ort of fellow. He made
O'Farrelly and a few more prisoners, and told the rest of them to be off
home."

"Ireland," said Waterhouse, "must be a d____d queer country."

"It's the only country in Europe," said Power, "which knows how to
conduct war in a civilized way. Now if a situation of that sort turned
up out here there'd be bloodshed."

"I suppose O'Farrelly was hanged afterwards?" said Waterhouse.

"No, he wasn't."

"Shot, then? Though I should think hanging is the proper death for a
rebel."

"Nor shot," said Power. "He is alive still and quite well. He's going
about the country making speeches. He was down in Ballymahon about a
fortnight ago and called on my dad to thank him for all he'd done during
the last rebellion. He inquired after me in the kindest way. The old dad
was greatly touched, especially when a crowd of about a thousand men,
all O'Farrelly's original army with a few new recruits, gathered round
the house and cheered, first for an Irish republic and then for dad.
He made them a little speech and told them I'd got my company and was
recommended for the M.C. When they heard that they cheered me like
anything and then shouted 'Up the Rebels!' for about ten minutes."

"I needn't tell you," said Waterhouse, "that I don't believe a word of
that story. If I did I'd say----"

He paused for a moment.

"I'd say that Ireland----"

"Yes," said Power, "that Ireland----"

"I'd say that Ireland is a country of lunatics," said Waterhouse, "and
there ought to be an Irish Republic I can't think of anything to say
worse than that."

XV ~~ THE MERMAID

We were on our way home from Inishmore, where we had spent two days;
Peter O'Flaherty among his relatives--for everyone on the island was kin
to him--I among friends who give me a warm welcome when I go to them.
The island lies some seventeen miles from the coast We started on our
homeward sail with a fresh westerly wind. Shortly after midday it backed
round to the north and grew lighter. At five o'clock we were stealing
along very gently through calm water with our mainsail boom out against
the shroud. The jib and foresail were drooping in limp folds. An hour
later the mainsheet was hanging in the water and the boat drifted with
the tide. Peter, crouching in the fore part of the cockpit, hissed
through his clenched teeth, which is the way in which he whistles for a
wind. He glanced all round the horizon, searching for signs of a breeze.
His eyes res