truck me dumb.

"Honey," she said, so softly and looking into my eyes, "do ye realize
that I have never stood on a patch of lawn in my life before?"

Hand in hand we walked toward the gate, taking an occasional, wistful
glance back at the glory of the few, and thinking, both of us, of the
millions of tired feet that never felt the softness of a smooth green
sward.

At eight o'clock that night the door was shut _and barred_.

Jamie tacked several copies of the _Weekly Budget_ over the window and
we were alone.

We talked of old times. We brought back the dead and smiled or sighed
over them. Old tales, of the winter nights of long ago, were retold with
a new interest.

The town clock struck nine.

We sat in silence as we used to sit, while another sexton tolled off the
days of the month after the ringing of the curfew.

"Many's th' time ye've helter-skeltered home at th' sound of that bell!"
she said.

"Yes, because the sound of the bell was always accompanied by a vision
of a wet welt hanging over the edge of the tub!"

Jamie laughed and became reminiscent.

"D'ye mind what ye said wan time whin I bate ye wi' th' stirrup?"

"No, but I used to think a good deal more than I said."

"Aye, but wan time I laid ye across m' knee an' give ye a good
shtrappin', then stud ye up an' says I, 'It hurts me worse than it hurts
ye, ye divil!'

"'Aye,' says you, 'but it dizn't hurt ye in th' same place!'

"I don't remember, but from time immemorial boys have thought and said
the same thing."

"D'ye mind when _I_ bate ye?" Anna asked with a smile.

"Yes, I remember you solemnly promised Jamie you would punish me and
when he went down to Barney's you took a long straw and lashed me
fearfully with it!"

The town clock struck ten.

Mary, who had sat silent all evening, kissed us all good night and went
to bed.

I was at the point of departure for the New World. Jamie wanted to know
what I was going to do. I outlined an ambition, but its outworking was a
problem. It was beyond his ken. He could not take in the scope of it.
Anna could, for she had it from the day she first felt the movement of
life in me. It was unpretentious--nothing the world would call great.

"Och, maan, but that wud be th' proud day fur Anna if ye cud do it."

When the town clock struck eleven, Anna trembled.

"Yer cowld, Anna," he said. "I'll put on a few more turf."

"There's plenty on, dear; I'm not cold in my body."

"Acushla, m' oul