

-'{ .4" 



^V 





^^fiQOTAfl^^oN nOKSEBACK 



B 



CHAPTER I. 



"Well, I'm not exactly sure," said the 

 ironmonger, gazing out into the glaring 

 street through a doorway festooned with 

 tin mugs and gridirons, " but I think it was the 

 gentleman as played the kettle - drum that rode 

 him." His eyes seemed to follow some half-re- 

 membered pageant, though outwardly they rested 

 on the languid salutations of the saddler's dog 

 and the hotel collie on the opposite pavement. 



Miss O'Flannigan, who looked and was too hot 

 for conversation, remained impassive where she 

 sat, on the top of an " Empress " cottage stove, 

 with her gaze fixed on the zinc pails that hung 

 like Chinese lanterns from the ceiling. 



A 



