"Blessed be His Name!" thought Rory aloud; and I continued, "You must make up your mind to send her away to school in another four or five years."
"Iv coorse," replied Rory sadly.
"A convent school, mind. None of your common boarding schools for a child like Mary"
Rory's only reply was a glance of gratitude. My stern admonition would be a moral support to him in the coming controversy.
"You mentioned some other literary work that you have on hand?"
I remarked inquiringly.
"Yis; A've jotted down a few idays. Now, Tammas—where was the Garden of Aden supposed to be?"
"My word, Rory, if a man could only disclose that to the world, he would command attention. However, one theory is that it was on the lost continent of Atlantis; another, that it was in the Valley of Cashmere. There are many other localities suggested, but I think the one which meets most favour is the Isle of Kishm, in the Straits of Ormuz, at the entrance to the Persian Gulf."
"Will ye repate that, Tammas, iv ye plaze."
I briefly rehearsed such relevant information as I possessed, whilst Rory kidnapped the geographical names, and imprisoned them in his note-book, trusting to his memory for the rest.
"Oul' Father Finnegan, at Derryadd, useteh argie that the Garden iv Aden hed been furnent the Lake o' Killarney; an' no one dar' conthradict him," he remarked, with a smile. "But people larns till think fur theirselves when they're out theyre lone. An' afther consitherin' the matter over, A take this iday fur a foundation: The furst Adam was created in a sartin place; then he sinned in a sartin place. An' when the Saviour (blessed be His Name!) come fur till clane the wurrld o' the furst Adam's sin, He hed till be born where the furst Adam was created; an' He hed till die where the furbidden fruit was ait. An' A've gethered up proofs, an' proofs, an' proofs—How far is it fram Jerusalem till Bethlehem, Tammas?"