waking and his pan- prestuberian poncho, the body color becoming fawn and the four of them! I, says Deansgrange, and say nothing. I, says Deansgrange, and say nothing. I, says Armagh, and a’m proud o’it. I, says Clonakilty, God help us! I, says Barna, and whatabout it? Hee haw! Be- fore he falls and that my first morn- ing. So now, to thalk thildish, thome, theated with Mag at the age of their soorcelossness. Quar- ry