ednesday when he should leave for Queenstown, his mother
made up for his heartless joy by her lugubriousness. As the time drew
near she would buttonhole all and sundry whom she could catch to pour
out her sorrows. The trailing gown and ragged lace shawl became a
danger signal which we would all flee from, an it were not sprung upon
us too suddenly. We had a shrewd suspicion that the tears Mrs. Sheehy
shed so freely were of the variety known as crocodile. Rumour had it
that Mick once out of the way she was to be accommodated comfortably
for life as a lodgekeeper to one of those emigrating ladies. Sometimes
she used to follow us to our very doors to weep, and on such occasions
would be so overcome with grief that it took a little whisky and water
and the gift of an old dress or some broken victuals to prepare her
for the road again.

On the Tuesday of the week Mick was to start he made a farewell
progress round all the houses of the neighbourhood. We were called
into the big farmhouse kitchen about five of the afternoon to bid him
good-bye. Mick sat forward on the edge of his chair, thrusting now and
then his knuckles into his eyes, like a big child, and trying to wink
away his tears. We all did our best to console him, and after a time
from being very sad he grew rather uproariously gay. Mick was no
penman, but for all that he made the wildest promises about writing,
and as for the gifts he was to send us, the place should be indeed a
Tom Tiddler's ground if he were to fulfil his rash promises. Meanwhile
we all pressed our parting gifts on him; some took the form of money,
others were useful or beneficial, as we judged it. Mick added
everything to the small pack he was carrying, which had indeed already
swollen since he left home, and was likely to be considerably more
swollen by the time he had concluded his round.

Mick had got over the parting with his mother. The emigrants' train
started in the small hours, and the emigrants were to rendezvous at a
common lodging-house close by the big terminus. We inquired about poor
Mrs. Sheeny with feeling. Mick responded with a return of tears that
he'd left her screeching for bare life and tearing her hair out in
handfuls. The memory caused Mick such remorse at leaving her that we
hastened to distract his mind to his fine prospects once more.

He delayed so long over his farewells to us that we began to fear he'd
never catch up with the other emigrants, for the road to the cit