t in Ireland.

The days of spiritless bending to the yoke were over. It was a "Young
Ireland" he belonged to and meant to lead. A "Young Ireland" with an
inheritance of oppression and slavery to wipe out. A "Young Ireland"
that demanded to be heard: that meant to act: that would fight step by
step in the march to Westminster to compel recognition of their just
claims. And he was to be one of their leaders. He squared his shoulders
as he looked for the last time on the little spot of earth that once
meant "Home" to him.

He took in a deep breath and muttered through his clenched teeth:

"Let the march begin to-day. Forward!" and he turned toward St.
Kernan's Hill.

CHAPTER III

ST. KERNAN'S HILL

To the summit of the hill climbed up men, women and children. The men
grimy and toil-worn; a look of hopelessness in their eyes: the sob of
misery in their voices. Dragging themselves up after them came the
women--some pressing babies to their breasts, others leading little
children by the hand. The men had begged them to stay at home. There
might be bad work that day, but the women had answered:

"If WE go they won't hurt YOU!" and they pressed on after the leaders.

At three o'clock O'Connell ascended the hill and stood alone on the
great mount.

A cry of greeting went up.

He raised his hand in acknowledgment.

It was strange indeed for him to stand there looking down at the people
he had known since childhood. A thousand conflicting emotions swept
through him as he looked at the men and women whom, only a little while
ago, it seemed, he had known as children. THEN he bent to their will.
The son of a peasant, he was amongst the poorest of the poor. Now he
came amongst them to try and lift them from the depths he had risen
from himself.

"It is Frankie O'Connell himself," cried a voice.

"Him we knew as a baby," said another.

"Fightin' O'Connell! Hooray for him!" shouted a third.

"Mary's own child standin' up there tall and straight to get us freedom
and comfort," crooned an old white-haired woman.

"And broken heads," said another old woman.

"And lyin' in the county-jail himself, mebbe, this night," said a third.

"The Lord be with him," cried a fourth.

"Amen to that," and they reverently crossed themselves.

Again O'Connell raised his hand, this time to command silence.

All the murmurs died away.

O'Connell began--his rich, melodious voice ringing far beyond the
farthest limits of th