quail the woman broiled for him, Dodson,
sitting beside him, said:

"Did you call that little exhibition of yours
legerdemain, Tim, you sweep? Or are you
really the Devil's bairn?"

"It was the Shape of Fear," said Tim, quite
seriously.

"But it seemed mild as mother's milk."

"It was compounded of the good I might
have done. It is that which I fear."

He would explain no more. Later -- many
months later -- he died patiently and sweetly
in the madhouse, praying for rest. The little
beast with the yellow eyes had high mass cele-
brated for him, which, all things considered,
was almost as pathetic as it was amusing.

Dodson was in Vienna when he heard of it.

"Sa, sa!" cried he. "I wish it wasn't so
dark in the tomb! What do you suppose Tim
is looking at?"

As for Jim O'Malley, he was with diffi-
culty kept from illuminating the grave with