reason I came here to-day was to ask your honoured ad-
vice about my wife's washing-board. She only has it a
couple of years, and the last time she used it was when
she washed out my Sunday shirt and her black skirt with
the red things on it--you know the one?"

"I do not," said the Philosopher.

"Well, anyhow, the washboard is gone, and my wife
says it was either taken by the fairies or by Bessie Han-
nigan--you know Bessie Hannigan? She has whiskers
like a goat and a lame leg!"-

"I do not," said the Philosopher.

"No matter," said Meehawl MacMurrachu. "She
didn't take it, because my wife got her out yesterday and
kept her talking for two hours while I went through
everything in her bit of a house--the washboard wasn't
there."

"It wouldn't be," said the Philosopher.

"Maybe your honour could tell a body where it is
then?"

"Maybe I could," said the Philosopher; "are you
listening?"

"I am," said Meehawl MacMurrachu.