swarthy face, which daylight now revealed as seamed and scarred; and,
without stirring from his seat or desisting from his occupation, he
looked in the boy's face and said softly:

"You are early afoot, like the son of Anchises, my young friend. If I
mistake not, when Aeneas met the son of Evander they joined their right
hands. We have met; let us also join hands and bid each other a very good
morning."

Desmond shook hands; he did not know what to make of this remarkable
fellow who must always be quoting from his school books; but there was no
harm in shaking hands. He could not in politeness ask the question that
rose to his lips--why the stranger wore a mitten on one hand; and if the
man observed his curiosity he let it pass.

"You are on business bent, I wot," continued the stranger. "Not for the
world would I delay you. But since the handclasp is but part of the
ceremony of introduction, might we not complete it by exchanging names?"

"My name is Desmond Burke," said the boy.

"A good name, a pleasant name, a name that I know."

Desmond was conscious that the man was looking keenly at him.

"There is a gentleman of the same name--I chanced to meet him in
London--cultivating literature in the Temple; his praenomen, I bethink
me, is Edmund. And I bethink me, too, that in the course of my
peregrinations on this planet I have more than once heard the name of one
Captain Richard Burke, a notable seaman, in the service of our great