I have known the day when I could watch the graceful leaps and dives of a school of porpoises, as it kept with easy fin, alongside of our ocean greyhound, with pleasure unalloyed by any feeling of non-utility.  But now these “hogs of the sea” reminded me of my Chester Whites, and the comparison was so much in favor of the hogs of the land, that I turned from these spectacular, useless things, to meditate upon the price of pork.  Even Mother Carey’s chickens gave me no pleasure, for they reminded me of a far better brood at home, and I cheerfully thanked the noble Wyandottes who were working every third day so that I could have a trip to Europe.  To be sure, I had European trips before I had Wyandottes; to have them both the same year was the marvel.

Before we reached Queenstown, Jarvis had gained some ground by twice picking me out of the scuppers; but as I resented his steadiness of foot and strength of hand, it was not worth mentioning.  I could see, however, that these feats were great in Jane’s eyes.  The double rescue of a beloved parent, from, not exactly a watery grave, but a damp scupper, would never be forgotten.  The giant let her adore his manly strength and beauty, and I could only secretly hope that some wave—­tidal if necessary—­would take him off his feet and send him into the scuppers.  But he had played football too long to be upset by a watery wave, and I was balked of my revenge.

Jack and Jessie were rather a pleasure to me than otherwise.  They settled right down to the heart-softening business in such matter-of-fact fashion that their hearts must have lost contour before the voyage was half over.  Polly dismissed them from her mind with a sigh of satisfaction, and I then hoped that she would find some time to devote to me, but I was disappointed.  She assured me that those two were safely locked in the fold, but that she could not “set her mind at rest” until the other two were safe.  After that she promised to take me in hand; whether for reward or for punishment left me guessing.

The six and a half days finally came to an end, and we debarked for Queenstown.  The journey across Ireland was made as quickly as slow trains and a circuitous route would permit, and we reached Sligo on the second day.  Sir Thomas’s agent met us, and we drove at once to the “little castle out from Sligo.”  It proved to be a very old little castle, four miles out, overlooking the bay.  It was low and flat, with thick walls of heavy stone pierced by a few small windows, and a broad door made of black Irish oak heavily studded with iron.  From one corner rose a square tower, thirty feet or more in height, covered with wild vines that twined in and out through the narrow, unglazed windows.