A man trailing a hay-rake behind him came along. He put apart two hounds that had snapped at each other, saying to one, "Go home, Shep," and to the other, "Be off, Spot."

"Those are good dogs," said Bartley, "do you own them?"

"I don't own them," said the man, "but I have to keep my eye on them. Like every living thing in the village the dogs are unmannerly and their conduct has to be corrected." He spoke to a boy who was whipping a top in the middle of the road while his sister was carrying a can of water. "Go after your sister and help her with the can," he said, "and don't be raising dust in the faces of people coming into your village."

The boy darted off, and then turning round he shouted out to the man with the rake, "Oul' Daddy-long-legs."

"It's hard—very hard to keep this village in order," said the man to Bartley, "and I haven't much time on my hands, for I have to be doing odd jobs."

Then tinkers came along, wicked-looking men and women, with ass-carts filled with tins and with unyoked asses.

"I foresee I'll have trouble with that lot before they leave the village," said the man with the rake. Then he went down the village street trailing the rake behind him.

Bartley went into the shoemaker's, the horse began to graze along the ditches and the boys were left to wait outside the village. After the tinkers had passed, the geese and a couple of greyhounds were the only things that moved in the village. Tim thought there must be a good deal of poultry in Monamore, for there were always a couple of hens cackling very loudly. They sat on the little bridge and watched a mill-wheel make its plunging revolutions. Then two men appeared. They were going into the village on what appeared to be a long box. Beside this long box a very sorrowful-looking dog was seated.

One of the men nodded to the boys. "This is Punch and Judy coming into your town," he said, "and I'm sure the people would be obliged if you went round and told them that we are about to open."

The other man said something in a very hoarse voice. His words were as unintelligible as if they had come up from the bottom of an old post. The man who spoke first had a broad and good-humoured face so overgrown with a day's growth of beard that it looked furry.

The men with the hand-cart went on.

"A Punch and Judy Show," said Tim, "I'll have to go to that."

He and Finn ran down the street of the village. They peeped into the shoemaker's and saw Bartley leaning over the counter and talking to the man who was waxing the thread. Then they slipped past. When they came to the middle of the street they saw the big box placed upright. There was an opening near the top, and at one side of this opening the dog was seated, looking very solemn. The man with the hoarse voice was beating a drum. Then a wooden figure appeared at the opening of the booth. "Squeak, squeak, squeak," came from him.

"That's Punch," said Tim.

The figure had a big red nose, and while his face remained impassive, all the rest of him shook with rage. Another figure appeared and Punch became more enraged. Punch was accused of having stolen the dog. "Squeak, squeak, squeak," he said, getting more angry. Then the owner of the dog tried to make Toby stand on his hind-legs. Toby lifted a paw and Punch threatened him. The owner pleaded with him and Toby stood on his hind-legs halfheartedly. Instantly Punch struck him with a big stick.

"Oh, isn't he terrible?" said Finn.

"Punch is great," said Tim, "he beats them all down."

Other figures appeared at the opening, and Punch bullied them first and struck them after.

"That's Judy," said Tim when a figure with a grandmother's cap appeared.

There was a long argument and Punch's squeaks became more and more threatening. Then, without making a sign, Toby jumped down off the booth and went over and sat on the hand-cart. The man with the hoarse voice came forward and remonstrated, but Toby drew in his paws and barked at him. Then the man with the furry face came from behind the booth.

"It's no use in scolding the little dog, mate," said he. "He won't do any more turns for us. Toby sees there's no scope for a show here."

Then, very cheerfully, the furry-faced man began to put the figures in a box. The two men put the booth across the hand-cart and were preparing to leave the town when Tim ran up to them.

"Eh, misters," said he, "do you want a boy to go about with you and help you with the Punch and Judy show?"

"Which of you wants to come?" asked the furry-faced man.

"Me, mister."

"And what could you do for us?"

"I could play the tin-whistle."

"And what about the other little fellow?"

"He's going to Dublin."

"What do you expect we'll give you?"

"Nothing."

"Well, nothing it will be. What do you want to come with us for?"

"Because I'm a poor lone boy with nobody belonging to me and I'm used to going the roads."

"Will we bring him, Arthur?" said the furry-faced man to the other.

Arthur said something that was unintelligible, but Tim interpreted it as consent.

"Hooroo!" said he, and he leaped into the air, and the big silver piece fell out of his pocket. He picked it up quickly but he hadn't straightened himself up when Arthur had him by the back of the neck. The hoarse man was commanding him to leave the money down.

"He won that money," said Finn. "It's his own."

"Won it," said the furry-faced man. "Where did he win it?"

"In MacConglinne's Great Gaelic Circus. He rode the ass three times round the ring and got a pound prize."

"Do you hear that, Arthur?" said furry-face. "He won the money. He has a pound, too. Let the little chap go. He didn't steal, and he wants to come with us. What is it his name is?" said he to Finn.

"Tim Rogan," said Finn.

"Come here, Tim," said the furry-faced man, "till I instruct you in the Punch and Judy business. It's a great trade and there's nothing like beginning young at it. If I had a son myself I'd start him at it about your age. If we don't make much in this town we'll make up for it in the next town we go into. We often make a pound a day. Don't we, Arthur?"

"At race-meetings," said Arthur in a voice that was down his throat; the sort of a voice that children use when they want to frighten each other.

"At race-meetings, of course, and at other times besides race-meetings. We just send round the bag and it gets filled with coppers. Isn't that so, Arthur?"

"At race-meetings," said Arthur.

"Well, of course, we can be at a race-meeting nearly every day. Now, young chap, hold up your head like a man. Would you like to be partners with us?"

"What's partners?" asked Tim.

"Share and share alike, don't you know? That's partners. Would you like to come into the business?"

"I would," said Tim.

"In most Punch and Judy businesses the one coming in is expected to put some money in the show. But seeing that you're willing to help us we won't ask you to do that. Now, if we had a little ass to yoke this cart to we could do twice as much business—twice as much. Isn't that so, Arthur?"

"That's so," said Arthur.

"Well, seeing that's the way of business, what have you to say?"

"Nothing," said Tim.

"You wouldn't invest that pound buying a little ass for the three of us?"

"What did you say?" said Tim. He was certainly flattered at the notion of investing his pound in the purchase of an ass. He saw himself on the road, the partner of the two men with the Punch and Judy Show.

"Oh, would you spend the pound, Tim?" said Finn.

"Sure, I'll get a good trade by it," said Tim, "and I'd like well to be going the roads with a Punch and Judy Show."

"I bring the dog to the show, and Arthur brings the booth and the figures, and you bring the ass. That's the way we work. That's partners. Do you see?"

"I see," said Tim. "And where will we buy the ass?"

"We'll buy an ass from the tinkers. Come on now. Arthur, push the cart."

The furry-faced man got Tim between himself and Arthur and they faced for the field where the tinkers were encamped. Finn followed them. They came where the tinkers were eating, their donkeys biting thistles around them.

"This young chap wants to buy a little ass," said the furry-faced man to a tinker.

"Would that ass suit him?" asked the tinker. "Five and twenty shillings."

"Ah, give the young chap a fair do, mister," said the furry-faced man. "Nineteen shillings."

"Twenty-three shillings," said the tinker.

"Stick to the nineteen shillings, Tim," said his adviser.

"Twenty shillings, then."

The furry faced man winked at Tim with,

"Split the difference and say nineteen and six."

"Nineteen and six," said Tim in a bold voice.

The hoarse man rushed in and caught Tim's and the tinker's hands and clasped them together. "The bargain's made," said he. "Tim, give the man his money and he'll give you a certificate that the ass is sound in wind and limb. Give him the money, Tim."

But when it came to parting with the money Tim hung back. Finn saw that his eyes were glancing round to see how he could make off. He made a dash, but the hoarse man caught him by the back of the neck again. He was saying villainous words in his throat.

"The bargain is made and you'll have to pay up now," said the furry-faced man.

"Where's my nineteen and sixpence," roared the tinker.

His friends crowded around.

Finn was about to run off when the furry-faced man caught him.

"Stay here now," said he, "until we get the little ass."

Just then the man who instructed Monamore came along, trailing the rake behind him.

"These unseemly disputations are not to go on in this village," said he. "These boys have got into the company I expected and I am forced to take them back to their guardian."

With one hand he took hold of Finn, and with the other he took hold of Tim, letting the rake fall on the ground. He marched them out of the field and down the street. The horse and cart were yoked and Bartley was sitting in a very bad humour. The instructor delivered the two boys to him.

"They were with tinkers and show-men," said he, "and if I was the guardian I'd tie them both to the wheels of the cart and give them some good lashes with the whip. Take them away now. We have enough unmannerly youngsters in this village."