start some sort of a Fenian band, and that some day we might--well,"
he turned very red, and ended with a rush, "we might be able to strike
a blow for Ireland!"

"Moy oye!" said Richard, intensifying his favourite invocation in his
surprise, "but what's wrong with Ireland?"

The position wanted but the touch of opposition. Larry rather well bet
Richard that there was plenty wrong with her! Penal laws! Persecution!
Saxon despots grinding their heels into a down-trodden people!
Revolution! Liberation! Larry had a tongue that was hung loosely in
his head and was a quick servant to his brain.

"Of course I know we're rather young--well, you're nearly fourteen,
Richard, and I'm thirteen and three months, that's not so awfully
young. Anyway, everything's got to have a beginning--" He glowed
upon his audience of six, his fair hair in a shock, his eyes and his
cheeks in a blaze, and one, at least, of that audience caught fire.

The Revolutionary or Reformer, who hesitates at becoming a bore, is
unworthy of his high office; and Larry, like most of his class,
required but little encouragement. He produced a large book, old and
shabby, the green and gold of its covers stained and faded, but still
of impressive aspect.

"There are heaps of them, and they're all jolly good. It's rather hard
to choose--" began the Revolutionary with a shade of nervousness.
Then he again met Christian's eyes, shining and compelling, and took
heart from them.