Five Mile Beach weekly journal., 1906-11-07

ng editor of the Evening Sun.
would be his heir, though the legacy
was thing of the dim future-so dim
that 1t hardly made background for
present need.
Seamus McShane came of a sturdy,
long lived race. Therefore 1t was with
distinct shock that one fine spring
morning Barney received notice Of his
uncle's death. The lads first feeling
was one Of sorrow that Seamus should
have died In far land without either
kith or kin, yet his uncle was only a
memory, so 1t was pardonable that his
next should be one of JOY at the pos
sibilities opened to him, for now he
could marry Eileen. How much he
had fallen heir to he did not know, but
guessed 1t to be In the neighborhood of
f40-not large sum in itself, though
1t seemed like riches to the folk Of that
wind swept, famine ridden village.
AS the news of Barney's fortune sped
his popularity trebled.
"I always had fondness for the
boy" said Biddy Mcbride.
"'Tis a foine lad he Is entoirely,"
agreed old Donnelly.
Barney carried himself modestly
enough. He was not unduly elated at
Il I'd befallen him. though his
] neart sang within him at his luck, and
his feet seemed scarcely to touch the
earth as he went from house to house
bidding his friends to the wake which
he purposed having the following even
Ing in memory of his uncle.
"'Tis no keening l want ye to do at
ALL" he declared. "'Tis not in such
mournful fashion he'd have us keep
him In mind. But come and dhrink his
sowl's peace with me-"
No one in the village was neglected
from this general invitation, and they
arrived early at Barney's bare little
home, where candles burned with a
cheerful glow and where laughter and
shuffiing Of feet half muffled the music
played by a wandering fiddler. All the
village was there save Hugh. and no
one seemed to know where he had
gone or what had become Of him.
One of the children vouchsafed the
information that he had been seen rid
/
canter a piece of news to which Bar
ney paid small heed, SO engrossed was
he in watching Eileen as she swung
through a reel, eyes alight and step as
swift as a fairy's. 1t seemed to Bar
ney that he never had been SO happy.
He went about among his guests prom
ising gifts to this one and that and
hardly hearing the thanks they gave
him In return. Presently the door
opened and Hugh appeared among
them.
"'Tis late we are, ayick." said Bar
ney, "but yere none the less well
come"
"'Tis from the postoffice l am," an
swered Hugh and drew from the pocket
of his mud despatched coat an Off
cial looking envelope, the seal of which |
was not yet broken.
"Bellke it's from Uncle Seamus,"
Hugh went on, and the guests gathered
round him, while Eileen held the can
die that he might read.
Barney sat on table near by, swing
ing his feet. He stole glance at
Eileen and noted the shadow the can
die threw across her face and how her
dark lashes swept the rose of her
cheek. "Arrah, my darlint," he whis-
pered to himself, before this evenin's
gone I'll have your promise!' Then he
composed himself to listen to the let
ter.
1t was very brief-brief as the hopes
of Barney, for 1t was to Hugh that
Seamus McShane had left his fortune.
When Hugh had finished reading the
letter the guests drew a long breath.
Barney was the first to come forward
and congratulate him.
"Shure, there's no one more deserv-
ing of it than yourself" he said steadi-
ly, but his voice was lost In the gen
eral acclaim, for Hugh had become the
hero of the evening. The attentions
that had formerly been showered on
Barney were now lavished on him.
His good fortune went to his head like
wine.
"Slnce I'm the heir" he cried, ''ye
must all come home with me and drink
remembrance to Uncle SeamusP' This
was greeted with shout of acquies-
cence. The fiddler started up "The
Rocky Road to Dublin" and, singing