Then the talk led to personal matters.  He spoke of his experiences in Utah—­some of them—­and she fold him her simple life’s story.  Her mother had died many years ago; she had no very distinct recollection of her.  She and her father had lived with housekeepers for many years.  What with school and home, the one trip before to Europe, a number of excursions to various parts of her own country, her life had passed very smoothly and very quietly among her friends and books.  As Chester listened to her he thought how like in some respects her story was to that of Julia Elston’s.  And as she sat there under the trees, she again looked like Julia, yet with a difference.  Somehow the first girl had vanished but she had left behind in his heart a susceptibility to a form and face like this one beside him.  Julia had come into his heart, not to dwell there, but to purify it, adorn it, and to make it ready for someone else;—­and that other person had come.  She filled the sanctuary of his heart.  Peace and love beyond the telling were inmates with her.  Had he not come to his own at last.

That afternoon, as he sat with Lucy under the trees at Blarney, listening to her story, told in simplicity with eyes alternating between smiles and tears, he felt so near heaven that his prayers went easily ahead of him to the throne of mercy and love, bearing a message of praise and gratitude to the Giver of all good.

These two were quite alone that afternoon.  Even the care-taker went within the thick walls of the castle, remembering, perhaps, that she also had been young once.  Birds may have eyes to see and ears to hear, but they tell nothing to humans.

On the way back to Cork there was only one other passenger in the car,—­an Irish girl carrying a basket in which were two white kittens.  About half way to the city, the train stopped, and much to the travelers’ surprise, a company of about two hundred Gordon Highlanders boarded the train, filling the cars completely.

“What,” asked Chester.  “Have the Scotch invaded Ireland?”

“I suppose it’s a company just out for a bit of exercise,” suggested Lucy.

Their bare, brown legs, kilts and equipment were matters of much interest to Chester.  When the train arrived in Cork, the soldiers formed, and with bagpipes squeeling their loudest, they marched into St. Patrick’s street.  Chester and Lucy and the girl with the basket followed.

“This is quite an honor,” remarked Chester, “to have a company of soldiers come to meet us, and to be escorted into town by music like this.  How did they know?”

“Know what?” escaped from Lucy before she discerned his meaning.

“Why, you silly man,” she replied, “the honor is for the kittens!”

Uncle Gilbert met them at the door.  “Your father is sleeping—­getting along fine,” he explained.  “Now then, young man, did you kiss the Blarney Stone?”

“Why—­no—­I—­”