living voices seemed to
be ringing in it still.

After tea I read again my only love-letter, revelling in the dear
delightful errors in spelling which made it Martin's and nobody else's,
and then I observed for the first time what was said about "the boys of
Blackwater," and their intention of "getting up a spree."

This suggested that perhaps Martin had not yet left the island but was
remaining for the evening steamer, in order to be present at some sort
of celebrations to be given in his honour.

So at seven o'clock--it was dark by that time--I was down at the Quay,
sitting in our covered automobile, which had been drawn up in a
sheltered and hidden part of the pier, almost opposite the outgoing
steamer.

Shall I ever forget the scene that followed?

First, came a band of music playing one of our native songs, which was
about a lamb that had been lost in the snow, and how the Big Man of the
Farm went out in search of it, and found it and brought it home in his
arms.

Then came a double row of young men carrying flags and banners--fine,
clean-limbed lads such as make a woman's heart leap to look at them.

Then came Martin in a jaunting car with a cheering crowd alongside of
him, trying to look cheerful but finding it fearfully hard to do so.

And then--and this touched me most of all--a double line of girls in
knitted woollen caps (such as men wear in frozen regions) over their
heads and down the sides of their comely faces.

I was crying like a child at the sight of it all, but none the less I
was supremely happy.

When the procession reached the gangway Martin disappeared into the
steamer, and then the bandsmen ranged themselves in front of it, and
struck up another song:

"_Come back to Erin, mavourneen, mavourneen,
Come back, aroon, to the land of your birth_."

In another moment every voice in the crowd seemed to take up the
refrain.

That brought Martin on to the captain's bridge, where he stood
bareheaded, struggling to smile.

By this time the last of the ship's bells had rung, the funnels were
belching, and the captain's voice was calling on the piermen to clear
away.

At last the hawsers were thrown off and the steamer started, but, with
Martin still standing bareheaded on the bridge, the people rushed to the
end of the pier to see the last of him.

There they sang again, louder than ever, the girls' clear voices above
all the rest, as the ship sailed out into the dark sea.