“‘Is it trouble you are in, now, Miss,’ says I; ’and what’s to be done about it?’

“‘’Tis none of your business at all, Denny Carnahan,’ says she, sittin’ up straight.  And it was the voice of no other than Norah Flynn.

“‘Then it’s not,’ says I, ’and we’re after having a pleasant evening, Miss Flynn.  Have ye seen the sights of this new Coney Island, then?  I presume ye have come here for that purpose,’ says I.

“‘I have,’ says she.  ’Me mother and Uncle Tim they are waiting beyond.  ’Tis an elegant evening I’ve had.  I’ve seen all the attractions that be.’

“‘Right ye are,’ says I to Norah; and I don’t know when I’ve been that amused.  After disportin’ me-self among the most laughable moral improvements of the revised shell games I took meself to the shore for the benefit of the cool air.  ’And did ye observe the Durbar, Miss Flynn?’

“‘I did,’ says she, reflectin’; ’but ‘tis not safe, I’m thinkin’, to ride down them slantin’ things into the water.’

“‘How did ye fancy the shoot the chutes?’ I asks.

“‘True, then, I’m afraid of guns,’ says Norah.  ’They make such noise in my ears.  But Uncle Tim, he shot them, he did, and won cigars.  ’Tis a fine time we had this day, Mr. Carnahan.’

“‘I’m glad you’ve enjoyed yerself,’ I says.  ’I suppose you’ve had a roarin’ fine time seein’ the sights.  And how did the incubators and the helter-skelter and the midgets suit the taste of ye?’

“‘I—­I wasn’t hungry,’ says Norah, faint.  ’But mother ate a quantity of all of ’em.  I’m that pleased with the fine things in the new Coney Island,’ says she, ’that it’s the happiest day I’ve seen in a long time, at all.’

“‘Did you see Venice?’ says I.

“‘We did,’ says she.  ’She was a beauty.  She was all dressed in red, she was, with—­’

“I listened no more to Norah Flynn.  I stepped up and I gathered her in my arms.

“‘’Tis a story-teller ye are, Norah Flynn’, says I.  ’Ye’ve seen no more of the greater Coney Island than I have meself.  Come, now, tell the truth—­ye came to sit by the old pavilion by the waves where you sat last summer and made Dennis Carnahan a happy man.  Speak up, and tell the truth.’

“Norah stuck her nose against me vest.

“‘I despise it, Denny,’ she says, half cryin’.  ’Mother and Uncle Tim went to see the shows, but I came down here to think of you.  I couldn’t bear the lights and the crowd.  Are you forgivin’ me, Denny, for the words we had?’

“‘’Twas me fault,’ says I.  ’I came here for the same reason meself.  Look at the lights, Norah,’ I says, turning my back to the sea—­’ain’t they pretty?’

“‘They are,’ says Norah, with her eyes shinin’; ’and do ye hear the bands playin’?  Oh, Denny, I think I’d like to see it all.’

“‘The old Coney is gone, darlin’,’ I says to her.  ’Everything moves.  When a man’s glad it’s not scenes of sadness he wants.  ’Tis a greater Coney we have here, but we couldn’t see it till we got in the humour for it.  Next Sunday, Norah darlin’, we’ll see the new place from end to end.”