y
turns to go out and watch that no unexpected visitor was at hand.

When the night was tolerably advanced the three left the family of
the Kennedys to themselves, and returned to Andy's cabin; and Thady
having refused to allow that Meg should be again disturbed for his
accommodation, they all stretched themselves upon the earthen floor
before the fire, and were soon asleep.

The next morning Joe and Corney again went away early, and Thady
found himself doomed to pass just such another day as the preceding
one.

After giving him his breakfast Meg again also went out, and left
Thady alone with her father.

By way of propitiating the old man he gave him half the bit of bread
which he was eating. Andy devoured it as he had done the bacon, and
then resumed the same apathy and look of idle contentment which had
so harassed Thady on the previous day. This second day was more
grievous, more intolerable even than the first. He walked from the
cabin to the lime-kiln, and from the lime-kiln to the cabin twenty
times. He went to Kennedy's cabin, to try if he could kill time by
subjecting himself to the brutality of the man or his wife; but the
door was locked or bolted, and there was apparently no one in it; he
clambered up the hill and then down again--and again threw himself
upon the walls of the lime-kiln, and looked upon the silver lake that
lay beneath him. But the day would not pass--it was not even yet
noon--he could see that the sun had yet a heavy space to cover before
it would reach the middle of the skies. Oh heavens! what should he
do? Should he sit there from day to day, when every hour seemed like
an age of misery, waiting till he should be dragged out like a badger
from its hole. He looked towards the village, and to different bits
of road which his eye could reach, thinking that he should see the
dark uniform of a policeman; but no, nothing ever was stirring--it
seemed as if nothing ever stirred--as if nothing had life by day, in
that lifeless, desolate spot. At length he thought to himself that he
would bear it no longer; that he would not remain for a short time
indebted for his food to such a man as Dan Kennedy, and then at
length be taken away to the fate which he knew awaited him, and
be dragged along the roads by a policeman, with handcuffs on his
wrists--a show, to be gaped at by the country! No; he would return
at once, and give himself up; he would boldly go to the magistrates
at Carrick--declare tha