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 of Government vengeance, somewhat vaguely expressed, move them from their decision.

Mr. Nicholson-Croly, doing the best possible under the circumstances, prepared to sell his available stock. He established himself in the shed with a ledger, a bottle of ink, some sacks, and a package of sandwiches. The rush of buyers might, he reflected, prevent his getting away for lunch. No one came near him all the morning. About half-past twelve o'clock a small boy arrived and stared through the open door. Mr. Nicholson-Croly, who was beginning to find the hut draughty, sent him to the hotel to fetch two rugs. He wrapped his legs up, ate his sandwiches, lit a pipe, and waited. At four o'clock Father Gibbons looked in and inquired how his sale was going on. He expressed surprise at learning that no single May Queen had been disposed of.

"Maybe now," he said, "the people don't know you're selling them. They very well might, of course, considering that the whole parish has been talking of nothing but the way you got the cargo landed. Still it's surprising, sometimes, the things people won't know. It would be as well, perhaps, if I warned them on Sunday after Mass where the potatoes are to be had."

The next Sunday Father Gibbons very kindly announced that the potatoes were on sale in his galvanised iron shed, adding that intending buyers should be prompt, because the supply was limited.