he has to be taken there by
th' divil."

When all was ready we gathered around the table. "How I wish we could
sing!" she said as she looked at us. The answer was on every face.
Hunger would not wait on ceremony. We were awed into stillness and
silence, however, when she raised her hand in benediction. We bowed our
heads. Boyle crossed himself.

"Father," she said, "we thank Thee for sendin' our friend Felix here th'
night. Bless his wife an' wains, bless them in basket an' store an' take
good care of his oul mare. Amen!"

CHAPTER VIII

THE WIND BLOWETH WHERE IT LISTETH

I sat on a fence in a potato field, whittling an alder stick into a
pea-blower one afternoon in the early autumn when I noticed at the other
end of the field the well-known figure of "the master." He was dressed
as usual in light gray and as usual rode a fine horse. I dropped off the
fence as if I had been shot. He urged the horse to a gallop. I pushed
the clumps of red hair under my cap and pressed it down tightly on my
head. Then I adjusted the string that served as a suspender. On came the
galloping horse. A few more lightning touches to what covered my
nakedness and he reined up in front of me! I straightened up like a
piece of whalebone!

"What are you doing?" he asked in that far-off imperious voice of his.

"Kapin' th' crows off th' pirtas, yer honor!"

"You need a new shirt!" he said. The blood rushed to my face. I tried to
answer, but the attempt seemed to choke me.

"You need a new shirt!" he almost yelled at me. I saw a smile playing
about the corners of his fine large eyes. It gave me courage.

"Aye, yer honor, 'deed that's thrue."

"Why don't you get one?" The answer left my mind and traveled like a
flash to the glottis, but that part of the machinery was out of order
and the answer hung fire. I paused, drew a long breath that strained the
string. Then matching his thin smile with a thick grin I replied:

"Did yer honor iver work fur four shillin's a week and share it wid nine
others?"

"No!" he said and the imprisoned smile was released.

"Well, if ye iver do, shure ye'll be lucky to haave skin, let alone
shirt!"

"You consider yourself lucky, then?"

"Aye, middlin'."

He galloped away and I lay down flat on my back, wiped the sweat from my
brow with the sleeve of my jacket, turned the hair loose and eased up
the string.

That night at the first sound of the farm-yard bell I took to my heels
through the fie