Lonely as Fred Munson felt in that dismal cavern, he preferred the solitude to the companionship of an Apache Indian, and, fearful of discovery, he crouched down to wait until he should move away. His involuntary visitor dropped within a few feet of where he was hiding, and Fred tried to hold his breath for fear he might be detected; but the fellow quietly rose and gave expression to his sentiments.

“Begorrah, if I haven't fell through into the cellar, as me grandmither did when she danced down the whole party, and landed on the bottom, and kept up the jig without a break, keep ing time with the one-eyed fiddler above.”

Fred could scarcely believe the evidence of his own senses. That was the voice of his old friend, Mickey O'Rooney, or else he was more mistaken than he had ever been in his life. But whatever doubts might have lingered with him were removed by the words that immediately followed.

“It beats the blazes where that young spalpeen can be kaping himself. Me and Misther Simpson have been on the hunt for two days and more, and now when I got on his trail, and found where he'd crawled into the bushes, and I tried to do the same, I crawled into the biggest cellar in the whole world, and I can't find the stairs to walk out again—-”

“Helloa, Mickey! Is that you, my old friend?” called out the overjoyed lad, springing forward, throwing his arms about him, and breaking in most effectually upon his meditations.

The Irishman was mystified for a moment, but he recognized the voice, reached down, and placed his arms in turn about the lad.

“Begorrah, if this ain't the greatest surprise of me life, as Mr. O'Spangarkoghomagh remarked when I called and paid him a little balance that I owed him. I've had a hard hunt for you, and had about guv you up when I came down on you in this shtyle. Freddy, me boy, I crave the privilege of axing ye a question.”

“Ask me a thousand, if you want,” replied the boy, dancing about with delight.

“Are ye sure that it's yoursilf and nobody else? I don't want to make a mistake that'll cause me mortification, and ye must answer carefully.''

“I'm sure it is I, Fred Munson.”

“Whoop! hurrah!” shouted Mickey, leaping several feet in the air, and, as he came down, striking at once into the Tipperary jig.

The overjoyed fellow kept it up for several minutes, making the cold, moist sand fly in every direction. He terminated the performance by a higher leap than ever, and a regular Comanche war-whoop. Having vented his overflowing spirits in this fashion, the Irishman was ready to come down to something like more sober common sense. Reaching out, he took the hand of Fred, saying as he did so:

“Let me kaap hold of your flipper, so that I can prevint your drifting away. Now tell me, my laddy, how did you get here?”

“I come down the same way that you did.”

“Through the skylight up there? It's a handy way of going down-stairs, the only trouble being that it's sometimes inconvanient to stop so suddint like. Did n't you obsarve the opening till you stepped into it?”

“I didn't see it then. I was near it, asleep, and when I woke up in the night I crawled in under the bushes to shelter myself, when I went through into the cave. How was it you followed?”

“I was sarching for ye, as I've been doing for the last two days and more. I obsarved the hole, for I had the daylight to help me, and I crawled up to take a paap down to see who lived there, when I must have gone too fur, as me uncle obsarved after he had been hung in a joke, and the ground crumbled beneath me, and I slid in. But let me ax you again, are ye much acquainted in these parts? You know I'm a stranger.”

“I never was here before. I've looked around all I can, but haven't been able to find how big the cave is. There's a small waterfall, and the stream comes in and goes out somewhere, and there is one rent, at least, so deep that I don't believe it has any bottom. I've learned that much, and that's all.”

“That's considerable for a laddy like you. Are you hungry?”

“You'd better believe I am.”

“Why had I better belave it?” asked Mickey, with an assumption of gravity that it was impossible for him to feel. “If ye give me your word of honor, I'll belave you, because I've been hungry myself, and know how it goes. I have some lunch wid me, and if ye don't faal above ating with common folks, we'll sup together.”

“I am so glad,” responded Fred, who was indeed in need of something substantial. “I feel weak and hollow.”

“Ye shall have your fill; take the word of an Irishman for that. Would you like to smoke?”

“You know I never smoke, Mickey.”

“I did n't ax ye that question, but if ye doesn't feel inclined to do the same, I'll indulge myself a little.”

The speaker had been preparing his pipe and tobacco while they were talking, and, as he uttered the last words, he twitched the match against the bowl, and immediately began drawing at it.

As the volumes of smoke issuing from his mouth showed that the flame had done its duty, he held t............