"Would you eat a fresh square, Finn?" Tim asked.

"I would," said Finn.

Tim thereupon walked into the shop with Finn behind him. "I want two squares of fresh bread," said he, "and you might put butter on them, and how much will it all be?"

The man signified that fourpence was the charge.

"Maybe you could give us a pennyworth of milk too," said brave Tim, and he handed up a shilling out of the pound he won at the circus. "Sevenpence change, please," said he.

The shopman gave the boys bread and butter and two cups of milk, and the change to Tim, who counted it carefully. Then the pair went and sat on a bench outside a carpenter's shop to watch for Bartley's cart. It did not appear. A little stream flowed past the house at the other side, and painted cart-wheels were lying in it, steeping until the wood filled their iron rims. Before the workshop were big wheelbarrows all painted blue. A man came out of the workshop carrying a big slate-colored pigeon box of six holes. He left it on a bench and wrote on it with chalk "for sale."

"Eh, mister," said Tim, "what's the price of that pigeon box?"

The man wrote on it, "Five shillings."

Tim said no more about it. Then the man turned to the boys; he was small and had a hunch on his back and wore a little apron.

"Are you a good speller?" said he to Tim.

"Ask this young fellow," said Tim, indicating Finn.

"I'm going to ask him," said the man. "What book are you in?"

Finn said he was in the second, meaning that he was in the second class at school.

"Can you spell 'knife'?" asked the man.

Finn spelled the word, leaving out the initial K.

"You're wrong," said the man with the apron. "K,n,i,f,e spells 'knife.' Can you spell `eel'?" Finn knew that this word was one of the conundrums that elderly people save up to puzzle children; nevertheless he felt that the word had no right to spell itself any other way than "e,l."

"You're wrong again," said the man. " 'E,e,l' spells 'eel.' "

Finn had never seen a word that began with two ee's before, and he had grave doubts about the man's information.

"Are you any good at sums?" the examiner inquired.

"I'm middling good, mister," said Tim.

"Well then," said the man, "if a herring and a half costs three halfpence, what is the price of half a herring?"

"A ha'penny," said Tim.

"You're wrong," said the man, "and one of you is as ignorant as the other."

But he was joking, of course, as any child can see. He went into the shop then and Finn and Tim could see him through a window planing a board.

After a while they got up and stood in the middle of the road watching for Bartley's cart.

Many vehicles came through that village but none of them was the familiar red-and-blue cart. Then Finn and Tim turned round and took the road for Dublin. The day was bright and fine, and Finn, although he was about to venture into a strange city without his guardian, was not very uneasy in his mind. The fields had been mown and with their cocks of hay standing here and there they looked very tidy. The birds that had been in their nests a week ago were now in the hedgerows and on the empty roadway—young thrushes that did not know whether to fly or to run and that had remarkable, spacious and speckled breasts; young robins that had no red on their breasts at all, and young wrens that could hide behind a little ivy leaf. The young jackdaws made a great noise as they came down, branch by branch, from their nests in the great elm trees. Finn's eyes took in the particulars of the birds, while Tim, as they went along played upon his tin-whistle.

They bought bread and butter again and ate it under trees at a place that was not far from Dublin. While they were resting, a ballad-singer came along the road and saluted Finn and Tim. He was an under-sized fellow with drooping red moustaches. He swung a stick and he carried a sheaf of papers on which songs were printed.

"It's a fine day, boys," said he.

"It's a fine day, indeed," said Tim, "and would you tell us, mister, if we're on the right road for Dublin?"

"Believe you me," said the ballad-singer, "you're on the leading, straight, direct road for Dublin. I'm going there myself."

"Let us go with you," said Tim.

"I've no objection—no objection at all in the world," said the ballad-singer.

They inquired if he had seen a cart of the description of Bartley's but he assured them that such had not come within his vision. The boys started off with him then, the straightening himself up for a march, Tim lengthening his steps to keep up with him and Finn trotting behind. Tim produced his tin-whistle and played several tunes that were greatly appreciated by the ballad-singer. He offered in return to sing any song they fancied off his bunch of ballads. Tim chose "Poor Old Horse," and the ballad-singer stopped in the middle of the road to start the song. After the first stanza the three moved together along the road:—

"The last verse is very pathetic," said the ballad-singer, "listen to it, boys:—

The road now went between two gate-piers; there were no longer hedges and ditches, there was a green level on each side. The ballad-singer sang the last stanza as they went on this thoroughfare, and then he raised his cane to salute a policeman. Finn had not seen a policeman like this one before; he was very tall and instead of a round cap he wore a on his head. Finn mentioned to the ballad-singer that this policemen presented a strange appearance to him.

"You are used to the constabulary of the country districts," said the ballad-singer, "but the policemen you see now are members of what is called the metropolitan force. You are now almost in Dublin. This is the Phœnix Park."

The ground was very green and very level and there were clumps of trees and herds of cattle. Finn saw a herd of creatures that he thought were curious goats, but the ballad-singer told him they were deer. Some people were racing horses and a band was playing the grandest music he ever heard. Tim ran ahead, making jumps in his delight at entering Dublin, and Finn was so excited that he broke away several times from the ballad-singer who was showing him the sights of the Park.

"That is what is called a statue or a monument," said he to Finn, indicating the figure of a big man on a big horse. "You might think that the figures were made of iron," said he, "but they are made of bronze."

Tim was waiting for them outside the gate of the park. "Look at the trams," he was saying.

Finn saw big vehicles with people within them and on top of them, that stood waiting or were drawn along tracks on the paved street. The sight of these trams gave great satisfaction to Tim, and he begged Finn and the ballad-singer to mount one and to go on top. A bell rang and the tram started off. The tram went by a river that had high houses on each side. It was grand being on a tram, Finn thought, seeing the other trams and the cars and the crowds of people. A man came up to them and Tim took money out of his pocket and paid for himself, for Finn and for the ballad-singer, and took three tickets. He talked to the ballad-singer as citizen to citizen while Finn watched the sights. Then the tram stopped at a bridge and Finn saw other streets right and left and before him, while the throng had become greater. They got off the tram and the ballad-singer advised them to take another tram to the place where Finn's grand-aunt lived—to Carrickleary.

He showed them trams going past with that name on their boards. Had Finn ever heard of the monument to Daniel O'Connell, he asked. There it was. Finn saw the figure of a man high up in the air, and lower down, on each side, the figures of women seated. Finn noticed particularly the woman who held a sword in her hand. Finn thought these figures represented angels. He asked the ballad-singer were they not bad angels, and he explained that he thought they were because they were black. The ballad-singer assured him that bad angels would not be put around the statue of so good a man as Daniel O'Connell. They were not angels at all, he said, but simply figures, ornaments, as you might say, and the whole monument was black because it was made out of bronze and not out of marble. Then he pointed out another monument that was just before them—a shaft of stone that went so high into the air that the figure that surmounted it could hardly be seen—that was the monument to Lord Nelson—the tram started from beside it. The ballad-singer showed them their tram and then presented Tim with a ballad-sheet as a return for the tram-fare he had expended. When the boys got on top of the tram and looked round for him they saw him sauntering down the street.

The bell rang and the tram started off. This time Tim had to pay a good many pennies, for Carrickleary was a village outside of Dublin but was now included in the suburbs. They went past great buildings and then up streets of shops. Then they came to high houses with steps going up to their doors. How different these houses were from the little thatched cottages of the country! How rich the people must be who lived in them! They went farther and Tim showed Finn the sea, not far away, but just below them. The tram went past streets of shops smaller than those in the city, and then past other streets in which the shops were just as large.

In half an hour the conductor told them they had come to Carrickleary. They got off the tram and began to search for the house of Mrs. Ryan. Tim's inquiries put them in the way of finding it and in ten minutes Finn was reading the name over the shop:—"Honoria Ryan, licensed for the sale of tobacco and snuff."

For ten minutes more they stood outside consulting as to the next proceedings, and the things in Mrs. Ryan's shop window—jars of various sugar sticks, black and white, peppermint, and brown rock; boxes of strong lozenges; bottles of lemonade and ginger beer, hanks of worsted for knitting stockings, songbooks and spools of thread.

It was agreed that Finn should enter and inquire if Bartley had arrived. If he had not come, Finn was to explain how they had become separated. Finn entered after some hesitation. The shop was a step below the level of the street. There was no one behind the counter and he was left to gaze on the mounds of potatoes and the heaps of cabbages that were before him, on the barrels with loaves of bread overflowing from them that were behind the counter, on the trays with thick slabs of cake that were on the counter and on the drawers above that were marked "Allspice," "Pepper," "Cinnamon," "Snuff."

Finn knocked on the counter with his knuckles, but no one appeared from behind the door that shut the shop from the room behind. He knocked again and then Tim came in from the street, and taking up a small weight that was beside a little pair of scales on the counter knocked harder. Then the room door was opened and a woman came behind the counter. She wore a shawl that was knitted in the same fashion as his grandmother's and she had gray hair and a kindly face.

"What is it?" said she to Tim.

"I want a ha'porth of chester cake," said Tim.

She cut off a rich slice from one of the slabs and handed it to him.

Finn had come up to her. "Did Bartley come?" said he.

"Bartley?" said she in surprise.

"My uncle Bartley," said Finn, "we lost him and we thought he'd be here before us."

"Are you Finn?" said she, "Finn O'Donnell?" She put her hands on his shoulders and then she kissed him on the cheeks.

Finn hastened to introduce Tim. His grand-aunt was puzzled by the sight of the red-haired boy, but she took both of them into the room behind the shop. She made Tim sit on a high chair and she took Finn beside her on a sofa and made him tell her about her friends in the country. But Finn gave most of his attention to the room they were sitting in. There were pictures on the walls representing gentlemen in scarlet coats and ladies in long dresses hunting a fox; and on the mantelpiece there was a clock that had for its pendulum a child on a swing; and in front of the window a wonderful object hung—a bottle in which was a ship with masts and sails and men on her deck. The ship filled the wide part of the bottle and all Finn's ingenuity was taxed to account for its being taken past the narrow neck. The table in the centre was round and covered with oilcloth, the chairs were high and the little window looking out to the back was filled with bright geraniums. His grand-aunt often had to rise from the sofa and go into the shop.

They were sitting down to supper when Bartley came. Finn heard his voice in the shop and then he came into the room carrying the whip in his hand. He was so relieved to find the boys that he scolded them out of a sense of duty only. When Bartley came, Tim said he would go and find lodgings for himself, and he went out and Bartley went after him and gave him the money he had spent on the road, so that Tim went off with his pound intact, and his pigeon on his shoulder. After he had talked to Mrs. Ryan for a while Finn's uncle took him out to the street and showed him what were still novelties—the street lamps and the gas-lit shops and the tram-cars. The shutters were on the shop when they came back and Finn's grand-aunt was waiting for them.