going to America with Pat Connex, but she did not
dare to say it.

She stood looking at the bushes that grew between their cottage and the
next one, and she remembered how she and her brother used to cut the
branches of the alder to make pop guns, for the alder branches are full
of sap, and when the sap is expelled there is a hole smooth as the
barrel of a gun. "I'm going," she said suddenly, "there's nothing more
to say. Good-bye."

She walked away quickly, and her mother said, "She's going with Pat
Connex." But she had no thought of going to America with him. It was
not until she met him a little further on, at the cross roads, that the
thought occurred to her that he might like to go to America with her.
She called him, and he came to her, and he looked a nice boy, but she
thought he was better in Ireland. And the country seemed far away,
though she was still in it, and the people too, though she was still
among them.

"I'm going to America, Pat."

"You were married yesterday."

"Yes, that was the priest's doing and mother's and I thought they knew
best. But I'm thinking one must go one's way, and there's no judging
for one's self here. That's why I'm going. You'll find some other girl,
Pat."

"There's not another girl like you in the village. We're a dead and
alive lot. You stood up to the priest."

"I didn't stand up to him enough. You're waiting for someone. Who are
you waiting for?"

"I don't like to tell you, Kate."

She pressed him to answer her, and he told her he was waiting for the
priest. His mother had said he must marry, and the priest was coming to
make up a marriage for him.

"Everything's mother's."

"That's true, Pat, and you'll give a message for me. Tell my
mother-in-law that I've gone."

"She'll be asking me questions and I'll be sore set for an answer."

She looked at him steadily, but she left him without speaking, and he
stood thinking.

He had had good times with her, and all such times were ended for him
for ever. He was going to be married and he did not know to whom.
Suddenly he remembered he had a message to deliver, and he went down to
the M'Shanes' cabin.

"Ah, Mrs. M'Shane," he said, "it was a bad day for me when she married
Peter. But this is a worse one, for we've both lost her."

"My poor boy will feel it sorely."

When Peter came in for his dinner his mother said: "Peter, she's gone,
she's gone to America, and you're well rid of her."

"Don't say that, moth