hurry whether it's little or big."

"Just you tell him from me," said Priscilla, "that if I don't get that
rudder properly settled when I want it tomorrow morning, I'll go out to
Inishbawn, in spite of your rats and your heifers."

Peter Walsh's face remained perfectly impassive. Not even in his eyes
was there the smallest expression of surprise or uneasiness.

"What would be the good of saying the like of that to him?" he said.
"It's laughing at me he'd be, for he wouldn't understand what I'd mean."

"Don't tell me," said Priscilla. "Whatever villainy there is going on
between you and Joseph Antony Kinsella, Patsy the smith will be in it
along with you."

Peter Walsh helped Frank into the bath-chair. Priscilla, her face
wearing a most determined expression, wheeled him away.

"That rudder will be ready all right," she said.

"But what do you think is going on on the island?" asked Frank.

"I don't know."

"Could they be smuggling?"

"They might be smuggling, only I don't see where they'd get anything to
smuggle. Anyway, it's no business of ours so long as we get the rudder.
I don't think it's at all a good plan, Cousin Frank, to be always poking
our noses into other people's secrets, when we don't absolutely have
to."

It occurred to Frank that Priscilla had shown some eagerness in probing
the private affairs of the young couple who had hired Flanagan's boat.
He did not, however, feel it necessary to make this obvious retort.

Peter Walsh, the rudder under his arm, went back to Joseph Antony
Kinsella, who was still sitting on the edge of the quay.

"She says," he said, "that without there's a new iron on that rudder
tomorrow morning, she'll go out to Inishbawn and the young fellow along
with her."

"Let Patsy the smith put it on for her, then."

"Sure he can't."

"And what's to hinder him?"

"He was drunk an hour ago," said Peter Walsh, "and he'll be drunker
now."

"Bedamn then, but you'd better take him down and dip him in the tide,
for I'll not have that young fellow with the sore leg on Inishbawn. If
it was only herself I wouldn't care."

"I'd be afeard to do it," said Peter Walsh.

"Afeard of what?"

"Afeard of Patsy the smith. Sure it's a madman he is when his temper's
riz."

"Let you come along with me," said Kinsella, "and I'll wake him up if
it takes the brand of a hot iron to do it. He can be as mad as he likes
after, but he'll put an iron on that rudder before ever he gets leave