"Keep it till you learn to write, dear," said I.
"She ken write now," remarked Rory, with subdued exultation. "Here, jewel," he continued, handing her a pencil from the mantelpiece—"write yer name nately on that paper, fur Misther Collins till see."
The child, tremulous with an ecstatic sense of responsibility, bent over her paper on the table for a full minute, then diffidently pushed it across to me; and I read, in strong Roman capitals, the inscription, MRAY, with the M containing an extra angle—being, so to speak, a letter and a half.
"Ye're wake in spellin', honey," remarked her father merrily; "an' the M's got an exthry knuckle on it."
"It's right enough," I interposed. "Could n't be better. Now, Mary, I'll keep this paper, and show it to you again when you're a great scholar and a great poetess. See if I don't."
The entrance of Mrs. O'Halloran cut short this nonsense; and Rory went out to milk the goats, accompanied, of course, by Mary.
After breakfast, we took our bridles and went out toward where the five horses were feeding together, the inevitable child pattering along by Rory's side.
"You have a lot to be thankful for," I remarked.
"Blessed be His Name!" thought Rory aloud; and I continued, "You must make up your mind to send her away to school in another four or five years."
"Iv coorse," replied Rory sadly.
"A convent school, mind. None of your common boarding schools for a child like Mary"
Rory's only reply was a glance of gratitude. My stern admonition would be a moral support to him in the coming controversy.
"You mentioned some other literary work that you have on hand?" I remarked inquiringly.
"Yis; A've jotted down a few idays. Now, Tammas—where was the Garden of Aden supposed to be?"
"My word, Rory, if a man could only disclose that to the world, he would command attention. However, one theory is that it was on the lost continent of Atlantis; another, that it was in the Valley of Cashmere. There are many other localities suggested, but I think the one which meets most favour is the Isle of Kishm, in the Straits of Ormuz, at the entrance to the Persian Gulf. "
"Will ye repate that, Tammas, iv ye plaze."
I briefly rehearsed such relevant information as I possessed, whilst Rory kidnapped the geographical names, and imprisoned them in his note-book, trusting to his memory for the rest.
"Oul' Father Finnegan, at Derryadd, useteh argie that the Garden iv Aden hed been furnent the Lake o' Killarney; an' no one dar' conthradict him," he remarked, with a smile. "But people larns till think fur theirselves when they're out theyre lone. An' afther consitherin' the matter over, A take this iday fur a foundation: The furst Adam was created in a sartin place; then he sinned in a sartin place. An' when the Saviour
