For an hour they sailed on the placid waters of the harbor and up into the river Lee. The wooded hills, on either hand, dotted with farm-houses and villas, presented a pleasing picture. The boat drew up to a landing at St. Patrick's Bridge, where Uncle Gilbert met them, greatly surprised and alarmed at his brother's condition.

Carriages were waiting. Chester was introduced by Lucy in a way which led to the inference that he was a particular friend of the family picked up, perhaps, in their time of need. Bag and baggage was piled in besides them and they drove away through the streets of Cork and into the suburbs. Slowly the horse climbed the hill, but in a short time they were at Uncle Gilbert's home, one of the beautiful ones situated among the green of rolling hillside and the deeper green of trees.

There was another warm welcome by Aunt Sarah, who took immediate and personal charge of the sick man.

"It's a break-down through overwork," she declared. "You Americans live at such fever heat that it is no wonder you have no nerves. They're burned out of you. But it's rest only he wants, poor man; and here's where he'll get it. Don't you worry, Lucy."

Aunt Sarah's masterful treatment of cases such as these took much care and anxiety from them all. Away from the bustle and roar of hurrying humanity and traffic, resting amid the soothing green, and breathing the mild air of the country; the minister ought surely to get well again soon.

He would not go to bed, but chose to sit in a big chair with a pillow under his head, looking out of the upstairs window which afforded a view of the town. The sun came in rather strongly during the afternoon and the father motioned Lucy to partly draw the blind. She did so, then drew a stool to his chair and seated herself near him. He placed his hands on her head, patted it caressingly, smiled at her, but said nothing. It was still difficult for him to speak.

Presently, there came a light tap at the door. Lucy arose. It was Chester.

"Excuse me," he said, "but the people below are somewhat confused over the trunks. I came to inquire."

"Come in," said Lucy. "Let the 'confusion' continue for a little while.

Come in to where there is peace. Father is feeling better, I am sure."

The invalid turned towards the speakers, then with a movement of his head told them to come near. Lucy took her former position, while Chester drew up a chair. Yes; he did seem better, there being some color in his face to add life to his faint smile.

"Chester," he whispered with effort, as he reached out and took the young man's hand, "Chester--my boy--I--am--so--glad--you--came--with--us."

CHAPTER VIII.

While the father was resting quietly at Kildare Villa, as Uncle Gilbert's home was called, Chester and Lucy spent a few days in looking about.

"Are there any sights worth seeing around here?" asked Chester of Lucy.

"Are there?" she replied in surprise. "Did you ever hear of the Blarney Stone?"

Yes; he had.

"Well, that's not far away; and those were the Shandon bells you heard last evening,

'The bells of Shandon, That sound so grand on The pleasant waters of the river Lee,'"

she quoted.

The fact of the matter was that Chester was quite content to remain quietly with Lucy and her father and the other good people of the place.

Traveling around the country would, without doubt, separate them, and that disaster would come soon enough, he thought; but when Lucy announced that she was ready for a "personally conducted tour to all points of interest," he readily agreed to be "conducted." She was well enough to do so, she said; and in fact it did look as if health were coming to her again.

The morning of the second day at Kildare Villa Chester and Lucy set out to see the town, riding in Aunt Sarah's car behind the pony. There had been a sprinkle of rain during the night, so the roads were pleasant.

Lucy pointed out the places of interest, consulting occasionally a guide book.

"While viewing the scenery, it is highly educational to get the proper information," said Lucy as she opened her book. "It states here that Cork is a city of 76,000 people. According to one authority it had a beginning in the seventh century. Think of that now, and compare its growth with that of Kansas City, for instance."

"I have always associated this city with the small article used as stoppers for bottles," said Chester.

"You thought perhaps the British needed a cork to stop up their harbor,"

said Lucy, gravely; "but you are entirely mistaken. The book says the name is a corruption of Corcach, meaning a marsh. The town has, however, long since overflowed the water, and now occupies not only a large island in the river, but reaches up the high banks on each side."

They were evidently in Ireland.

"A most noticeable peculiarity of Cork is its absolute want of uniformity, and the striking contrasts in the colors of the houses. The stone of which the houses in the northern suburb is built is of reddish brown, that on the south, of a cold gray tint. Some are constructed of red brick, some are sheathed in slate, some whitewashed; some reddened, some yellowed. Patrick may surely do as he likes with his own house. The most conspicuous steeple in the place, that of St. Ann, Shandon's, is actually red two sides and white the others,

'Parti-colored, like the people, Red and white stands Shandon steeple.'

and there it is before us," said Lucy.

The tower loomed from a low, unpretentious church. The two visitors drove up the hill, stopped the horse while they looked at the tower and heard the bells strike the hour.

"What Father Prout could see in such commonplace things to inspire him to write his fine poem, I can not understand," said Lucy. "There is a peculiar jingle in his lines which stays with one. Listen:

"'With deep affectation and recollection I often think of the Shandon bells, Whose sounds so wild would, in days of childhood Fling round my cradle their magic spells-- On this I ponder, where'er I wander, And thus grow fonder, sweet Cork of thee With thy bells of Shandon, That sound so grand on The pleasant waters of the river Lee.'"

Lucy read the four stanzas.

"It's fine," agreed Chester; "and I think I can answer your question of a moment ago. Father Prout, as he says, listened to these bells in childhood days, those days when 'heaven lies about us' and glorifies even the most common places, and the impressions he then received remained with him."

Lucy "guessed" he was right.

Then they drove by St. Fin Barre's cathedral, considered the most noteworthy and imposing building in Cork. "'It is thought probable the poet Spenser was married in the church which formerly stood on the site,'" Lucy read. "'His bride was a Cork lady, but of the country, not of the city. Spenser provokingly asks:

"'Tell me, ye merchants' daughters, did ye see So fayre a creature in your town before?

Her goodlie eyes, like sapphyres shining bright; Her forehead, ivory white, Her lips like cherries charming men to byte.'"

"Well," remarked Chester as they drove homeward, and he thought he was brave in doing so. "I don't know about the merchants' daughters of Cork, but I know a minister's daughter of Kansas City, Missouri, U.S.A., who tallies exactly with Spenser's description."

"Why, Mr. Lawrence!"

"I might say more," he persisted, "were it not for some foolish promises I made that same minister a few days ago--but here we are. Where shall we go after lunch?"

"I thought we were to go to Blarney Castle."

"Sure. I had forgotten. That's where the Blarney Stone is?"

"Sure," repeated the girl mischievously.

So that afternoon they set out. It was but a short distance by train through an interesting country. Lucy was the guide again.

"Do you have an Irish language?" asked Chester. "I heard some natives talking something I couldn't understand."

"Of course there's an Irish language," explained his fair instructor.

"Anciently the Irish spoke the Gaelic, a branch of the Celtic. In this reign of Queen Elizabeth, the Irish language was forbidden. The English is now universal, but many still speak the Gaelic. In recent years there has been an awakening of interest in the old tongue. 'One who knows Irish well,' an Irish historian claims, 'will readily master Latin, French, Spanish, Portuguese, and Italian;' and he adds that to the Irish-speaking people, the Irish language is 'rich, elegant, soul-stirring, and expressive.'"