was 
 given away with each packet of this particular kind of 
 cigarette. This one represented Johannes Brahms. He 
 offered it to Onny, bowing courteously. 
 
 " Many ladies collect these pictures," he said. 
 " Perhaps you'd like this one. You needn't hesitate 
 to take it. It's of no value to me." 
 
266 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 Onny took it. She did not collect cigarette 
 pictures and had no interest whatever in the appear- 
 ance of Brahms. But she thought Michael Staunton 
 a very polite young man. His manners were peculiar, 
 unlike those of any young man whom she had ever 
 known intimately ; but they struck her as pleasant. 
 Michael Staunton bowed again and offered her a 
 cigarette. 
 
 " Most ladies smoke now," he said. " It's quite 
 the thing after dinner in good society." 
 
 If he expected to startle Onny Donovan, or to 
 impress her with his knowledge of a fast and fashion- 
 able world, he was mistaken. There was nothing 
 shocking to her in the idea of a woman smoking. Her 
 own mother smoked, not cigarettes, but a short clay 
 pipe. A great many other women whom she knew 
 smoked habitually, rubbing the black twist tobacco 
 to shreds in the palm of their hands as shamelessly as 
 the most hardened man. 
 
 " I don't know would I like it," she said. 
 
 "Try," said Michael Staunton ; " it's very soothing 
 to the nerves." 
 
 Onny took the cigarette, and put one end of it 
 well into her mouth. Michael Staunton lit a match 
 and h^ld it for her. She puffed experimentally, 
 keeping the smoke in her mouth for as short a time 
 as possible and blowing it away from her face 
 vigorously. Michael Staunton sat down on the table 
 beside her. He talked most politely, and Onny was 
 more and more impressed by his wide knowledge of 
 the world and evident superiority to other young 
 men. At first he told her about his own experiences, 
 and she was not obliged to do anything except 
 wonder and admire. Then he began to insinuate 
 personal questions. He wanted to know whether she 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 267 
 
 was thinking of becoming lady's-maid to Mrs. Dann, 
 Dnny did not intend, if she could help it, to lose the 
 respect of this brilliant young man. She was unwilling 
 to confess that she was no more than a general servant 
 in a very inferior position. She succeeded without 
 much effort in leaving him under the impression that 
 she was Miss Mervyn's personal maid. ./Eneas 
 Sweeny, so Michael gathered from the conversation, 
 was butler at the rectory. He found no difficulty in 
 believing either statement. He was a highly- 
 educated young man, and he knew that the blouse 
 which Onny wore had originally been expensive. It 
 looked to him well worn, quite the sort of blouse 
 which might have been passed on from an opulent 
 mistress to a favourite maid. He felt that he might, 
 without loss of dignity, flirt with Onny Donovan. 
 She was a pretty girl, with peculiar, bright red hair, 
 and amber-coloured eyes of a kind which he had 
 never seen before. She had chewed away half of her 
 cigarette and smoked a quarter of it. He offered her 
 another. But Onny did not like the taste of the 
 shreds of tobacco which were clinging to her tongue 
 and lips. She declined to eat any more cigarette. 
 
 "Do," said Michael Staunton persuasively. "A 
 young lady never looks prettier than when she's 
 smoking." 
 
 " Get out," said Onny delightedly. 
 
 Then Bobby Sebright~came into the room. 
 Michael Staunton jumped down off the table and 
 stood rigidly upright. He understood that Bobby 
 had brought the letter of which Mrs. Dann had 
 spoken. 
 
 " Shall I start at once, sir ? " he said. 
 
 " Well," said Bobby, " unless this young lady feels 
 shy about finishing her cigarette in the open air, we 
 
268 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 may as vtell be getting along. I'll have my coat on 
 when you bring the car round to the door." 
 
 Onny dropped the mangled remains of her 
 cigarette and put her foot on them. Michael Staunton 
 was unembarrassed. 
 
 " You're coming with us, sir ? " he said. " Very 
 good, sir." 
 
 " I shall drive," said Bobby. " You can look after 
 the young lady." 
 
 He left the room. Michael Staunton turned to 
 Onny and noticed that she was blushing. 
 
 " Bien entendu," he said, with a fascinating smile. 
 He had once driven a motor-car through France and 
 was familiar with the language of that country. 
 Onny was not. 
 
 " I'm sorry now," she said, " that I didn't learn the 
 Irish when I had the chance. My mother talks it 
 grand." 
 
 Mrs. Dann helped Bobby on with his overcoat. 
 
 " You bring Delia back with you for sure," she 
 said. " I want her, and anyway it's not good for her 
 to be shut up too long alone with Theophilus. I 
 admire him. There are times when I could kiss him 
 on account of the beautiful simplicity of his nature. 
 But he's trying for Delia. It's not natural for a young 
 girl to love Wordsworth all day." 
 
 "The weeping bride is more natural than you 
 think," said Bobby. " I reckon you're mistaken 
 about her. Her conduct with your chauffeur is normal; 
 I didn't think to knock at the door before interrupting, 
 so I know." 
 
 " Don't tell me ! " said Mrs. Dann. " Bobby, you 
 don't mean that she's going to marry the young man 
 with the European manners .' I'd never have 
 dared." 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 269 
 
 " I don't go so far as to say they've fixed the 
 wedding day," said Bobby, "but she'd eaten half a 
 cigarette to please him, and that strikes me as a reliable 
 token of affection and respect. Very few girls on our 
 side would do as much." 
 
 "That girl interests me," said Mrs. Dann. "I 
 couldn't get her to confide, but I may have been mis- 
 taken in saying she had no heart. I'll ask Delia about 
 her. Delia will be sure to know. She has me beat, 
 Bobby. I expect a girl like that would have upset 
 Nathan. The Ten Lost Tribes wouldn't have 
 accounted for her." 
 
 The mention of the Ten Tribes reminded Bobby 
 of the Miracle Play. The floor of the hail was still 
 strewn with the preliminary notices he had written 
 before Mr. Mervyn and Father Roche burst in to 
 disturb his work. 
 
 " We shan't be able to mail those notices to-day," 
 he said. "I haven't written out more than half of 
 them, and it might cause jealousy if we supplied the 
 other half of the organs of public opinion with the 
 news a day late. It won't pay us to rile any important 
 editor by want of proper respect." 
 
 "They can stand over," said Mrs. Dann. "I'll 
 tidy up the litter when you're gone. The Miracle 
 Play is a good idea, but it won't spoil by being kept 
 waiting. No one else is likely to cut in.'' 
 
 Bobby was smiling when he got into the motor-car. 
 Mrs. Dann was less eager about her play than she had 
 been when she set him to work in the morning. The 
 intricacies of Onny Donovan's nature were exciting 
 her. He was glad that he had undertaken to drive 
 the car. Michael Staunton, sitting with Onny in the 
 tonneau, would have opportunities for developing still 
 further the normal side of the girl's character. 
 
2/0 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 Unfortunately Michael would not, perhaps could 
 not, use his chances. Onny ^settled herself in her 
 corner of the tonneau and smiled at him in an 
 encouraging way. But in Michael Staunton the 
 scientist was stronger than the natural man. He 
 could not treat Onny kindly while Bobby Sebright 
 was dealing with the motor-car in a way calculated 
 to injure its delicate mechanism. Michael Staunton 
 leaned forward in his seat, and watched Bobby 
 anxiously. It was plain to him before they had 
 gone three hundred yards that Bobby knew very 
 little about motors. A little further on anxiety about 
 the car gave way to nervousness about his own safety. 
 Bobby liked speed, and the Druminawona House 
 avenue is not only narrow but has many corners. 
 The wheels of the car often cut deep ruts in the grass 
 at the sides of the avenue, and Bobby's way of getting 
 back to the avenue was abrupt. The gates lay close 
 ahead of ithem. Michael Staunton leaned further 
 forward and ventured to touch Bobby's arm. 
 
 "I call this fine," said Bobby, without looking 
 round. 
 
 They rushed through the gate, just grazing it wiHi 
 one of the mud-guards. The car swept round into 
 the road with two wheels in the air. Michael Staunton 
 was flung into Onny's lap. She appeared to be 
 enjoying the fun. Michael was in a sweat of miserable 
 apprehension. The car was running at well over 
 thirty miles an hour and there was a steep hill in 
 front of them. 
 
 " Glory be to God ! " said Onny in fervent delight. 
 
 The road was very rough and she was bumping 
 up and down on the springy seat. The sensation was 
 the most delightful she had ever experienced. Michael 
 Staunton clutched the back of the driver's seat with 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 271 
 
 his hands, and stared at the road before them with 
 glassy eyes. His face was damp and cold. He 
 realised that a cart, a cow, or a flock of sheep on the 
 road meant disaster. In his experience there 
 generally were carts or cows or sheep on Irish roads. 
 But Fate is kindest to those who least deserve her 
 favours. The road was quite empty and Bobby 
 swept through the rectory gate witl^but doing any- 
 thing worse than crushing out of shape one of his 
 mud-guards. He stopped the car with a jerk which 
 shot Onny forward from her seat and left her 
 sprawling against the front of the tonneau. She 
 picked herself up and crowed with joy. 
 
 " Did ever you see the like ? " she said. " Isn't he 
 the grand gentleman ? " 
 
 " I'll be damned," said Michael firmly, " if ever I 
 sit in a car again when he's driving it." 
 
 " I guess," said Bobby, " we did that drive in 
 record time.'' 
 
 Delia, radiant in her pink dress, stood at the door 
 of the rectory. She had seen the car pass through 
 the gate. Bobby took off his cap to her. 
 
 " Miss Mervyn," he said, " I have an invitation for 
 you to spend the rest of the day restoring Sally May's 
 confidence in human nature. It's been shattered by 
 the excessive virtue of the young lady your papa 
 fetched up this morning." 
 
 " Are you going to drive ? " said Delia, smiling. 
 
 She was at heart quite as adventurous as Onny, 
 and would have enjoyed dragging the rectory gate 
 off its hinges ; but she felt that the pink dress gave 
 her the right to tease Bobby. 
 
 Michael Staunton was standing beside the ruined 
 mud-guard, looking at it angrily. He spoke before 
 Bobby could answer Delia's question. 
 
272 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 " Beg pardon, sir," he said, " but I can't agree to 
 your driving the car." 
 
 Bobby looked at him for a moment with twihkh'ng 
 eyes. Then he turned to Onny. 
 
 " Say," he said, " how did you soften him ? Mrs. 
 Dann quails on account of his manners, which come 
 straight from the highest European courts, and I'm 
 cowed. There's no bounce left in me." 
 
 " The way you drive, sir," said Michael Staunton, 
 " is dangerous." 
 
 " Miss Mervyn," said Bobby, " shall we sit at the 
 back of the car and play we're going to a funeral with 
 this baron propelling the hearse ? Or would we get 
 there quicker if we walked } " 
 
 " I must tell father before we start," said Delia. 
 
 " Take me with you," said Bobby. " If I'm 
 left alone with this nobleman I'll be flattened 
 out." 
 
 iEneas Sweeny had watched the arrival of the 
 party from the yard gate. When Delia and Bobby 
 Sebright went into the house he strolled up to the 
 car. Michael Staunton was dragging at the mud- 
 guard with his hands. It was crushed against the 
 side of the wheel and it was absolutely necessary to 
 straighten it. 
 
 "There was a fellow one time," iEneas said, 
 " coming through that same gate with a load of turf, 
 and before he knew what had happened him the 
 wheel was off the cart." 
 
 Michael Staunton looked up and scowled. 
 
 " There was another time," said .^neas Sweeny, 
 " that Father Roche's mare came down opposite the 
 police barrack and very near had the front kicked out 
 of the trap before they got her on her legs again. 
 But it was the sergeant's fault the damage was done. 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 273 
 
 He's no good with a horse, that sergeant. Tell me 
 now, would a hammer be any use to you ? " 
 
 Onny Donovan giggled convulsively, ^neas 
 turned on her. 
 
 " Get in with you now, Onny Donovan," he said, 
 " and let you be getting on with your work." 
 
 Onny glanced at Michael Staunton. He had 
 been very polite to her earlier in the day. She hoped 
 that he might defend her against attack. But Michael 
 was in a very bad temper. His nerve had been 
 shaken by Bobby's driving, and his dignity outraged 
 by Bobby's taunts. He would not even look at 
 Onny. She tossed her head and went into the 
 house. 
 
 " If a bit of rope would be any good to you," said 
 ./Eneas, " I've a long piece handy in the cow-house." 
 Michael Staunton did not want rope. He had suc- 
 ceeded in forcing back the mud-guard so that it no 
 longer pressed against the wheel. He stood up and 
 rubbed the dust off his hands. 
 
 "Tell me this," said yEneas in an easy con- 
 versational tone, "did you hear any talk up at the 
 big house about play-acting or the like of that ? " 
 
 " No," said Michael shortly. 
 
 " The master's against it," said .^neas, " and they 
 tell me Father Roche is terrible down on it ; but it 
 could be that the American lady would be a match 
 for the two of them." 
 
 " If that young man is to be allowed to drive the 
 car," said Michael, " I shall leave at once." 
 
 " You'll do right," said JEne&s. " Sure he might 
 have broke your neck. I'm told now that there's fine 
 wages to be earned by play-acting. It'll be that the 
 sergeant's looking to, I'm thinking." 
 
 Michael Staunton took out a cigarette and lit it. 
 
274 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 His temper was beginning to improve slightly, 
 ^neas Sweeny was a barbarian, but he spoke in a 
 respectful tone and evidently regarded Michael 
 Staunton as a man likely to be well informed on 
 subjects of special interest, like the theatre. It is 
 curious that there is nothing so soothing to a man's 
 vanity as to be taken for an expert in theatrical 
 affairs. No one is particularly pleased at being 
 credited with knowing the ins and outs of the medical 
 profession. Most men are merely bored if they are 
 appealed to as authorities on coal-mining. But 
 everybody likes to think that he has an inside know- 
 ledge of the stage. This may be because a tradition 
 of the great wickedness of actors and actresses still 
 exists. All men, even the clergy, like to be suspected 
 by their neighbours of the gayer kinds of immorality, 
 ^neas recognised the advance he had made. 
 
 •' I dare say now," he said, " you'd be able to tell 
 me how much a play-actor would be getting ? If 
 there's anybody in Druminawona presently that 
 would know that, it would be yourself, and it's what 
 I'd like to have some knowledge of, so as I'd know 
 what I ought to be asking when the time comes." 
 
 " For a star part," said Michael Staunton, " £scxi 
 a week is about the figure. Are you thinking of 
 trying for an engagement ? " 
 
 "For a what?" 
 
 " An engagement .' A job as an actor, you know." 
 
 Michael Staunton enjoyed poking fun at a help- 
 lessly ignorant creature like .(Eneas. It gave him a 
 most agreeable sense of superiority, .^neas did not 
 seem put out. He answered calmly. 
 
 " I have a job of the kind got," he said, " and if 
 the pay's what you say it is I don't care how long I 
 go on at it." 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 275 
 
 For a moment Michael was startled. Then he 
 jumped to the conclusion that -lEneas must have 
 been asked to play a part in some village dramatic 
 entertainment. He began to explain that the position 
 of the casual amateur is very different from that of 
 a leading professional. He was interrupted by Onny 
 Donovan. She appeared at the door and delivered a 
 message. 
 
 "The gentleman bid me tell you," she said, 
 " that you're to take the car home the best way you 
 can, for himself is going to walk with Miss Delia." 
 
 Michael Staunton, his temper restored, remem- 
 bered his gallantry. 
 
 " Can I have the pleasure," he said, " of taking 
 you for a drive ? " 
 
 " You cannot," said ^neas. " Is it that one ? 
 Get along out of that, Onny Donovan, and attend to 
 your work." 
 
 " Let you attend to your own," she said, " instead 
 of giving orders to me. It would suit you better." 
 
 Michael Staunton looked after ■ her as she went 
 into the house. 
 
 "A good-looking young lady," he said, "and 
 quite ready for a little fun." 
 
 " If it's carrying on you mean," said .(Eneas, " I 
 wouldn't put it past her." 
 
 Michael Staunton winked suggestively. He meant 
 to convey to ^Eneas the idea that he had found 
 Onny quite ready to " carry on." 
 
 " When I tell Jamesy Casey," said .^neas, " what 
 you're after telling me, he'll not be so set on marry- 
 ing her." 
 
 " Oh, don't let anything I've said spoil her 
 chances," said Michael. 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 Mr. Mervyn sat in his study and gazed in puzzled 
 perplexity at the table of Forbidden Degrees in his 
 Prayer-book. It occurred to him after a while that 
 he had somewhere, among the books bequeathed to 
 him by his father, two volumes of ecclesiastical law. 
 He found them, fat quartos bound in brown leather, 
 squeezed in beside the many works of John Owen. 
 Their title gave him hope. "Ecclesiastical Law of 
 the Church of Ireland, Methodically Digested under 
 Proper Heads," by Ed: Bullingbrooke, Doctor of 
 Laws, Vicar General of His Grace the Lord Primate 
 of All Ireland." The date of the publication of the 
 treatise was 1770, but Mr. Mervyn knew that eccle- 
 siastical law was a stable thing. It altered very 
 little in a century and half. 
 
 He opened the first volume and discovered that 
 Dr. Ed: Bullingbrooke devoted 66 pages, divided 
 into 20 chapters, to the great subject of " Matrimony ; 
 how it is duely solemnised and dissolved." The first 
 chapter dealt with the prohibited degrees. It occupied 
 thirteen pages. The Prayer-book erred on the side 
 of being too concise. Dr. Ed: Bullingbrooke ran 
 into the opposite extreme and seemed inclined to 
 excessive prolixity ; and a great deal of what he had 
 to say was in Latin. Mr. Mervyn laid the book 
 before him, got a dictionary, and sat down to master 
 at least the first chapter. 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 277 
 
 "Tit: XXII., Chapter L," began Dr. Bulling- 
 brooke, pursuing his plan of methodically digesting 
 under proper heads the laws of the Church. " Tit: " 
 puzzled Mr. Mervyn, but he did not linger over it. 
 The three letters could not, he felt, contain any 
 essential information. " By a constitution of John 
 Stratford ; we ordain by the authority of this Council, 
 that they who, from this time forward, contract or 
 solemnise marriage, while they know or have probable 
 suspicion of any canonical impediment do incur the 
 sentence of the greater excommunication ipso facto. 
 Lyndw: 275." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn rubbed his hands together with satis- 
 faction. There might or might not be a canonical 
 impediment to his marriage with Mrs. Dann. He 
 would discover that later on. There was no doubt 
 that he had a " probable suspicion " on the subject. 
 That fact alone settled the matter. The major ex- 
 communication was a dreadful penalty, but not, he 
 felt, an ounce too heavy for the offence. No one, 
 not even Father Roche, would ask him to incur it ; 
 and he would incur it, ipso facto, if he married in the 
 teeth of his reasonable suspicion. He wished, indeed, 
 that some punishment of a more tangible kind had 
 been threatened : a fine, for instance, or a period of 
 imprisonment with hard labour. Something of the 
 sort would have been more effective in argument 
 with Bobby Sebright. He suspected that Bobby 
 Sebright might underestimate the terror of the major 
 excommunication, even if incurred ipso facto. But 
 Father Roche would appreciate it. There was great 
 comfort in that thought. He turned to Dr. Ed: 
 Bullingbrooke's article on Excommunication (Tit: 
 XLVI., chap. 5) in order to make himself thoroughly 
 familiar with the subject : but the article was long 
 
278 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 and there was another appended to it on the " Denounc- 
 ing of Excommunicates." He put off reading it and 
 went back to Matrimony. 
 
 Then a doubt assailed him. Was Dr. Ed: Bulling^ 
 brooke to be relied on implicitly ? He quoted John 
 Stratford as his authority, but Mr. Mervyn did not 
 know who John Stratford was. The cryptic note at 
 the end of the paragraph, " Lyndw: 275," gave him 
 no help. There was a reassuring majesty about the 
 words " We ordain." Only editors and kings speak 
 in this way. If there had been no more than the 
 simple " We ordain " Mr. Mervyn might have taken 
 John Stratford at his own valuation and accepted him 
 as a final authority. But the man was half-hearted 
 after all. " We ordain," he said, " by the authority 
 of the Council," and then he omitted to give name 
 or date of the Council. This shifting of the responsi- 
 bility for his statements from his own shoulders to 
 those of an undefined Council made Mr. Mervyn 
 suspicious. Still Dr. Ed: Bullingbrooke believed in 
 this John Stratford, put his dictum in the very front 
 of his long treatise on forbidden degrees, and Ed: 
 Bullingbrooke was a Doctor of Laws, and Vicar General 
 of His Grace the Lord Primate of All Ireland. Such 
 a man must know what he was talking about. If he 
 had been caught blundering the Lord Primate of All 
 Ireland would have made short work of him. He 
 would not have enjoyed for very long the dignity of 
 being a Vicar General. And after all there was the 
 statement, unmistakably plain, " A probable suspicion 
 of any canonical impediment." The phrase seemed 
 framed to meet Mr. Mervyn's case. 
 
 He turned to the next page and read on. He 
 found neither hope nor discouragement. The language 
 in which the jurists who were quoted discussed 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 279 
 
 marriage was uncompromisingly plain. Mr. Mervyn, 
 who was constitutionally delicate-minded, skipped a 
 good deal of it. He came upon cases cited, no doubt, 
 as examples of evil-doing. He read of men, in the 
 reigns of Charles I and Charles H, who had tried to 
 brazen out their iniquity by going into court to 
 defend their marriages with deceased wives' sisters 
 and such persons. But no one, so far as he could 
 discover, had ever been cited before a spiritual or 
 civil court for marrying his deceased wife's brother's 
 widow. Either it had never occurred to any one to 
 do such a thing, or else it was a thing which might 
 be done with impunity. With all his prolixity and 
 his immense parade of learning, Dr. Ed: Bulling- 
 brooke had no clear light to throw on Mr. Mervyn's 
 case. The dictum of John Stratford was all he had 
 to rely on. 
 
 He passed on, without much hope, to the next 
 chapter of " Tit: XXH." It dealt with Precontracts, 
 and it appeared that some of them had a way of 
 disannulling, others of not disannulling marriages. 
 These were of little use to him. He felt hopeless of 
 being able to make the right kind of precontract in 
 time to save himself from being driven into marriage 
 with Mrs. Dann. 
 
 It was while he was trying to understand the case 
 of Collins and Jesset, a young couple who had got 
 into trouble over a contract per verba de praesenti in 
 the third year of Queen Anne ("Annae," as Dr. 
 BuUingbrooke somewhat familiarly called her) that 
 Bobby Sebright and Delia entered his study. 
 
 "Father," said Delia, "Aunt Sally May wants 
 me to go up to her. Do you mind if I do ? I'll tell 
 Onny to get everything for you as if I was here." 
 
 " Certainly, my dear, certainly," said Mr, Mervyn. 
 
28o THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 Father Roche's words had made an impression 
 on him. 
 
 He did not see his way to taking Delia up to 
 Dublin, and seating her in a motor-car between two 
 of the viceregal aides-de-camp. But he wished to 
 give her as much pleasure as he could without out- 
 raging his conscience by marrying Mrs, Dann. 
 
 " You're sure you won't want me, father .' " 
 
 " No, no, Delia, I — I shall be very busy. It 
 would be dull for you here. Run away and amuse 
 yourself," 
 
 A plan lay half-formed at the back of Mr, Mervyn's 
 mind. It would, if he finally decided on it, be easier 
 to carry out if his daughter were not in the house 
 with him. Delia looked round at Bobby Sebright, 
 smiling joyously. 
 
 "I'll just run and get a wrap," she said, "and 
 then we can start." 
 
 The garment she had in mind was a long boa 
 made of ostrich feathers. She went up to her room 
 to get it. Bobby Sebright stood beside Mr, Mervyn. 
 
 Now, Dr. Ed: BuUingbrooke had a sense of the 
 dignity of ecclesiastical law, and he belonged to an 
 age in which books were much rarer than they are^t 
 present and therefore produced with more pomp, 
 Mr. Boulter Grierson of the city of Dublin, who was 
 printer to the king's most excellent majesty in 1770, 
 possessed several founts of large type, Dr, Ed: 
 BuUingbrooke made full use of these. Across the 
 top of every left-hand page ran in impressive letters 
 the words " Matrimony : how it is duely," Across 
 the top of the opposite, the right-hand page, it was 
 possible, even for one standing at some distance, to 
 read " Solemnized and Dissolved," Mr, Mervyn, 
 when Bobby and Delia entered the room, had 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 281 
 
 instinctively tried to conceal what he was reading. 
 He laid his hand and part of his arm across the book. 
 But Dr. Ed: BuUingbrooke had given his treatise to 
 the world in large quarto volumes. Mr. Mervyn's 
 arm only covered the left-hand page. Bobby Sebright 
 had no desire to pry, but Mr. Boulter Grierson's fine 
 letters caught his eye, " Solemnized and Dissolved " 
 he read. There are several things in the world which 
 are solemnised and several other things, including, 
 according to St. Peter, the world itself, which may be 
 dissolved. But there is only one thing which is both 
 solemnised and dissolved. Bobby Sebright came to 
 the conclusion that Mr. Mervyn was looking up the 
 subject of Matrimony. 
 
 " I don't take any pride," said Bobby, " in being 
 an expert in your state laws ; but it will surprise me 
 some if you find there's any real obstacle." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn could not pretend that he did not 
 understand what Bobby was talking about. He 
 turned rapidly back from the case of Collins and 
 Jesset to the page marked "Tit: XXH. Chap I." 
 He intended to confound Bobby with the words of 
 John Stratford. But Bobby did not wait to be 
 confounded. 
 
 " Anyway," he said, " it won't be absolutely 
 necessary for you to solemnise. You'll have gotten 
 Sally May's mind diverted before you reach the ring 
 and the everlasting vows. She's been expressing her 
 views about your hired girl this morning in an 
 extended way, and I reckon what Sally May wants 
 is love. She's dissatisfied with the cold-blooded and 
 
 calculating unions " 
 
 "But," said Mr. Mervyn, "I couldn't— I really 
 
 couldn't. Do you mean ? " 
 
 " I'm not suggesting anything beyond the usual 
 
282 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 preliminaries of a marriage of affection. Sally May 
 wouldn't expect more, and respectful courtship would 
 be enough ; kind of stateliness of sentiment 
 suggestive of internal fire, modelled on the heroes of 
 eighteenth-century historical romance. Sally May 
 would have no inclination left for miracle plays if 
 you supplied that need." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn realised that he was being invited to 
 make love to Mrs. Dann. The idea shocked him. 
 It was bad enough to talk about his marrying her. 
 Father Roche had pressed that on him to his great 
 discomfort. But that he should make love to her 
 was far worse ; and that he should make love in the 
 manner of the eighteenth century ! 
 
 "If an obstacle, legal or ecclesiastical," said 
 Bobby, "were to present itself at a later stage, I 
 guess Sally May would be quite pleased. She's not 
 breaking her heart for a husband. What she's out 
 for is romance." 
 
 This prospect of ultimate escape did not in the 
 least reconcile Mr. Mervyn to the love-making. He 
 found a difficulty in bringing his mind to bear upon 
 the situation ; but he was vaguely conscious that it 
 would be an extremely dishonourable thing for him 
 to make love to a lady when he fully intended to 
 avoid marrying her in the end. He rubbed his hands 
 helplessly up and down the pages of Dr. Ed: Bulling- 
 brooke's book. That Vicar General of the Primate 
 of All Ireland had gone pretty fully into the theory 
 of precontracts, but he had never contemplated any- 
 thing like the iniquity which Bobby Sebright was 
 suggesting. Even in the third year of Queen Anne 
 (3 Annae) such things were not done. 
 
 Before Mr. Mervyn made the protest he meant to 
 make, Delia flitted into the room. She wore the 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 283 
 
 ostrich feather boa. She carried over her arm a long 
 pale grey coat, made of very thin material, lined with 
 silk of a delicate mauve colour. Bobby took it from 
 her and held it out that she might slip her arms into 
 it. Delia unhooked the boa and flung it on the table. 
 If fell across the pages of Dr. Ed: Bullingbrooke's 
 learned tome. It covered up utterly the cautious 
 sagacity of John Stratford, obscured the mysterious 
 " Lyndw: " and turned the solemnity of "Tit: XXII. 
 Chap. I." into ridicule with its airy flufSness. A 
 scent from it reached Mr. Mervyn, drowning the 
 musty odour of old leather and damp paper. The 
 sunlight streamed through the window. Beneath 
 the white glistening of the feathers the page showed 
 feebly yellow mottled with blots of brown, and the 
 pencil-marks of some forgotten student seemed no 
 more than faint, purposeless meanderings. So fails 
 the wisdom of old sages, however painfully wrought 
 out. So womanhood, redolent, frivolous, gay, wins 
 its triumphs, and life laughs in the face of philosophy. 
 
 Mr. Mervyn stood by the window and watched 
 them go, Delia gallant in her braveries and new 
 self-confidence, Bobby beside her, debonair, gaily 
 stepping, all his movements rich with suggestion 
 of vitality. They passed through the green shadow 
 of the trees and out to the road beyond. Mr. 
 Mervyn turned with a sigh and closed the book of 
 Dr. Ed: Bullingbrooke. 
 
 He had decided upon a desperate course. Even 
 before Bobby Sebright made his last and most pro- 
 foundly immoral suggestion Mr. Mervyn's mind 
 was made up. He determined to lay the whole 
 appalling difficulty before his bishop. To clergymen 
 who love peace, and all clergymen ought to love 
 peace, bishops are a danger. An appeal to one in 
 
284 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 time of trouble may indeed bring immediate relief, 
 but in the end fresh trouble will assuredly ensue. A 
 bishop will generally let a parish and its clergyman 
 alone unless his attention is in some way directed 
 to them. Once he is forced to notice them he begins 
 to make inquiries into all sorts of things and to 
 suggest ridiculous reforms or new kind^^f activity 
 harassing to every one. 
 
 There was once a clergyman who lived very 
 quietly and happily until, in an unfortunate moment, 
 he asked his bishop's advice about a new pulpit. 
 The bishop had forgotten all about him until he got 
 the letter about the pulpit. Then he suddenly 
 became active, and for years he worried that clergy- 
 man and his people because they had neither a 
 " Boys' Brigade," a " Mothers' Union," or a " Girls' 
 Friendly Society " in the parish. It is possible that 
 more of those people went to heaven in the end, but 
 it is certain that they were far from comfortable 
 while on earth. Mr. Mervyn understood the risk he 
 ran in appealing to his bishop ; but his circumstances 
 were desperate. It would, he felt, be better for him 
 to be forced to mould the three sons of Sergeant 
 Ginty into a battalion of the Boys' Brigade, to turn 
 Delia into a Branch of the Girls' Friendly Society, 
 and to make Mrs. Ginty a United Mother, than to 
 marry or, like a scandalous Don Juan, make love to 
 Mrs. Dann. 
 
 He searched out ./Eneas Sweeny and told him to 
 harness Biddy at once. He packed some necessary 
 garments in a small black bag, and at the last 
 moment stuffed a volume of John Owen in on top of 
 them. His natural impulse was to take his Words- 
 worth, but he realised that his will might need stiffen- 
 ing when the critical moment came. John Owen was 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 285 
 
 a deep well of moral strength. He took him to read 
 in the train. Mr. Mervyn's bishop lived a long way 
 from Druminawona. It was necessary first to drive 
 two miles to a railway station. Then there was a 
 train journey of four hours. One hour and twenty 
 minutes were spent actually in the train. The 
 remaining two hours and forty minutes were given 
 to waiting for trains at two different junctions. 
 
 Mr. Mervyn, physically hungry, but spiritually 
 replete with John Owen, arrived at the little town in 
 which his bishop lived, at nine o'clock. It is never 
 wise to approach a bishop without warning after nine 
 o'clock at night, on diocesan business. Like other 
 men, bishops have a right to regard their day's work 
 as over at that hour ; and though, on account of their 
 peculiar position, they cannot express their feelings 
 as plainly as other men do, they hate being disturbed. 
 Mr. Mervyn, not being a fool, determined to go to 
 the hotel for the night. There had been a pig fair 
 in the town during the day, and numbers of swine 
 were roaming through the streets. They were all 
 in highly irritable moods ; some of them, which had 
 not been bought, because their attractiveness had 
 been slighted or undervalued during the day ; others, 
 which had been bought, because they knew they were 
 going to be killed, and this, even if you are a pig, is a 
 distressing prospect. It was very hard to get to the 
 hotel. It was still harder to get in. The buyers of 
 the pigs, strangers from all the great centres of the 
 bacon industry, were congregated in the narrow hall. 
 They filled every room. They reduced the hotel 
 servants to imbecility by clamorous demands for 
 food, whisky, and beds. 
 
 Not until nearly ten o'clock did Mr. Mervyn get 
 a scanty meal of bacon and eggs. At a quarter past 
 
286 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 ten what remained of it was swept away from him. 
 A mattress was laid on the table at which he sat. 
 Then other mattresses were spread on the floor. 
 Three pig-buyers, he was told, were to sleep in that 
 room. Mr. Mervyn was invited to lie down on the 
 fourth mattress. The patriarch Jacob was better off 
 at Luz. A stone is indeed a slightly harder pillow 
 than a volume of John Owen, but there is fresh air 
 on a mountain-side. In a small room occupied by 
 three slumbering pig-buyers there is none. The 
 very bleakness of Luz was an advantage in some 
 ways. Ther^ was no one there to snore. The pig- 
 buyers round Mr. Mervyn snored raucously all 
 night. 
 
 There was little difficulty in the morning about 
 dressing because no one had undressed very much. 
 Pig-buyers are a hardy race, and their collars are not 
 the worse for being worn in bed. No collar which 
 has been round the neck of a stout man during a pig 
 fair on a hot day, when prices are eagerly disputed, 
 can be made worse by any treatment. There might 
 have been trouble about washing if the three pig- 
 buyers had wanted to wash. Being sensible men, they 
 did not. It is merely silly to wash in the morning 
 when the whole day is to be spent among pigs. Mr. 
 Mervyn had the sole use of a tin basin and a jug of 
 cold water. The basin was set on a chair in a corner 
 of the room. He knelt down so as to get at it. 
 
 At eleven o'clock he went to the bishop's palace. 
 The appearance of it daunted him, and he stood for 
 some time looking at it before he ventured to ring the 
 bell. The palaces of the bishops of the Irish Church 
 are survivals of the days when Irish sees were very 
 richly endowed. They were designed for men who 
 occupied the position of wealthy nobles, and their 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 287 
 
 grandeur, even now, has the effect of daunting humble 
 souls. But Mr. Mervyn conquered his misgivings. 
 He reflected that his need was great, and that he had 
 endured a sleepless night. He would not be frightened 
 by a frowning frontage of grey stone or the carved 
 image of a mitre which crowned the door. 
 
 He waited a long time after ringing the bell, so 
 long that, greatly daring, he rang it again. A man- 
 servant in his shirt-sleeves, with a long white apron 
 covering all but his head, his arms, and his feet, 
 opened the door. He told Mr. Mervyn that the 
 bishop was in Dublin. 
 
 " We're expecting his lordship home to-morrow or 
 the day after," he added. 
 
 Mr. Mervyn went back to the hotel. The pig- 
 buyers had all gone away. The proprietor apologised 
 to Mr. Mervyn for the bad treatment he had endured 
 the night before. He promised every kind of amend- 
 ment. Mr. Mervyn should have a bedroom entirely 
 to himself. He might order luncheon at any hour he 
 pleased. A chicken, two if he thought he could eat 
 two chickens, would be cooked for his dinner. 
 The whole staff of the hotel would wait on him 
 obsequiously. 
 
 " Unless it might be a couple of commercial 
 gentlemen," said the proprietor, " or maybe an inspec- 
 tor or two, there'll be no one in the house to-day." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn thought of his pleasant rectory ; but he 
 also thoughtof Mrs, Dann. He reminded himself that 
 the bishop would be home the next day. He thought 
 of Father Roche unscrupulously anxious to provide 
 fresh interests for Mrs, Dann, eager to turn her mind 
 from the Miracle Play at any cost. He thought of 
 Bobby Sebright fertile in fresh suggestions, each more 
 horrible than the one that went before it. He made 
 
288 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 up his mind to stay where he was. Whether the 
 bishop returned at once or not, he was safer under 
 the shadow even of a bishop's palace than he would 
 be in Druminawona. 
 
 One of the pig-buyers, unexpectedly a man of 
 literary tastes, had left behind him a copy of a weekly 
 magazine, full of short stories, poems, and articles on 
 such subjects as the proper use of leisure hours and 
 the dangers of English Sunday newspapers. Mr. 
 Mervyn held it in his hands and went to sleep 
 till luncheon time. After luncheon he tried John 
 Owen and went to sleep again. In the evening 
 he tried the pig-buyer's paper for the second time 
 and got half-way through a poem about an Irish 
 exile who had found a home in Chicago. It was a 
 very affecting poem, but he went to sleep again before 
 he had finished it. The first eight lines were particu- 
 larly touching: 
 
 "Ob, holy Ireland, island of the sea. 
 How sad my spirit and my heart do be 
 To feel that I most wear the shamrock green 
 So far away from Ballaghadereen. 
 
 The cruel landlords chased me o'er the sea 
 By asking for the rent I could not pay ; 
 But now I hear they are no longer seen. 
 They have been chased from Ballaghadereen." 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 ^NEAS Sweeny left Mr. Mervyn at the railway 
 station and then turned homewards. The way was 
 hilly and the road bad, but Biddy accomplished the 
 journey in a little less than an hour and a half. 
 jEneas kept her to her work. He was thirsty and he 
 had no money. If he had owned a shilling, or if he 
 could have commanded credit anywhere except in 
 Druminawona, Biddy might have had a rest before 
 she made her return journey. But .iEneas had no 
 money, so Biddy trotted home faster than she wanted 
 to. But the desire for a drink was not the only thing 
 which made iEneas use his whip. He had a duty to 
 perform, and he wanted to get to the doing of it as 
 soon as possible. It is to the credit of .iEneas that 
 he did the duty before he got the drink. 
 
 He pulled up at the gate of the presbytery yard 
 and called for Jamesy Casey. 
 
 " Jamesy, my poor boy," he said, " is it true what 
 they tell me, that they have you as good as married 
 to Onny Donovan ? " 
 
 Jamesy was surprised at the sympathetic and 
 affectionate tone in which he spoke. He and ^Eneas 
 were not on good terms. He had heard many tales 
 from Onny, none of them to the credit of her fellow- 
 servant, and the little intercourse he had with jEneas 
 inclined him to believe that the worst of the tales were 
 true. He answered cautiously. 
 
 U 
 
290 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 " There was talk of it," he said. 
 
 " I'm sorry for it," said ^neas. 
 
 Jamesy did not attach much importance to 
 anything ^neas said about Onny ; but he was 
 curious to know why he should be pitied. 
 
 " If so be," he said, " that I was going to marry 
 her, and I don't say that I am, nor yet that I'm not ; 
 but if I was, there's nothing against the girl." 
 
 " If you're not going to marry her I'll not say 
 another word. Why should I be taking away her 
 character ? But if you are going to marry her look 
 out for yourself, that's all." 
 
 " What do you mean by that ? " 
 
 " I mean nothing, only that you're not the only 
 one." 
 
 This sounded as if he meant to accuse Onny 
 Donovan of intending to commit bigamy ; but 
 Jamesy did not take that meaning from the words. 
 He became suspicious, and consequently angry. 
 
 " Will you say out what you mean .' " he said, " or 
 will I smash the ugly jaw of you with a stone ?" 
 
 " I'll say no more," said .^neas. " Only that if I 
 was thinking of marrying Onny Donovan I'd have a 
 look round to see whether that young fellow that 
 drives the motor-car for the American lady didn't 
 have her whipped off in spite of me. It's for your 
 own good I'm telling you." 
 
 " It's not for my good," said Jamesy, " but it's to 
 spite Onny, and nobody but a fool would believe what 
 you said." 
 
 "Believe it or not," said .(Eneas, "but it was 
 himself told me. And if anybody ought to know it's 
 him." 
 
 " If I did right, .ffineas Sweeny, I'd not leave you 
 with a whole tooth in your head, nor yet an eye that 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 291 
 
 you'd see out of ; but you need not trouble yourself, 
 for I'm not going to marry her." 
 
 " They have it set down for you that you are," 
 said iEneas, grinning, "and that Father Roche said 
 you were to on account of the way you were carrying 
 on with her." 
 
 " Well, and if he did, couldn't he unsay it again ? " 
 
 " If that's the way of it," said ^neas, " I'm sorry I 
 spoke, but it was for your own good I did it. A girl 
 that would carry on with one man would carry on 
 with another." 
 
 " She wouldn't." 
 
 " She did, anyway. And what's more, the fellow 
 was grinning and winking to me about it. Would he 
 do that if the girl hadn't said something to him, more 
 or less ? She's a nice one, so she is." 
 
 Father Roche, looking out of the window of his 
 study, saw Biddy standing patiently near his door. 
 Since he reached home in the morning he had thought 
 of several other excellent reasons why Mr. Mervyn 
 should marry Mrs. Dann. It occurred to him that it 
 would be a good thing to go up to the rectory and 
 explain them. He put on his hat, went to the door, 
 and called .^Eneas Sweeny. 
 
 " Is it home you're going with the pony ? " he said. 
 
 " It is, your reverence." 
 
 This was true. ^Eneas meant to go home in the 
 end. It seemed unnecessary to explain that he 
 intended to drink several glasses of whisky on the way. 
 
 " Then you may as well take me with you," said 
 Father Roche. 
 
 " I will, of course, Father, " said .(Eneas, " and 
 there's nobody would be more pleased than Mr. 
 Mervyn when I tell him that you've been using the 
 old pony." 
 
292 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 " I'll tell him myself," said Father Roche. " I'm 
 going up to see him." 
 
 " You'll not do that, Father," said iEneas respect- 
 fully, "not^ to-day anyway, though you might some 
 other day." 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 " Because he's away out of this in the train." 
 
 Father Roche was very greatly surprised. Mr. 
 Mervyn rarely went away from Druminawona. He 
 had, apparently,' no intention of travelling when Father 
 Roche parted from him in the morning. 
 
 " Where has he gone to .' " 
 
 "What he told me," said .^neas, careful not to 
 commit himself to any opinion about the truth of Mr. 
 Mervyn's statement, " was that he was going to the 
 bishop." 
 
 Father Roche was still more surprised. He knew 
 Mr. Mervyn's dread of any kind of bishop. 
 
 " Are you sure of that .' " he said. 
 
 " It's what he told me. Won't you sit up into 
 the phaeton, your reverence ? for I ought to be 
 starting." 
 
 " I will not," said Father Roche. " What sense 
 would there be in my going to the rectory when Mr. 
 Mervyn's not there ? " 
 
 iEneas was very well pleased. There was nothing 
 now to prevent his drinking as long as his credit 
 lasted. He stepped into the phaeton and laid his 
 whip across Biddy's shoulders. Father Roche went 
 into the presbytery. Jamesy Casey, his hat in his 
 hand, his face wrinkled with perplexity, followed the 
 priest. 
 
 " Well," said Father Roche, " what do you want 
 now, Jamesy ? " 
 
 " If it wouldn't be troubling your reverence too 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 293 
 
 much," said Jamesy, "there's a question I'd like to 
 ask you." 
 
 " Be quick about it then, for I haven't all day to 
 be talking to you." 
 
 Jamesy sank his voice to a whisper. 
 
 "Would it be any harm," he said, "if I was to 
 marry Onny Donovan after all ? " 
 
 " Marry her if you like, and it'll be a good thing 
 if you do ; but I thought you said you didn't want 
 to .> " 
 
 " I did not say that, Father. What I said was 
 that my mother would be terrible vexed if I was to 
 bring a strange girl into the house on top of her." 
 
 " Has anything happened since this morning to 
 make your mother change her mind .■' " 
 
 " There is not," said Jamesy Casey, " not a thing ; 
 but something might." 
 
 " Well, settle it your own way. If you can arrange 
 it with your mother there's no reason that I can see 
 why you shouldn't marry the girl." 
 
 " What I was thinking of asking your reverence — 
 but maybe it would be expecting too much from 
 you " 
 
 Jamesy hesitated and looked dubiously at the 
 priest. 
 
 " Go on," said Father Roche. 
 
 " If you'd speak to my mother," said Jamesy, 
 " she'd think more of a word from you than she would 
 of what I might say if I was to be talking to her 
 from this till Christmas." 
 
 "Tell me this. What's made you change your 
 mind since this morning .' You weren't very willing 
 to marry the girl the last time I was speaking to you 
 about it. What's come over you ? " 
 
 " I'll not tell your reverence any lies." 
 
294 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 "You'd better not," said Father Roche. 
 
 " It's on account of what ^neas Sweeny is just 
 after telling me this minute. Not that I believe a 
 word that blackguard would say, for everybody knows 
 he has a spite against Onny, and I wouldn't take any 
 notice of him if he swore it on his oath, for a bigger 
 liar than ^neas Sweeny " 
 
 " You're right there. But what did he say .' " 
 
 " I'd be ashamed to be repeating the like to your 
 reverence. But what he said had reference to the 
 behaviour of Onny Donovan and the young fellow 
 that does be driving the motor-car for the American 
 lady." 
 
 " Oh, that's the wayof it, is it ? Well, I wouldn't 
 believe it." 
 
 " I don't," said Jamesy, " but I thought it might 
 be as well if I was to marry her. It would be 
 better for the both of us than if she was to go off and 
 marry a stranger that nobody ever heard tell of. So, 
 if your reverence will be so kind as to say a word to 
 my mother, the way she won't be raising objec- 
 tions " 
 
 An idea, novel and brilliant, came suddenly to 
 Father Roche. A man cannot be a priest, even in a 
 lonely village like Druminawona, without coming to 
 have some understanding of human nature. The 
 workings of Jamesy Casey's mind were, of course, 
 simple and perfectly plain to him. The young man 
 had been prepared to postpone his marriage with 
 Onny Donovan indefinitely so long as he felt pretty 
 sure of getting her in the end. The hint of the exist- 
 ence of a dangerous rival made him anxious and 
 eager. Father Roche took no credit to himself for 
 understanding that. He had known men of the type 
 of Jamesy Casey for years, and known them intimately. 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 295 
 
 But Mrs. Dann was strange to him. For a long time 
 he had not understood her at all. He had set her down 
 as one of the reckless philanthropists with whom we 
 are all very familiar in Ireland. He had recognised 
 in her a force of character, a capacity for persistence, 
 which made it very difficult for sensible men to baulk 
 her schemes. Then, taking a hint from Bobby 
 Sebright's talk, he came to see her as a very simple- 
 minded woman, full of anxiety to do kindly things, and 
 passionately romantic. The chance of doing good to 
 other people would always appeal to her. The 
 chance of doing good romantically would draw her 
 irresistibly. 
 
 " Listen to me now, Jamesy Casey," he said ; " do 
 you go straight up to the big house and tell Mrs. Dann 
 that you're dying of love for Onny Donovan." 
 
 " I'd be ashamed to say the like." 
 
 " Ashamed or not," said Father Roche, " it's what 
 you're going to say to her ; and what's more, you'll 
 repeat poetry about it. It's a pity now Mr. Mervyn's 
 not here, for he'd have told us some good poetry ; but 
 we'll have to do the best we can without him. When 
 you've said you're in love with her — and you can put 
 it strong, Jamesy, and don't be bashful about it — just 
 you give a kind of sigh and say ' Kathleen 
 Mavourneen, agus asthore,' making it so as it will 
 sound as near to the tune of the song as you can 
 manage." 
 
 " Sure I couldn't do that," said Jamesy. " Isn't her 
 name Onny, and not Kathleen ? " 
 
 " It doesn't matter a pin about the name when it's 
 poetry you're saying." 
 
 " You're reverence is right, of course," said Jamesy, 
 " but I wouldn't like it if it came out in the end that 
 I was married to the wrong girl." 
 
296 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 " You won't be if you do what I bid you. When 
 you've quoted the poetry you'll tell her that the one 
 thing there is between you and the girl is your mother, 
 and that you're afraid maybe another man will get her 
 unless your mother is pacified some way or another. 
 Are you attending to me now .' " 
 
 "I am surely. I'm to tell her that the young 
 fellow that drives her motor " 
 
 " You'd better not mention his name or tell her 
 who he is. But you'll ask her if she'll go down and 
 talk to your mother for you." 
 
 " She'll never do it. Why would she .' " 
 
 " She will if you put it to her properly, the way I 
 tell you. I'll go up later on myself and say a word to 
 her about it." 
 
 " If your reverence does that it'll be all right ; but 
 it's too much trouble for you entirely. Wouldn't it be 
 easier for you to say a word to my mother, who's 
 living convenient to you, and not to be going all 
 that long way .' It would be the same thing in the 
 end." 
 
 It would, so far as Jamesy Casey's marriage was 
 concerned, have been exactly the same thing ; but 
 Father Roche, a true ecclesiastic, had behind his 
 obvious plan another one which he did not publicly 
 declare. According to Bobby Sebright,- the love 
 affairs of Jamesy Casey and Onny Donovan as 
 originally presented to Mrs. Dann were too common- 
 place to be effective in attracting her attention. 
 Now they were enriched by difficulties and took a 
 glow of romantic light from the opposition of a stern 
 parent. Is it not the obstacles, stern parents or 
 others, which give their interest to all love stories > 
 No one would care to read " Romeo and Juliet " if 
 the Montagues and Capulets had not been at feud. 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 297 
 
 The fine passion of Abelard and Helolse would only 
 make us yawn if monastic vows had not got between 
 them like barbed wire entanglements. Surely Mrs. 
 Dann would leap at the chance of playing fairy 
 godmother. Surely a tale of hopeless passion, 
 illustrated with appropriate poetical quotations, 
 would absorb her. Father Roche told Jamesy that 
 he would not interfere in the matter at all except 
 through Mrs. Dann. 
 
 "Whatever your reverence says is right," said 
 Jamesy. " I'll be going up there to-morrow." 
 
 "You'll go to-day," said Father Roche. 
 
 "What I was thinking," said Jamesy, "was that 
 if I was to tell my mother to-night what your 
 reverence is after saying, and how the strange lady is 
 to be set at her, she might see that it would be well 
 for her to give in first as last, and that would be 
 a great saving of trouble for the whole of us. It's 
 what my mother wouldn't care for would be to have 
 the American lady driving down to her in the motor- 
 car." 
 
 " You'll go to-day," said Father Roche ; " and 
 what's more, you'll go at once. Do you want to 
 marry the girl or do you not } " 
 
 " I do, of course." 
 
 " I wouldn't trust you. And what's more, I won't 
 trust you. Go now and put the mare between the 
 shafts of the car and I'll go up along with you, so as 
 I'll see you do go." 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 Opposite the main door of Druminawona House 
 there is a broad lawn, once, in the days when the 
 house was regularly inhabited, adorned with flower- 
 beds, still pleasantly shaded by great lime trees. 
 Here, because the day was hot, Mrs. Dann had chairs 
 and a table. Here she was sitting at tea with Delia 
 and Bobby Sebright, when Father Roche and Jamesy 
 Casey drove up. 
 
 " Bobby," said Mrs. Dann, " that reverend father 
 seems to be getting into the habit of paying pretty 
 frequent visits here ; but I wouldn't like him to feel 
 he's not welcome. You go and take him by the 
 hand." 
 
 Bobby set his teacup on the ground at Delia's 
 feet. He crossed the gravel sweep and took off his 
 hat gravely to the priest. Father Roche shook his 
 hand heartily. Then he turned to Jamesy Casey. 
 
 "Do you take the mare round to the yard, 
 Jamesy," he said, " and as soon as ever you have her 
 put up come back here at once. You'll be wanted." 
 
 "If it was pleasing to your reverence," said 
 Jamesy, "I'd as soon stay in the yard till you've 
 finished speaking to the lady." 
 
 "You'll do nothing of the sort. How do you 
 suppose I can be arranging for your marriage and 
 you not there ? " 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 299 
 
 Jamesy drove off slowly. Now that it came to 
 the point he found that he disliked the idea of 
 quoting " Kathleen Mavourneen," To say the poem 
 privately to Mrs. Dann would be bad enough. To 
 recite it to an audience of four would be much worse. 
 He doubted whether Delia would believe in senti- 
 ments expressed in that way. Bobby Sebright looked 
 as if he might laugh. 
 
 "You're still putting you're money on that 
 marriage," said Bobby. "jBut she isn't interested. 
 You'll have to think of something with more bite in 
 it. That wedding won't do." 
 
 " The way it is now," said Father Roche, " it 
 may do." 
 
 "Fresh romantic interest? Bride discovered to 
 be long-lost daughter of dissolute peer, disowned at 
 birth on account of social prejudice against humble 
 mother ? " 
 
 " It's not her mother at all," said Father Roche ; 
 " it's Jamesy Casey's." 
 
 They crossed the gravel together. Father Roche 
 shook hands with Mrs. Dann and Delia. 
 
 " I'm sorry now," he said, " that Mr. Mervyn isn't 
 along with me. He ought to be, and that's a fact. 
 But he's not. He would be if he could, but the way 
 he's situated presently he can't." 
 
 "If it was later in the week," said Mrs. Dann, 
 " I'd suspect Phil of preparing a sermon. It must be 
 mighty peaceful and slumberous down in your house, 
 Delia, when you're away." 
 
 "Mr. Mervyn's gone," said Father Roche. "He 
 went off to the train." 
 '' " Gone ! " said Delia. " Where to ? " 
 
 Father Roche did not feel that he could very well 
 explain that Mr. Mervyn had gone to appeal to his 
 
300 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 bishop to save him from having to marry Mrs. 
 Dann. 
 
 " How would I know where he's gone ? " he said. 
 " But iEneas Sweeny told me he drove him over to 
 the train." 
 
 " Delia," said Mrs. Dann, " you'll sleep here to- 
 night. Bobby will get the automobile and take you 
 down to pack your things. I expect the young 
 nobleman who drives that car will be resentful at 
 having to go out again, but Bobby will explain to 
 him that while he's along with me he'll have to earn 
 his keep," 
 
 "When you've heard what I'm going to tell you," 
 said Father Roche, " you may be wanting to go down 
 in the motor-car yourself." 
 
 " Phil's not ill ? " said Mrs. Dann. " Don't tell me 
 that Phil's ill, and you're breaking it to us gently by 
 saying he's gone away." 
 
 " He is not ill ; and it's not him I came to speak 
 to you about, but Jamesy Casey." 
 
 " The bridegroom," said Bobby Sebright, " who's 
 opposed to the idea of marrying the weeping bride." 
 
 " He's not opposed to her now," said Father 
 Roche. "He's heart-scalded wanting her. It was 
 only this minute, just before I came up to see you, 
 that I went into the stable and there was the poor 
 fellow with his arms round the mare's neck and him 
 singing ' Kathleen Mavourneen, the grey dawn is 
 breaking,' and ' The snowy-breasted pearl.' I felt 
 sorry for him, and so would you if you heard 
 him." 
 
 Father Roche spoke these last words to Delia, 
 and he spoke them reproachfully. Delia was look- 
 ing at him in a way that made him feel uncomfort- 
 able. At first her eyes expressed no more than a 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 301 
 
 lively interest in Jamesy Casey's condition of love- 
 sickness. Then, when she heard of his .performance 
 in the stable, she seemed greatly surprised. The 
 look of surprise passed quickly and was succeeded 
 by a merry twinkling of her eyes. It was plain to 
 Father Roche that Delia was either greatly amused 
 at the thought of Jamesy Casey singing " Kathleen 
 Mavourneen " to a brown mare, or that she did not 
 believe he had done it. 
 
 " I'd be better able to speak plain," said Father 
 Roche severely, "if Miss Mervyn was out of this. 
 There are some subjects that ought not to be 
 mentioned before young ladies." 
 
 " Bobby," said Mrs. Dann, " take Delia with you 
 and wind up the automobile." 
 
 Delia's position was a difficult one. She wanted 
 very much to hear how Father Roche's mare had 
 behaved when Jamesy sang love-songs to it. She 
 was also greatly interested in Onny Donovan's 
 prospects of getting married. But it is a delicate 
 matter for a young girl to stay where she is when a 
 clergyman hints plainly that he is going to tell 
 improper stories. Stories of this kind are always 
 much worse when told by ladies or men officially 
 committed to strict propriety, than they are under 
 ordinary circumstances. When they get into the 
 kind of histories which are circulated by select 
 libraries they are worst of all. Delia got up and 
 walked away with an offended air. Bobby Sebright 
 followed her. 
 
 " I'm grateful to you for respecting Delia's feel- 
 ings," said Mrs. Dann, "and I'm prepared to blush 
 some." 
 
 "The poor fellow's in love with the girl," said 
 Father Roche, "and what's more, she's in love with 
 
302 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 him ! But here he is coming from the yard now, and 
 he'll tell you the way of it now." 
 
 " I'm not bashful to any excess," said Mrs. Dann, 
 "and I've studied the history of the European 
 monarchs quite a bit, as well as giving support and 
 encouragement to the more artistic kind of serious 
 drama, when presented on the New York stage, but 
 I'd rather hear the story from you than the young 
 man himself. I have a kind of shrinking from the 
 purest kinds of realism." 
 
 " If you think," said Father Roche, " that I'd ask 
 you to listen to anything that a lady ought not to 
 hear you're mistaken. Come here now, Jamesy 
 Casey." 
 
 Jamesy Casey, his cap held tightly with both 
 hands, his face remarkably purple, sidled across the 
 lawn and stood about ten yards from Father Roche 
 and Mrs. Dann. 
 
 " Tell me now, Jamesy," said the priest, " are you 
 in love with Onny Donovan or are you not ? " 
 
 " I am," said Jamesy, " and many's the time I do 
 be saying to myself' ' Kathleen Mavoureen, agus 
 asthbre.' That would be," he added, " when I thought 
 there was no one listening to me that would take it 
 up wrong. For it's Onny they call her, and not 
 Kathleen." 
 
 " There you are now," said Father Roche. " What 
 did I tell you ? And is she in love with you ? " 
 
 " She is," said Jamesy. 
 
 " She wouldn't confide any in me," said Mrs. 
 Dann. "All she'd say was that you were a decent, 
 quiet boy." 
 
 " Sure if she said that much she meant the other," 
 said Jamesy. "You wouldn't be expecting her to 
 say more ! " 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 303 
 
 " And if that's the way of it with you," said Father 
 Roche, " why don't you marry her ? " 
 
 " On account of my mother." 
 
 " And what is it that brings you up here ? " said 
 Father Roche. "What do you want with Mrs. 
 Dann.?" 
 
 " If it would be pleasing to your ladyship," said 
 Jamesy, " to speak a word to my mother any time 
 that might be convenient to you ; it's too much to 
 ask, surely ; but my mother would be pleased and 
 proud to see your ladyship in the inside of our little 
 houseen, and what you'd say would be what she'd 
 listen to." 
 
 " Is that all >" said Mrs. Dann. 
 
 " That's all," said Father Roche. " You can go 
 now, Jamesy." 
 
 " I've always considered," said Mrs. Dann, " that 
 we were at the North Pole of civilisation in the way 
 of delicacy of feeling for the female sex, but you have 
 us beat to a frazzle. It never would have occurred 
 to me that Delia would have blushed any at listening 
 to that confession." 
 
 Father Roche watched Jamesy as he retreated 
 towards the stable. He was not inclined to discuss 
 the disappointing absence of any impropriety in the 
 statements he had just dragged from Jamesy. That 
 seemed to him to be a side issue. He wished to fix 
 Mrs. Dann's attention on the main love interest of 
 the situation. 
 
 " It's a pity of the two of them, so it is," he said, 
 " and a fine young couple they'd make." 
 
 "I don't see why they don't marry," said Mrs. 
 Dann. 
 
 " It's on account of his mother. Didn't he tell you 
 that .' But maybe you weren't listening at the time." 
 
304 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 " In America," said Mrs. Dann, " we reverence the 
 Ten Commandments quite a bit, and we don't under- 
 value the fifth any more than we do the other nine. 
 But it doesn't do to make an idol of the Decalogue, 
 Father Roche. Those two tables of stone weren't 
 meant to be worshipped, and I reckon you're inclined 
 in this country to overestimate the importance of the 
 fifth." 
 
 " It's not so much that — though I don't deny that 
 Jamesy has a respect for his mother ; but it's not so 
 much that as the thought of the life the old woman 
 would lead Onny if she got married in spite of her, 
 and the way Onny would behave to her, for there's 
 no telling what a girl like that would do when her 
 temper was up ; and the time poor Jamesy would have 
 between the two of them ; at it night and morning, 
 hammer and tongs. That's what has him frightened. 
 But if you would speak to the old lady " 
 
 "I don't reckon my speaking would be much 
 use." 
 
 " It would. Believe you me, if you spoke to her 
 she'd be afraid to open her mouth after." 
 
 "Well, I'll do it." 
 
 Father Roche was a little disappointed. He had, 
 indeed, carried his point, Mrs. Dann would pay a 
 visit to old Mrs. Casey. But she did not seem nearly 
 so much interested in the marriage as he had hoped. 
 The romance of it did not sweep her into the region 
 of strong emotion. She ought, he felt, to be more 
 sympathetic with Jamesy, more sorry for Onny 
 than she appeared to be. But she had not said a 
 word about the Miracle Play. That gave him 
 some encouragement. He determined to make a 
 further appeal to her along somewhat different lines. 
 After all, a number of small interests, taken in the 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 305 
 
 aggregate, might be just as distracting as a sftigle large 
 one. 
 
 " That fellow iEneas Sweeny is a terrible black- 
 guard," he said. 
 
 " What would you expect ? He's the live image 
 of Judas Iscariot." 
 
 Father Roche winced. The mention of Judas 
 Iscariot might well lead on to the subject he dreaded. 
 
 "You'd hardly believe it," he said hurriedly, 
 " that this very day he was taking away Onny 
 Donovan's character, telling stories about her that 
 weren't true, nor near true." 
 
 " Seems to me," said Mrs. Dann, " that your 
 parishioners want a lot of looking after." 
 
 "I wish somebody would regulate .^neas 
 Sweeny," said Father Roche. "When he's not 
 robbing Mr. Mervyn, who's an innocent kind of man 
 and suspects nobody, he's drinking whisky, and 
 when he's not at that he's either quarrelling with the 
 police sergeant or spreading stories about Onny 
 Donovan. What we want in this place is a lady — 
 one like yourself now — who would be living here and 
 could take an interest in the lives of the people, 
 seeing to it that the ones who ought to be married 
 were married and the rest of them kept decent as far 
 as could be." 
 
 He was inviting Mrs, Dann to interfere freely in 
 the affairs of the parish. It was a desperate thing 
 to do, and might have consequences of unimaginable 
 kinds ; but the risk of future trouble seemed to him 
 preferable to an immediate Miracle Play. Yet, the 
 risks being what they were, he felt it right to hedge 
 a little. 
 
 " Seconding the efforts of the clergy of course," 
 he added. 
 
 X 
 
$06 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 Mrs. Dann sat silent for a minute. Father Roche 
 could see that she was thinking deeply. 
 
 " When I was studying the mediaeval history of 
 Europe," she said, " I came up against the Feudal 
 System, a most remarkable kind of constitution, 
 though unsuited to the modern democratic state." 
 
 " There were worse things than that same Feudal 
 System." 
 
 " I don't deny," said Mrs. Dann, " that the feudal 
 baron had his uses in the society of that day, and 
 there may be places even in the twentieth century of 
 this era where a nobleman of that kind would be an 
 advantage to the public. It suggests itself to me 
 that Druminawona is one of them." 
 
 " It might be," said Father Roche. 
 
 He was not quite sure where this line of thought 
 might lead ; but it did not seem likely to end in a 
 Miracle Play. He felt justified in giving a cautious 
 assent to what Mrs. Dann said. 
 
 " It was that flavour of the Middle Ages," said 
 Mrs. Dann, " which led me to suggest a Miracle Play, 
 that and the likeness of Phil's hired man to Judas 
 Iscariot." 
 
 "Miracle Plays would be no good here," said 
 Father Roche. 
 
 " Not at first," said Mrs. Dann. " Not right 
 away. I see that now. What your people want is to 
 be gradually trained into the Feudal System. The 
 Miracle Play would drop in of itself later on." 
 
 " In a year or two maybe," said Father Roche, 
 " there'd be no objection to it." 
 
 " But just now," said Mrs. Dann, " what you want 
 is a feudal baron, and it seems to me I might fill the 
 situation. Now is that a business proposition. 
 Father Roche .' Do you mean it straight .' " 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 307 
 
 "If you'd undertake to regulate ^neas Sweeny," 
 said Father Roche, "and talk sense to old Mrs. 
 Casey, and see that Onny Donovan is safely married 
 before she gets into mischief — seconding the efforts of 
 the clergy, Mr. Mervyn's and my own." 
 
 " I'll have my hands full," said Mrs. Dann, " but I 
 expect I'll be equal to the work." 
 
 " There isn't one ever I met," said Father Roche, 
 " would do it better." 
 
 "Well, I'll take it on. I expect poor Nathan P. 
 Dann will be pleased when he hears that I'm doing 
 the Queen of Sheba to the Ten Lost Tribes." 
 
 Father Roche was, on the whole, well satisfied 
 with his success. Mrs. Dann's fondness for the Ten 
 Lost Tribes puzzled him and made him slightly 
 uneasy. He would have felt happier if she had not 
 dragged them and the Queen of Sheba into - her 
 conversation. Any allusion to Old Testament 
 history might lead back to the Miracle Play. On the 
 other hand, Onny Donovan's affairs would certainly 
 occupy her for a few days, and any one who attenjpted 
 the reformation of .^neas Sweeny had a long and 
 arduous task. Human energy, even Mrs. Dann's, is 
 subject to a process of exhaustion. You cannot use 
 it freely and keep its original vigour unimpaired. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 Mr. Mervyn found his hotel tolerably comfortable 
 once the excitement of the pig fair was over. The 
 guests in it met at breakfast in the morning, and Mr. 
 Mervyn found himself sitting next a rosy little man 
 who had been sent by some branch of the Government 
 to find out whether the children in Irish primary 
 schools were learning to sing in tune, a most impor- 
 tant matter for the Empire. At the opposite side of 
 the table was an inspector belonging to the Congested 
 Districts Board, who wore large round spectacles to 
 assist him in performing the mysteries of his craft. 
 At the head and the foot of the table were two 
 commercial travellers. Conversation during the meal 
 consisted entirely of abrupt requests to pass the 
 butter or the marmalade from one end of the table 
 to the other. 
 
 It is a great pity that our romantic novelists — 
 the present writer is a sordid realist — do not make 
 some attempt to utilise the possibilities of the modern 
 provincial hotel. They are awake to the glories 
 of the eighteenth-century inn. They find parties 
 detained in these hostelries by unexpected snow- 
 storms or other chances of old wayfaring. The talk 
 which is recorded is invariably stimulating. Great 
 lords and stately dames, stray soldiers of fortune, 
 highwaymen (in disguise), local squires (furnishing 
 comic relief), and eloping lovers exchange views on 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 309 
 
 current topics and give us hints of the stirring 
 narrative to follow. In reality these people sat mum, 
 save for an occasional oath growled by one of the 
 gentlemen, or a whispered word of complaint from a 
 lady. When Frank Osbaldistone, for instance, spent 
 his Sunday at the Black Bear in Darlington, nobody 
 talked much and mine host carved his buttock of 
 beef sulkily. It is to Sir Walter Scott, and not to 
 the actual Quitams or Mixits, that we owe the 
 delightful talk which we get. Why cannot our 
 novelists do something to enliven the modern hotel ? 
 There are still chances of travel which bring 
 strange companies together. Snowstorms, of course, 
 are rare, and night nowadays does not come on us 
 unexpectedly or stop our journeying when it does 
 come. But trains quite frequently miss their connec- 
 tions and leave us stranded at strange junctions. 
 The untitnely arrival of- Sunday, still, as of old, forces 
 men to sleep in places where they do not want to 
 sleep, for simple lack of trains to travel by. And 
 surely the modern man might be as interesting, if 
 properly handled, as his great-gtandfather. The 
 gentlemen who listen to school songs all day must 
 have their curious experiences, must develop in time 
 a characteristic outlook upon life. The commercial 
 traveller is no swashbuckler, but he is a soldier of 
 fortune in his more peaceable way. Seen with eyes 
 open to the romantic possibilities of his calling, he 
 ought to be a great figure. We may suppose that even 
 a Congested Districts Board Inspector has his great 
 moments, long long thoughts of Parish Councils in the 
 new Jerusalem, dreams of vast continents mapped 
 into economic holdings till they look like giant chess- 
 boards, across which officials hop like nimble knights 
 and mitred bishops run sideways at incredible speed. 
 
310 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 A century hence these people will take their 
 places among the world's great romantic figures. 
 Elderly maidens with library subscriptions will sigh 
 for the days when it was p6ssible for Mr. Mervyn to 
 drink tea and share a loaf with men who tug crates 
 of drapery goods about the country, spend innocent 
 hours among singing children, or plan stark cottages 
 and estimate the value of potato plots. It is the 
 fault of our novelists that we fail to appreciate our 
 opportunities. Meals in provincial hotels are dull, 
 but no duller than the meals in the old inns really 
 were. It is because we lack imagination that they 
 are not glorified. 
 
 Mr. Mervyn, though he was a man of more than 
 commonly philosophic mind, was glad when one by 
 one his companions lit their pipes and left the room. 
 At eleven o'clock he went up to the palace again. 
 He was again unfortunate. The bishop had not 
 returned from Dublin ; would not return, so the 
 servant said, until the following week. Mr. Mervyn 
 went sadly away. It was Saturday. It was not 
 possible for him to wait for the bishop any longer. 
 The church in Druminawona could not be left un- 
 tended on a Sunday. His private affairs might be 
 troublesome and his prospects in life gloomy, but 
 Sergeant Ginty must receive his weekly exhortation 
 from the pulpit. There was a train at one o'clock. 
 
 A tall ecclesiastic was walking up and down the 
 platform when Mr. Mervyn reached the station. He 
 had the air of a well-fed, well-satis^ed man, one 
 accustomed to find his way clear before him when he 
 walked, capable, no doubt, of brushing obstacles aside 
 if any obstacles, human or inanimate, were there. 
 So much was plain to see while the strange clergy- 
 man still walked up the platform away from Mr. 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 311 
 
 Mervyn, When he turned and walked the other 
 way it was obvious that he had every right to be self- 
 confident. He had bright eyes which peered out 
 under shaggy grey eyebrows, a heavy jaw, and he 
 wore the kind of purple silk chest protector affected 
 by high dignitaries of the Roman Catholic Church in 
 Ireland. He was a bishop. Perhaps his strength 
 and capacity had made him a bishop. Perhaps the 
 fact of being a bishop gave him his arrogant self- 
 confidence. Mr. Mervyn gazed at him with a fasci- 
 nated dread. It was quite possible that this was 
 Father Roche's bishop and that he was on his way to 
 Druminawona. The bishop took only one glance at 
 Mr. Mervyn. The humble presbyter of a different 
 Church cannot expect to be stared at by a bishop. 
 
 Mr. Mervyn watched the stately bishop get 
 into a first-class compartment. He himself travelled 
 third-class. 
 
 At the first of the two junctions Mr. Mervyn got 
 out. The bishop also got out. For half an hour 
 they both walked up and down the platform while 
 the driver of the engine which was to drag their train 
 played a pleasant game with the man in the signal- 
 box. He drove his engine rapidly along the lines 
 out of the station for about two hundred yards. Then 
 he stopped it abruptly and made it whistle. The 
 man in the signal-box pulled a lever, and the driver 
 ran his engine backwards into the station again along 
 a different set of lines. Then he made the engine 
 whistle again, another lever was pulled, and the 
 engine had to run along a third set of lines. The 
 game is not unlike that played on a chessboard with 
 a single knight. The player aims at making the 
 knight hop on every square on the board without 
 hopping on any square twice. In the railway game 
 
312 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 the object is to run the engine over every pair of 
 lines in the vicinity of the station with the smallest 
 possible number of alterations of the points. If the 
 man in the signal-box accomplishes his task in 
 "bogey," which varies, of course, at different junc- 
 tions just as it does on different golf links, he wins 
 the game. If he gives the engine an unnecessary 
 run, or gets it into the same siding twice, he loses. 
 The game is immensely popular with Irish railway- 
 men, and it is generally understood that their union, 
 the Amalgamated Society of Railway Servants, 
 insists that time shall be allowed to play it through 
 three times at every junction before the departure of 
 any train. Whether this is so or not we cannot be 
 quite sure, but the game is always played three times 
 at least, generally five or six times. 
 
 Passengers who have not often seen it are greatly 
 interested. Mr. Mervyn, for instance, who travelled 
 seldom, watched it eagerly. He did not thoroughly 
 understand the rules ; but it was easy to see when 
 the driver scored a point against his opponent. 
 Whenever he did so he allowed his engine to whistle 
 twice with triumphant shrillness. When, on the 
 other hand, the signal-man was doing well, the 
 engine, evidently in full sympathy with the driver, 
 did little more than snort. Even Mr. Mervyn, though 
 nothing of a sportsman, understood the sounds. The 
 bishop took no notice of the game. It is the duty of 
 a bishop to travel frequently, and this particular 
 bishop was a conscientious man. He had seen the 
 railway game played thousands of times at every 
 junction in his diocese, and he no longer cared to 
 watch it. He read a small, fat book as he paced up 
 and down, but every time he came to the end of a 
 paragraph he raised his eyes and looked at Mr. 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 313 
 
 Mervyn. He was evidently more interested in him 
 than he had been when he first saw him. Mr. Mervyn 
 had laid his bag down on a seat. The bishop, at the 
 end of one of his walks, stopped and looked at it. 
 There was no label on Mr. Mervyn's bag. The 
 bishop went on with his walk and his reading, 
 unsatisfied. 
 
 The driver and the signal-man finished their 
 game and hooked the engine on to the train. The 
 stationmaster, who had been acting as umpire, 
 pranced haughtily along the platform. It was his 
 custom at this point to hustle the passengers into 
 their carriages, impressing on them by his manner 
 that it was they who had kept the train from starting 
 and that he was going to stand their dawdling ways 
 no more. But there were no passengers except the 
 bishop and Mr. Mervyn. The stationmaster, a man 
 of much wisdom, knew that he would get into serious 
 trouble if he hustled a bishop, and that it was not 
 safe to speak sharply even to a simple clergyman. 
 Out of respect for the Church — any Church deserves 
 respect — he put Mr. Mervyn into a second-class 
 compartment. The bishop, of course, still travelled 
 first. 
 
 The second junction is much larger than the 
 first. It is indeed one of the most important in the 
 west of Ireland. No less than five different trains 
 meet there, two which go east and west, two which 
 go north and south, and another which goes on a 
 little line of its own, south-west and back again. At 
 one splendid moment every day three of the trains 
 are at the junction at once, and the other two are 
 standing just outside, waiting for their chance of 
 getting in. It will easily be understood that such 
 traffic requires a very large number of lines of rails 
 
314 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 and that this^ junction is a favourite course with all 
 players of the railway game. Passengers have to 
 wait an hour and ten minutes here while the game is 
 played. The railway company, which is most anxious 
 about the comfort and convenience of its passengers, 
 has provided a refreshment- rooin. It is possible to 
 get tea in the refreshment-room, but it requires a man 
 of strong character to do it. The tousle-headed girl 
 who stands behind the counter likes giving large 
 tumblers of frothy porter to guards, porters, and 
 commercial gentlemen. She likes talking to them 
 while they drink. She despises mild men who ask 
 for tea, regarding them as little better than women. 
 Unless they are able to terrify her by strange oaths 
 or otherwise, she will not give them tea. It is sus- 
 pected that this girl shares the religious convictions 
 of the Plymouth Brethren. She treats all clergymen 
 with contempt. 
 
 Mr. Mervyn, after watching the railway game for 
 half an hour, went into the refreshment-room and 
 asked for tea. The tousle-headed girl had no 
 customer at the moment who wanted porter, but she 
 was not inclined to make tea for an insignificant- 
 looking old gentleman like Mr. Mervyn. She blew 
 her nose scornfully, using a corner of her apron as a 
 pocket-handkerchief, and began to build little castles 
 out of chocolate-boxes. After waiting ten minutes 
 Mr. Mervyn again asked for tea. The girl turned 
 her back on him and re-arranged her hair, looking 
 into a large mirror which bore an advertisement of 
 whisky on its surface. 
 
 The bishop entered the refreshment-room. The 
 girl saw him reflected in the mirror, and must have 
 known by his purple stock that he was a bishop. 
 But she took np notice of him. She pulled a large 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 315 
 
 semicircular comb out of her hair and polished it with 
 her apron. Then she put it into her hair again and 
 patted her head all over. The bishop cleared his 
 throat loudly. The girl looked round. 
 
 It is not, of course, possible for a bishop to swear, 
 nor can he use really strong language except when 
 drawing up official documents or recommending to the 
 faithful the decrees of his Church. But the kind of man 
 who would, if he were not a bishop, be a fluent and 
 impressive swearer is often able to produce all the 
 effect he wants by clearing his throat or speaking 
 quite innocent words in a blasphemous way. The 
 tousle-headed girl recognised at once that this bishop 
 was a man who would get tea if he wanted it. But 
 she was not inclined to be respectful if she could 
 help it. 
 
 " Is it tea you want ? " she said. 
 
 " Tea," said the bishop sternly. 
 
 The girl turned at once and hurried towards a. 
 door at the end of the counter. Beyond it was a 
 room in which she made tea when she had to. 
 
 "And some tea for me, please," said Mr. Mervyn. 
 
 The girl took no notice of him, and it is not 
 likely that she would have brought him any tea if the 
 bishop had not spoken again. 
 
 " Girl," he said, " come back." 
 
 She had passed through the door and shut it 
 behind her, but she heard the bishop distinctly. It 
 was difficult not to hear that bishop when he spoke. 
 She opened the door again and stood sulkily on the 
 threshold. 
 
 " Tea for two," said the bishop, " and be quick 
 about getting it." 
 Then he turned to Mr. Mervyn. 
 
 " There's only one way," he said, " of dealing with 
 
3i6 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 girls like that. But they like it. That's one 
 comfort." 
 
 It is said — Mr. Mervyn had often heard it — that 
 nowadays Ireland is governed from Maynooth, that 
 the bishops of the Roman Catholic Church, not the 
 English Cabinet Ministers, decide what is or is not to 
 be done. At that moment Mr. Mervyn was quite 
 prepared to believe that they governed England also. 
 It seemed plain that the man who talked to him 
 might govern anybody. 
 
 The bishop drew a letter from his pocket, turned 
 over the pages of it rapidly, and read the last one. 
 
 "Perhaps," he said, "you will allow me to ask 
 whether you are Mr. Mervyn of Druminawona." 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Mervyn, " I am." 
 
 The bishop read a little more of the letter. 
 
 " This," he said, " is a letter from Father Roche, 
 the parish priest. I understand that you know what 
 it is about." 
 
 " The Miracle Play," said Mr. Mervyn. 
 
 " Exactly, and Father Roche informs me that you 
 quite agree with him that " 
 
 " Quite," said Mr. Mervyn, " yes. Quite." 
 
 " A Miracle Play's impossible," said the bishop. 
 ' ' I shouldn't dream of sanctioning it. I'm surprised 
 that it's been allowed to go so far." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn was not accountable for his actions 
 to this bishop, nor was he in any way called upon to 
 defend himself or make excuses for not having put a 
 stop to Mrs. Dann's plans at once. Yet it was in a 
 tone of apology that he spoke. 
 
 " We couldn't help it," he said ; " we did our best, 
 both Father Roche and I. But Mrs. Dann " 
 
 " The American woman," said the bishop, glancing 
 at the letter again. " Who is she ? " 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 31; 
 
 " My sister-in-law," said Mr. Mervyn, " but I have 
 no influence with her." 
 
 The girl came from the inner room with a tea- 
 tray in her hands. There were two cups of strong 
 black tea upon it and a jug of milk. Each saucer 
 held three lumps of sugar. There was also a plate of 
 biscuits. She laid it down in front of the bishop. 
 He took a shilling from his pocket and put it on the 
 counter. 
 
 " Now go away, little girl," he said. " I'll call 
 you again if I want you. 
 
 She was thoroughly tamed. Mr. Mervyn watched 
 her slink off without a toss of her head, without a 
 word of reply, a cowed creature. He no longer 
 wondered that Lords Lieutenant, Chief Secretaries, 
 and dignified Vice-Presidents of Departments did 
 exactly what they were told to do. A bishop who 
 can subdue an impudent barmaid would plainly have 
 no difficulty with mere Cabinet Ministers and 
 permanent officials. He began to wonder what 
 would happen to Mrs. Dann. 
 
 " It's very inconvenient to me," said the bishop, 
 "to have to go down to Druminawona in this way. 
 Father Roche ought to have been able to manage a 
 simple business of this kind without calling on me." 
 
 " It's not really so simple." 
 
 " I don't see the difficulty. Surely it must be 
 obvious that a Miracle Play " 
 
 "We quite understand that," said Mr. Mervyn, 
 " quite. But " 
 
 He hesitated. It was really very hard to explain 
 why the Miracle Play had not been forbidden at once. 
 
 " Yes ? " said the bishop. 
 
 "Well, you see," said Mr. Mervyn, "you don't 
 know Mrs. Dann yet." 
 
3i8 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 " I shall see her to-morrow." 
 
 " You'll understand our difficulties better then." 
 
 " She'll understand that I won't tolerate anything 
 of the sort in my diocese." 
 
 " Besides, the people were all in favour of the play," 
 said Mr. Mervyn. 
 
 "The people can't be in favour of what their 
 priest disapproves of." 
 
 " We thought — that is to say, they thought — Mrs. 
 Dann said and everybody thought that money could 
 be made out of it. That's what made it so hard for 
 Father Roche. And the people are very poor ; a 
 little money " 
 
 "They're no poorer than they deserve to be," 
 said the bishop, " and whatever money is good for 
 them the bishops and priests will get for them. 
 We're the proper persons to look after their interests, 
 and we can't have American women interfering with 
 the business of the Church." 
 
 During the earlier part of the conversation Mr. 
 Mervyn felt himself completely overpowered by this 
 masterful ecclesiastic. But the spirit of Protestantism 
 is a virile thing. He gradually recovered his courage 
 and began to resent the domineering tone of the 
 bishop. He recalled many sayings of John Owen. 
 That great divine could hector too. Mr. Mervyn was 
 not spiritually near akin to the fighting Puritans of 
 the seventeenth century, but he was not utterly 
 submissive. He did not indeed dare to reply, but, 
 sipping his tea silently, he found a pleasure in think- 
 ing of the interview between Mrs. Dann and this 
 masterful bishop. He pictured Bobby Sebright 
 standing by, alert, his notebook in his hand, rapidly 
 planning articles of a vivid kind for the New York 
 papers. There would be local colour enough and to 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 319 
 
 spare when the bishop laid down the law about the 
 proper attitude of the people to their priests. 
 
 Then he realised suddenly that the bishop had 
 paid for both cups of tea. To a man of Mr. Mervyn's 
 sensitive conscience there seemed to be something 
 dishonourable about gloating over the future dis- 
 comfort of a man while drinking the tea he had paid 
 for. He felt in his pocket and produced six pennies. 
 The bishop waved them aside. 
 
 " Don't say a word about that, Mr. Mervyn," he 
 said, " not a word. I wish you'd come to my house 
 some day and have tea with me there. I'd give you 
 something better to eat." 
 
 The guard came into the refreshment-room and 
 told the bishop that the train was ready to start. 
 
 " We're a bit late already," he said, " on account 
 of the shunting. There was a powerful lot of wagons 
 to be shunted." 
 
 " Shunting " is the official name of the game played 
 by the engine-drivers and signal-men. Its use is a 
 concession to the ridiculous opinion held by some 
 people that railway servants ought not to amuse 
 themselves until the trains under their charge have 
 reached their destinations. 
 
 The bishop opened the door of the only first-class 
 compartment in the train. 
 
 " Come in here," he said to Mr. Mervyn. 
 
 " But," said Mr. Mervyn, " I've only got a third- 
 class ticket." 
 
 " I'd like to see the porter on this line," said the 
 bishop, " who'd ask you to pay a penny extra when 
 you're along with me." 
 
CHAPTER XXV 
 
 The train started, and the bishop, settling himself in 
 a corner of the carriage, began to read again. Mr. 
 Mervyn got John Owen out of his bag. In discussion 
 the bishop^ might overcrow him, but he meant to 
 show that he too was a man of learning. The work 
 of John Owen, considered as material for thought, 
 was at least equal to anything likely to be in the fat 
 little book, with a brass cross on the cover, which the 
 bishop read. 
 
 " A Vindication of the Animadversions on ' Fiat 
 Lux.' " The title itself was enough to restore self- 
 respect to a man who had been intellectually battered, 
 and the pages bristled with short quotations from 
 Latin poets. Could the bishop quote ofSfhand from 
 Juvenal and Horace .' Mr. Mervyn doubted it John 
 Owen could and did. Was it likely that the bishop 
 knew an author described as " Stat: Theb: " .' Mr. 
 Mervyn could not guess at his full name. John 
 Owen cited four entire hexameters from his works. 
 The author of " Fiat Lux," the original man against 
 whose work John Owen had animadverted, who had 
 apparently ventured to reply, who afterwards suffered 
 under a " Vindication of the Animadversions " — this 
 man was a Papist. John Owen not only bombarded 
 him with Latin quotations and heavy argument. He 
 subjected him to a kind of ponderous chaffing. Mr. 
 Mervyn glanced at the bishop. John Owen would, 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 321 
 
 no doubt, have chaffed him also. " If you ever 
 debated this procedure with yourself," chuckled John 
 Owen, " had I been present with you when you said 
 with him in the poet " — how that Papist must have 
 writhed — " ' Dubius sum quidfaciam. Tene relinquam 
 an rem,^ I should have replied with him ' Me sodes.' " 
 Mr. Mervyn did not catch the point ; but no doubt it 
 pricked the author of " Fiat Lux " in a tender place. 
 The way he behaved afterwards showed that. " But 
 you were otherwise minded and are gone before." If 
 the man had been able to think of any reply to the 
 "Me sodes" he would not have run away and left 
 John Owen to pursue him, as John Owen immediately 
 did, with a line and a half from one of Horace's 
 satires. 
 
 The bishop closed his little book with a sigh of 
 satisfaction. Mr. Mervyn had some thought of 
 offering him John Owen, but before he had nerved 
 himself to do so the train began to slow down. Mr. 
 Mervyn remembered that the bishop had paid for his 
 tea, thought, with a thrill of gratitude, that it was the 
 bishop who had brought him into this comfortably- 
 cushioned compartment, rescuing him from the bare 
 boards of the third-class carriage in which he 
 ought to have been. For these benefits he owed some 
 small return. 
 
 " I'm expecting my pony to meet me at the 
 station," he said. " If you haven't ordered a car — or 
 if Father Roche isn't coming to meet you " 
 
 "Thank you," said the bishop. "Father Roche 
 is not expecting me." 
 
 There was a hint of grimness in the way he spoke. 
 Mr, Mervyn suspected him of having planned a 
 surprise visit to Father Roche, perhaps with malicious 
 intent. 
 
322 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 "I could drive you to Drutninawona," said Mr. 
 Mervyn. "Biddy — that's my pony — isn't very fast, 
 and It's fully ten miles ; but if you haven't ordered a 
 car " 
 
 "Thank you," said the bishop; "I shall feel 
 very much obliged to you if you can leave me at the 
 presbytery." 
 
 Biddy was not at the station. Instead of the 
 phaeton, Mrs. Dann's motor-car was waiting. 
 Michael Staunton explained that Mr. Mervyn was to 
 go straight to Druminawona House without stopping 
 at the rectory. 
 
 " Perhaps " said Mr. Mervyn to the bishop. 
 
 " It is not my motor-car, but I am sure Mrs. Dann 
 would wish — won't you get in ? " 
 
 For a ten miles' drive at eight o'clock at night a 
 motor-car is very much to be preferred to a pony 
 trap. The bishop recognised this and took his seat 
 in the tonneau. Mr. Mervyn followed him. Michael 
 Staunton, two great acetylene lamps showing a long 
 bright stretch in front of him, made short work of 
 the hilly road. Mr. Mervyn and the bishop clung 
 to their hats and bumped into each other when the 
 car leaped the culvert ridges at the bottoms of the 
 hills. There was no possibility of conversation. In 
 half an hour the lights of Druminawona were 
 twinkling in front of them. Mr. Mervyn leaned 
 forward and touched Michael Staunton on the 
 arm. 
 
 " Please stop at the presbytery," he said ; " the 
 bishop is going to see Father Roche." 
 
 " Father Roche is at Druminawona House," said 
 Michael Staunton. " I drove him up there before I 
 went to the station to meet you." 
 
 " What's that > " said the bishop. 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 323 
 
 " I think," said Mr. Mervyn, " that Father Roche 
 must be dining with Mrs. Dann." 
 
 " Oh," said the bishop. 
 
 Mr. Mervyn felt very sorry for Father Roche. It 
 was plain from the bishop's tone that Father Roche 
 had no right to dine with Mrs, Dann under the 
 circumstances. 
 
 " But we can stop at the presbytery," said Mr. 
 Mervyn. " I'm sure his housekeeper will do every- 
 thing she can to make you comfortable," 
 
 " I should prefer," said the bishop, " to see Father 
 Roche at once." 
 
 The car sped through the village, passed across 
 the bridge which spanned the river, swept through 
 the gates of Druminawona demesne and up the long 
 avenue. A neat parlourmaid opened the door as the 
 car drew up. She led Mr. Mervyn and the bishop to 
 the dining-room. 
 
 There was a party of four at the table. Mrs. 
 Dann, splendid in a purple velvet gown and decked 
 with many diamonds, sat at one end. Delia was 
 opposite her. She wore a white frock, the first 
 genuinely evening frock she had ever possessed. 
 Round her neck hung a string of pearls, and more 
 pearls were twined in her hair. Bobby Sebright sat 
 at one side of the table. At the other, with his back 
 to the door, was Father Roche. He was standing. 
 In his hand, raised to the level of his forehead, he 
 held a glass of champagne. 
 
 " It is a pleasure to me," he said, " to propose the 
 health of a young lady as beautiful as Miss Delia 
 Mervyn. You may go where you like, Mr, Sebright, 
 you may go to America or you may go to France, 
 but you will not see any young lady that's more 
 beautiful, or nicer dressed." 
 
324 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 He bowed to Mrs. Dann when he mentioned 
 Delia's clothes. Then he stopped abruptly. Mrs. 
 Dann was not looking at him. Her eyes were on 
 the door. Father Roche turned round. He saw Mr. 
 Mervyn and the bishop. His face flushed deeply. 
 He lowered his hand slowly and set the champagne 
 glass on the table. Then he sat down heavily. 
 
 " Phil," said Mrs. Dann, standing up, " I'm 
 delighted. You're just in time to drink Delia's 
 
 health. Father Roche insists But, introduce 
 
 your friend, Phil." 
 
 Mr. Mervyn was greatly astonished at the scene 
 before him. He had never in his life seen anything 
 so gorgeous as Mrs. Dann's dress. The glittering of 
 her diamonds dazzled him. Delia seemed to him 
 utterly changed. He did not know and could not 
 guess at the value of the pearls she wore, but he felt 
 that she was no longer in the least like the Lucy who 
 dwelt beside the streams of Dove, a maiden very 
 dear to him. So unaccustomed was he to scenes of 
 festivity that even Bobby Sebright's shining shirt- 
 front increased his bewilderment. He answered Mrs. 
 Dann incoherently. 
 
 " He's not my friend," he said ; " at least, not 
 exactly. He's a bishop. He's Father Roche's 
 bishop." 
 
 "Bishop," said Mrs. Dann, "you're welcome. I 
 can't boast of having entertained many bishops, but 
 I'm proud to have one at my table. Bobby, ring the 
 bell. Phil and the bishop will dine." 
 
 " Madam," said the bishop, " I thank you for your 
 hospitality, but I have come to talk to Father Roche. 
 He and I " 
 
 "Now that won't do," said Mrs. Dann. "You 
 and Father Roche can talk to-morrow. Just you sit 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 32S 
 
 down now, right here, beside me. Bobby, take the 
 bishop's hat and coat. Phil, you sit on my other 
 side." 
 
 Mrs. Dunn laid actual hands on the bishop while 
 she spoke. She grasped him by the elbow and 
 pulled at him. When he did not stir from the 
 doorway she put her arm ro'und his waist. Never, 
 since he first entered Maynooth College, had the 
 bishop been treated in this way. He was taken 
 absolutely by surprise. He had not, indeed, expected 
 Mrs. Dann to curtsey to him or to kiss his ring. He 
 understood that she was a Protestant of some kind, 
 and therefore unlikely to behave with perfect propriety. 
 But he was amazed at being embraced and dragged 
 across the room as if he were a partner in some kind 
 of rowdy dance. And Bobby Sebright was no more 
 respectful. He took the bishop's hat out of his hand, 
 and, with unhallowed levity, pulled at his overcoat. 
 Father Roche was scandalised. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, ma'am," he said, " but the 
 bishop " 
 
 " You leave me to manage the bishop," said Mrs. 
 Dann. "I reckon he wants his dinner same as any 
 other man. Don't tell me, Father Roche. Sanctity 
 is a first-rate thing, and I appreciate it when present 
 in unusual quantities, but bishops just have to eat if 
 they don't want to die." 
 
 The bishop was pushed into a chair. He sub- 
 mitted to the loss of his coat. He allowed a plate to 
 be set before him and a wineglass at his elbow ; but 
 he was not the sort of man who is entirely subdued 
 without a struggle. 
 
 '■ I came here this evening," he said, " at the 
 request of Father Roche, to express my opinion on the 
 subject of a Miracle Play, which, I understand " 
 
326 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 " Now I call that just sweet of you," said Mrs. 
 Dann. " I could hug you right away for thinking of 
 the play, and I would if you weren't a bishop." 
 
 " Madam ! " said the bishop. 
 
 She already had, to a certain extent, hugged the 
 bishop. She looked as if she might very well do it a 
 second time, do it more definitely. 
 
 " Madam ! " said the bishop again. 
 
 Father Roche trembled. Mr. Mervyn felt 
 supremely ^uncomfortable. Delia was frightened. 
 The tousle-headed barmaid in the refreshment-room 
 at the junction had fled at the sound of his terrific 
 tones. Bobby Sebright was unabashed. 
 
 He tugged at his shirt-cuff and when he got it 
 pulled down to his knuckles, began to write on it 
 with a pencil. Mrs. Dann patted the bishop's shoulder 
 soothingly. 
 
 "Bobby," she said, "fill the glass." 
 
 Bobby ran to the sideboard and took up a bottle 
 of champagne. Mrs. Dann continued to pat the 
 bishop while the wine was poured out. Then she 
 lifted the glass and put it to his lips. The bishop 
 could do nothing but swallow it. 
 
 " I didn't mean to do it It wouldn't be kind. 
 No man would give a cent for a hug from me while 
 he could see Delia at the other end of the room 
 looking like one of the daughters of the artist Greuze 
 in a low-necked dress. All the same, bishop, I don't 
 call it polite of you to faint off at the suggestion." 
 
 The bishop took the wineglass in his own hand 
 and finished the wine in two gulps. Then his eyes 
 rested on Delia. She was recovering from her 
 fright and blushed very prettily. Even bishops can 
 appreciate, though of course only in a detached and 
 impersonal way, the blushes of girls who look like 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 327 
 
 Greuze pictures come to life. Bobby refilled the 
 wineglass. Mrs. Dann, taking a dish from the 
 parlourmaid, put veal cutlets covered with jelly on 
 to his plate. 
 
 Delia blushing more deeply than ever, ran to Mr. 
 Mervyn and flung her arms round his neck. 
 
 " Oh, father," she said, " I'm so happy, and I'm 
 glad you're back. I want to tell you all about it." 
 
 " My lord," said Father Roche, " I'm pleased to be 
 able to inform you that the subject of my letter isn't 
 of importance any longer. The Miracle Play is given 
 up." 
 
 " For the present," said Mrs. Dann. 
 
 " I should have forbidden it," said the bishop. 
 
 He did not speak nearly so firmly as before. 
 No man can be very stern when he is eating veal 
 cutlets with quivering jelly all over them, and delicious 
 morsels of truffle which meet the teeth unexpectedly. 
 He had, besides, taken a sip or two out of his second 
 glass of champagne. 
 
 " Now don't get riled," said Mrs. Dann. 
 " Dignity's all right, of course, I respect dignity, 
 though I knew a senator once who overdid it. But 
 it's not polite to get riled. Come to think of it, bad 
 temper isn't Christian, and bishops are kind of bound 
 to set a high standard of religious conduct. I won't 
 say a word more about the play. It's an opportunity 
 wasted, and I've always hated waste. Nathan P. 
 Dann never wasted chances, and I don't deny that it 
 pleased me to think of him looking down from his 
 new home among the stars, noting that I was making 
 something out of the Ten Lost Tribes. But Phil was 
 always against the notion on artistic grounds, and I 
 realise now that it jarred some on Father Roche's 
 religious feelings ; so I've dropped the project." 
 
328 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 She jumped up and changed the bishop's plate 
 while she spoke. The parlourmaid had left a dish of 
 meringues on the sideboard. Mrs. Dann took it. 
 While she was at the other side of the room Father 
 Roche leaned across the table and whispered to 
 Mr. Mervyn. 
 
 " It was Mr. Sebright distracted her mind," he 
 said, " him and Miss Delia between them." 
 
 There was no time to say more. Mr. Mervyn 
 was left in gaping astonishment, while Mrs, Dann 
 gave three meringues each to him and to the bishop. 
 Delia had gone back to her seat. Mr. Mervyn could 
 not ask her what Father Roche meant. He turned 
 to Bobby Sebright, who sat beside him. 
 
 " What is this all about ? " he said. " What does 
 Father Roche mean ? Why are you all so 
 excited ? " 
 
 "Sir," said Bobby Sebright, "you're liable to 
 complain that we should have cabled to you. I admit 
 you had a right to expect it. But Delia and I 
 only fixed it up this afternoon. We might have 
 sent a message to the railway station. Delia was in- 
 clined for that course. But Sally May wouldn't have 
 it. Sally May has a taste for the dramatic. She 
 wanted the paternal benediction given in the lime- 
 light." 
 
 " What have you and Delia arranged ? " said Mr. 
 Mervyn, " Surely not " 
 
 " Partnership for life," said Bobby Sebright, 
 " based upon sincere affection on both sides." 
 
 " Do you mean you want to marry her .' " 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Bobby, " and we count on your 
 approval." 
 
 Father Roche stretched far across the table, 
 leaning on his elbows and pushing his head in far 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 329 
 
 among the flower vases. Mrs. Dann was talking 
 eagerly to the bishop. He felt safe in whispering 
 hoarsely. 
 
 " It's my opinion, Mr. Mervyn, that you ought to 
 be thankful to Mr. Sebright. Whether you like the 
 wedding he's proposing or not, you ought to be 
 thankful to him. Only for him you might have had to 
 do something of the sort yourself." He nodded side- 
 ways to Mrs. Dann, reminding Mr. Mervyn of the 
 fate from which Delia and Bobby Sebright had saved 
 him. " We'd have had to do something surely, the 
 one or the other of us, to distract her mind. You 
 see the way the bishop took it. But Mr. Sebright 
 saw what was wanted and did it." 
 
 "Father Roche, you're mistaken about my 
 motive," said Bobby Sebright. " I assure you, Mr. 
 Mervyn, that it wasn't the idea of diverting Sally 
 May's mind from the Miracle Play which led me to 
 approach Miss Mervyn." 
 
 " I hope not," said Mr. Mervyn, " I hope not." 
 
 " Phil," said Mrs. Dann, speaking with shrill 
 distinctness, " I've been talking to the bishop. I've 
 laid before him a business proposition. I'm prepared 
 to sign a total abstinence pledge against Miracle 
 Plays and to give up the situation offered me by 
 Father Roche as mediaeval baroness of Druminawona 
 if the bishop will agree to perform the ceremony. I 
 have a strong feeling that this wedding ought to be 
 done in first-rate style, and I don't know any man 
 who'd do the principal part with more genuine 
 sacerdotal emphasis than the prelate you brought 
 here to-night. But the bishop has misgivings. He 
 thinks that you wouldn't like it, on account of the 
 misunderstandings there have been in the past between 
 your Church and his. That's not so, Phil, is it ? " 
 
330 THE LOST TRIBES 
 
 " I'm afraid," said Mr. Mervyn, " that there would 
 be difficulties. The law of the Church " 
 
 He wondered vaguely what Dr. Ed: Bullingbrooke 
 would say about such a proposal. 
 
 " The bishop agrees to perform the ceremony in 
 your church, Phil." 
 
 The bishop's heart was softened. It was, indeed, 
 softer than it had been for many years. Whipped 
 cream is a cloying and enervating kind of food, 
 destructive of the will power. The bishop had eaten 
 three large meringues full of it. But he had not 
 entirely lost his sense of right and wrong. 
 
 "I can't promise that," he said. "You have mis- 
 understood me, madam. I never undertook " 
 
 " Now bish," said Mrs. Dann, " don't go back on 
 it. My heart is set on having you to " 
 
 " Canon law," said the bishop, " is quite de- 
 cisive " 
 
 " I won't have any one to marry me except father," 
 said Delia. 
 
 " I guess that settles it," said Bobby Sebright. 
 
 "Bish," said Mrs. Dann, "I'm sorry, for I know 
 you're disappointed." 
 
 " Not at all," said the bishop politely. 
 
 " You disguise it," said Mrs. Dann, " but you are 
 disappointed." 
 
 " It would never have done," said Mr. Mervyn. 
 " It couldn't have been managed." 
 
 " But the bishop shall perform the other 
 ceremony," said Mrs. Dann. " We'll have them both 
 on the same day, with triumphal arches, brass bandsi 
 and other trimmings." 
 
 The bishop looked round him helplessly. There 
 was no one else in the room who seemed likely to be 
 a bridegroom or a bride. 
 
THE LOST TRIBES 331 
 
 " Have you another wedding ? " he asked. 
 
 " I spent this morning," said Mrs. Dann, " and the 
 greater part of the afternoon, impressing on Mrs. 
 Casey the advantage of having Onny Donovan for a 
 daughter-in-law. I don't regret the time spent, because 
 it gave Bobby Sebright the opportunity of explaining 
 the extent of his affection to Delia ; but I might 
 have settled it with Mrs. Casey prompter than I did. 
 Nathan P. Dann always used to tell me that there 
 is one argument which everybody understands. I 
 recollected that in the end. It cost me fifty dollars 
 to reconcile Mrs. Casey, and I paid up. I reckon now 
 I've bought the right to ask the bishop to perform the 
 ceremony." 
 
 " They're Catholics," said Father Roche, " both the 
 two of them." 
 
 " Bobby," said Mrs. Dann, " my glass is empty, 
 and Father Roche is going on with the oration he'd 
 just begun when Phil and the bishop came in." 
 
 Father Roche looked doubtfully at the bishop. 
 Then he rose slowly to his feet. The bishop tapped 
 sharply on the table with his knuckles. Father Roche 
 sat down abruptly. The bishop himself rose, smiling, 
 to his feet. He held his half-filled glass of champagne 
 to his lips. He bowed graciously to Delia. 
 
 "I wish good health and long life and all happi- 
 ness to Miss Mervyn," he said. 
 
 THE END 
 
 PRINTED BV WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITSO, LOHDON AND BBCCLE9.