try to hold it in at night." "Have you taken your own precautions?" "I always sleep with one eye open and my hand on my Browning. That is the first law of nature. I sleep the same as you do. I should like to see a man asleep without his weapon. A man's weapon is a part of himself. I should like to see him asleep without a weapon--not I. You sleep, and you have your Browning--and there are the consequences. You sleep, you're sound asleep. I am awake, and I take my Browning, and what do I do? Shoot the enemy through the mattress. You understand me?" "I don't understand you." "Then you don't understand the Browning. My God, I'd shoot all round me for my Browning, to say nothing of a woman or a dog. If you don't understand, I can't help it. We're all awake together." This conversation made no more impression on Jno. Brown than the shrieks of the women or the barking of the dogs would have made, and for the rest of the night he kept wondering what the old woman had seen, or if she had seen anything at all. Her terror may have been born of fear, her terror may have been born of some supernatural cause. However it was, it did not matter much. He, Brown, had his Webley, and there is always a fascination in a Webley. But to return to the day, the morning of which was clear and bright and sunny, with occasional white mists that lay floating about in the valleys or hanging over the hills. The air was sweet and clear and pure, and so deliciously cool that for some time after the rising of the sun, Jno. Brown was loth to stir. He lay like a sleepy linnet in the tree, his right hand under his head and the muzzle of his pistol pointing downwards. When at length he did go down, he went to his own breakfast, and after that he was going to make a few preliminary inquiries, before going to the house of the Chief of the Erin tribe. On his way to the chief's house, he met the priest. The good man was walking quickly, and evidently excited. He seemed to be looking for someone and on meeting Jno. Brown he stopped short. "Is it possible?" he said, "is it possible? Your honour is going to the Chief of the People of the Hills?" "If you will come with me." "But it is a matter of religion. I do not wish to say anything against your religion. My friend, but it is a sad thing to enter the house of the godless." "I cannot enter that house, because I am a fool." "Tut, tut! you were a foolish man before you came here." "I don't want to make your religion a row. I must go to the chief. I suppose that means to say I must go in through the window?" "Surely your honour does not expect to walk into the stronghold of the idolaters without knocking at the door? How do I know but the chief has the door barred?" "Will you walk up?" "Will I walk up!" exclaimed the old priest, "surely no great man like your honour would ask a man to walk up. A little step, like that of a sparrow, will be enough to show your reverence that you are on the ground floor." "I am only asking you to walk up the hill with me. I am not going to offer you my heart and my vitals. Come, old man, just turn back and tell them to open the door. There is no harm in that, and you might as well have your breakfast in the garden. It would do you good to have some fried fish and a cup of tea." "The sun has risen before me," said the priest, "and I do not fear the day. I am an old man, and the wind of heaven will scatter the clouds from my brow. But I will go with you to show you the path. I am glad of any excuse to see the town. It has been long enough that my eyes have not seen it." "I expect we can find your way together," said Jno. Brown. He took the priest by the arm and led him up the hill, and they soon arrived at the house. It stood high, and was of considerable size. There was a large door to the right of the road, which faced the sunrise, and this was all the entrance there was to the place, save for a little path, which came down through the orchard, and in which was a door. This led to the chief's house. This path, if path it could be called, began in front of the chief's house, and passed right through the orchard to the town. It was, therefore, a public way, though a rough one. The priest stopped just within the gate. "The chief sleeps still," said he. "I'll say a prayer for him." "I don't want you to do anything more than you are doing," said Jno. Brown, "I will ask him myself. I suppose you know the door is locked?" "And they say there is no lock can keep a crow from coming through," said the priest. "But I have found the door to-day, and I have told him." "Will you tell him to open the door? That is all I want." "Oh, he will open the door," said the priest, "he will open the door. He will not be angry if you wait awhile." "I am not afraid of him being angry," said Jno. Brown. "But if he is angry, it is very easy to shoot him, as he is alone in his house. It would be hard if he were angry with me, after all I have done for him." "He will not be angry," said the priest. "The great Chief of Erin must be above anger." The priest was right there, and Jno. Brown was very confident. It was a little while before the priest went away to look for the chief. In the meantime, Brown sat himself down upon the grass and gazed at the sunrise, for he was in no hurry. The sun came up in its full glory and flooded the world with light, and from far away across the bay came a faint sound of music. Not a bird sang in the valley, but every now and then, from some far-away place came the low sound of a pipe. After waiting a while, he was astonished at seeing the old priest coming towards him. The priest's eyes were sparkling, and he had the air of a man with an interesting secret. "Did you find him?" asked Brown. "Sure," said the priest. "He was not sleeping--not sleeping at all." "And what did he say?" "The chief?" said the priest. "The chief did not say anything. But he is on the move. He is in the road, and just now I see him coming up this path. Ah, but he is looking at the sunrise. He has seen the sun rise, and he does not fear the day." "Do you know who that man is? It may be a greater enemy than ever I should be to the cause of religion. He is a Christian." "He is a poor, ignorant, superstitious man," said the priest. "He is a man of the hills and does not know better. He has a belief in a lot of things that do not exist, and a belief in a lot of things that we know never exist. A lot of foolishness is believed by him because it was believed by his fathers, and has been believed by all the fathers from the beginning." "And you don't think he would make an enemy of me, or my religion?" asked Brown. "No, no, but I think you will have a hard row to hoe if you go in to see him. He is not a bad man, and I am told there are a great many good men who are even worse. I don't suppose you believe that, for you have faith, but it is true." "Faith means nothing if it is nothing," said Brown. "Let us get on and see the chief. What do you mean to do?" "We must see what he is going to do," said the priest. "Then we must see what is to be done about it." The priest walked on and Brown followed. They did not meet the chief just at once, but by-and-by he saw them coming down the road towards him. Brown was thinking as he walked. He had never really thought till now. He was anxious to see the chief, not from a curiosity