Along a quiet road a man was walking at a steady, swinging pace. He was above the medium height, strongly built, and his erect carriage bespoke him one accustomed to military drill, while the knapsack swung over his shoulder and the blue overcoat on his arm seemed to indicate that he was one of the returning veterans of the lately disbanded Union army.

His face, young and strongly Celtic in feature, was not unhandsome, though marred by a sinister expression. It was that of a bold, bad man on the alert to better his own fortunes without regard to the rights of others; and as he pressed onward he sent many a covetous glance toward the comfortable farmhouses, orchards, and rich harvest fields on either hand.

At length, turning aside from the main road and making his way through a bit of woods, he paused in front of a rude cabin standing in a potato patch, enclosed by a rough, zigzag rail-fence. An old man in patched, worn, and by no means clean garments sat on the door-step smoking a dirty pipe.

His wife stood just behind him with her knitting, a coarse woollen stocking, in her hands. She threw it from her as the traveller opened the gate, and with a wild cry, “It’s me son! me bye Phalim come home till his mither at last!” rushed out and threw herself upon his breast, weeping for very joy.

He returned her embrace with ardor almost equal to her own, filial affection so softening his countenance that the evil look was banished for the moment.

The old man rose with trembling eagerness and grasped his son’s hand. “An’ it’s yersilf, lad!” he cried. “Thank the blessed Vargin an’ all the howly saints that ye’ve come back till yer mither an’ me alive an’ well afther all the fightin’ ye’ve been in!”

There were rapid questions and answers, knapsack and overcoat were bestowed within the cabin, a chair or two were brought out into the shade before the door, and with a pipe apiece and a bottle of whiskey the three made themselves comfortable, while Phelim gave an account of his wanderings and exploits, inventing, embellishing, or suppressing occurrences as suited his fancy.

“An’ have yees made yer fortin, Phalim, me lad?” queried his mother, regarding him with a look of maternal pride and fondness.

“Not jist yit, ould lady,” he answered, with an unpleasant laugh; “but,” pulling out a handful of gold and silver coins and a roll of bank-notes, “here’s the beginnin’ o’t.”

She reached out an eager hand, while her old eyes reflected the covetous gleam in his. “Ye’ll share wid yer ould fayther and mither, Phalim, me darlint?”

“Wan o’ these days maybe,” he said, returning the money to his pocket. “I’m goin’ intil a line av business that’ll pay; an’ I’ll have yees soon livin’ in betther style,” he said, with a contemptuous glance at their mean and squalid surroundings.

“Them’s not all sodger’s wages, me lad,” remarked the old man, with a knowing look.

“Did yees iver hear o’ bounty-jumpin’?” returned his son, with a coarse laugh. “It’s been a dangerous business, but, faith, a payin’ wan, too; an’ a smart chap cud foind chances now an’ agin to hilp hisself amang the rebs an’ the wounded.”

“An’ Phalim wasn’t the bye to neglict his chances; was ye, lad?” chuckled the old father.

“Niver a bit o’t, dad; an’ it’s mesilf, Phalim O’Rourke, as manes to be a moighty rich man wan o’ these days. Me gurrul, Belinda, shall roide intil her coach an’ wear her foine goold ornaments an’ her silks an’ satins wid the best.”

But observing significant glances passing between the old people, while his mother took her pipe from her mouth and shook her head ruefully, “What’s wrong?” he demanded, the color paling on his sunburnt cheek; “don’t tell me annything’s happened till her, the purtiest and swatest gurrul in Ameriky!”

At that his mother burst out into an angry denunciation of the girl; she was unworthy of his love; she was faithless; she had been married for a year to an old farmer living some miles away. The man was well off, and his money, house, and land had bought the silly, faithless creature.

Phelim’s face grew white with disappointment and rage as he listened to the tale; he clinched his fists and swore with horrible oaths that he would be revenged upon them both. He would shoot the old man dead in his tracks and blow out the brains of the faithless girl.

“Aisy, aisy, Phalim, me darlint! don’t yees be afther runnin’ yer neck intil a halter for the loikes av thim, the warthless varmints,” returned his mother, alarmed at his vehemence.

“Sorra a bit o’ that same,” he growled; “there’s niver a bit o’ hangin’ in this State.”

“Eh! no; are yees sure o’ that same?” she exclaimed, in surprise. “An’ what fur wadn’t they be for takin’ the loives o’ thim as takes other folk’s?”

“It’s agin the law,” he answered, shortly.

“State’s prison for life’s near about as bad as swingin’,” suggested the old man.

“But while there’s life there’s hope,” remarked his son, significantly; “hope o’ breakin’ jail or being pardoned out; an’ it’s mesilf as wadn’t be afeared to take me chance o’ one or t’other.”

“Ye wuz always a brave bye an’ a lucky wan, Phalim,” was his mother’s comment as she rose and set about preparing the evening meal.

When the hour for retiring came Phelim declined to sleep in the house, averring that long use had made mother earth a more comfortable couch to him than the softest of beds, and taught him that he could breathe more freely under the open sky than beneath any roof. Spreading his army blanket under a tree some hundreds of yards distant from the cabin, he threw himself down upon it and fell asleep.

Hours passed on, while all was quiet save the murmur of a brook near at hand and the rustle of the night wind in the treetops; then a shrill whistle roused him.

He started up and listened. It came again, louder, shriller than before. He answered it, and moved swiftly in the direction of the sound, which seemed to come from the road from which he had yesterday turned aside to gain his father’s dwelling. It was long past midnight, but darkness still brooded over the land, and few were abroad save those bent upon evil deeds. To that class belonged Phelim and those who had summoned him to their aid. In the shadow of the trees bordering the roadside lurked three men awaiting the coming of their leader; for such Phelim was.

“Where are yees, byes?” he asked in an undertone as he drew cautiously near.

“Here, sor,” replied a suppressed voice, in as rich a brogue as his own.

The three joined him, and a whispered conference ensued, the chief speaker being one who answered to the name of Teddy McManus. He was describing a country-seat, the situation of doors and windows, arrangement and contents of its lower rooms. “We’ll git in aisy,” he said; “wan o’ thim kitchin doors ain’t got no bolt at all—nothin’ but a common lock; an’ a wire’ll turn the kay an’ let us in as aisy as the masther hissilf walks intil the front door wid his latch-kay. An’ thin it’s all plain sailin’; dinin’-room nixt, solid siller a plenty on the sideboard; beyont that, jist acrost the hall’s the lib’ry, where he kapes his money.”

“But where he won’t kape it much longer,” put in one of the others.

“We’ll do oor indivors to relave him o’t the noight, if that’s yer wull, captain,” continued Teddy’s rough voice.

“Yis, if yees are all agraable. What’s yer wull, Gotlieb? an’ yours, Pat?”

“I dinks we goes; and we petter makes haste,” answered the first.

Patrick echoed the sentiment, and they set off at once, walking rapidly in a direction opposite to that from which Phelim had come some hours ago.

They were armed with pistols and knives, and carried with them a dark lantern and a full set of burglars’ tools.

When the family at Walnut Hill rose from that night’s slumbers it was to find that butter, bread, meat, and other edibles had disappeared from spring-house and pantry; also all the silver ware from the dining-room; and that the secretary in the library had been robbed of several hundred dollars in gold and silver, bank-notes, and United States bonds.