led to them were
still just tinged with rose. Here and there a flake of gold seemed to
have lit upon the clump of sombre green furze-bushes, by which
neighbours in a small knot stood watching the three generations of
Patmans dwindle away down the road with its narrow dewy grass-border,
threading the vast sweep of sky-rimmed brown. Father and son walked,
while little Katty bobbed along, balanced in a swaying donkey-pannier.
The widow M'Gurk, who felt a good deal of concern about the destiny of
her late lodgers, hoped "they were goin' to dacint people, for there
wasn't as much sinse among the three of them as you'd put on a fourpenny
bit." And Mrs. Quigley thought "'twould be hard to say which the young
man or ould one was the foolishest; for the blathers ould Joe talked
about Tom, and the gaby Tom made of himself over the child, now that he
had his own way wid her, was past belief."

"And I can tell you," said Ody Rafferty, "there's folks goin' about that
you'll want all the wits you iver had, and maybe a thrifle tacked on, to
get the better of rightly."

"Augh, I question will they iver do any great things, goodness help
them," said Mrs. Sheridan. "'Twill be much if he keeps them outside the
House."

"Well, anyway," said Biddy Ryan, "I'd liefer be in their coats, for
fortin or no fortin, than like them two ugly-tempered women, settin' off
to the dear knows where, after robbin' and plunderin' all before them."

"Thrue for you, then, Biddy," said Mrs. Brian, turning away from her
wide outlook, "we're none so badly off, when we're stoppin' where we
are, instid of streelin' about wid the notion of such black villinies
in our minds. For sure enough," she said, as she faced round towards the
grey-peaked end-walls, and smoke-plumed thatch of Lisconnel, "the
world's a quare place to get thravellin' thro', take it as you will."

CHAPTER XIV

GOOD LUCK

Although Laraghmena is no great distance from Lisconnel as the crow
flies, but little intercourse takes place between the two hamlets. For
the crow's flight would be over a rugged mountain ridge, sinking into a
trackless expanse of bog, which often spreads rough and wet walking
before wayfarers who have to experience it at closer quarters than those
who merely throw down a flapping shadow as they pass. And round by the
road is a good long tramp, not to be lightly undertaken. So it does not
happen half a dozen times in the year, perhaps, that anybody comes from
the