56 MADGE’S MISTAKE.

till I clare the dirt from off ye;” and before
I can say yea or nay my arm is grasped
firmly and I am once more on my feet.

On looking up I find my friend is nothing
more nor less than an Irish drover, and he
certainly looks my beau-ideal of an Irishman,
with his crownless hat, drover’s stick, and
ragged coat.

I am perfectly delighted at this unex-
pected opportunity of a chat with a real
“Pat,” for, as Father hates Irishmen one and
all, we never have any to work about our
place; so with a beaming smile I thank him
warmly for his timely aid. He receives my
thanks with the most deferential politeness ;
and if it were not for the natural anxiety I
feel for the welfare of his hat, I should con-
sider myself a person of much importance.

This article of apparel, however, has been
taken off and put on again so many times
during our conversation that I fear the one
side of the brim to which it is attached may
follow the example of the other and take its
departure altogether. This little defect in his