"The dirty, greedy, mane ould divil," said the others.

"An' she tould me he always done it," Jane went on. "An' I seen it was
the truth, for he come in another day, an' done the same, an' he was
that cross that he frightened her, an' she begun to spit blood, an' if
it hadn't been for me I believe he'd 'a' kilt her; but I was that mad
that I hit him a big dig in the stomach; an', mind ye, I hurted him,
for he went to bed like a lamb, an' I tied him in with an ould shawl
afore I come away."

The others could find no words to express their disgust. They agreed
that Jane was right--such a man ought not to be allowed to live.

"If we tould Sergeant M'Gee he'd hang him," said Fly.

"That'd be informin', said Mick.

"Almighty God's sure to pay him out when he dies," Honeybird said.

"I'd rather pay him out now," said Jane. At that moment there was a
flash of lightning, and a crash of thunder overhead, and then a shower
of hailstones rattled against the window.

"Mebby he'll be struck dead," said Fly; "Almighty God's sure to be
awful mad with him."

For three hours the rain poured in torrents. The children watched it
from the schoolroom window splashing up on the path, and beating down
the fuchsia bushes in the border.

But by dinner-time it had cleared up, and the sky looked clean and
blue, as though it had just been washed. When dinner was over they set
off to the village, expecting to hear that Jimmie had been struck by
lightning, or, as Fly thought would be more proper, killed by a
thunderbolt.

Mrs M'Rea was standing at her door, with a ring of neighbours round
her. As they came up the street they heard her say: "There's the
childer, an' they were the kin' friends to her when she was alive."

"Good-mornin', Mrs M'Rea," said Jane; "has Jimmie been kilt?"

"Is it kilt," said Mrs M'Rea; "'deed an' it's no more than he
desarves--but we don't all get what we desarve in this world, glory be
to God! Troth, no; it's marriet he is, an' comin' home the night in
style on a ker, all the way from Ballynahinch."

"We thought Almighty God'd 'a' kilt him with a thunderbolt," said Fly.

"Do ye hear that?" said old Mrs Clay. "The very childer's turned agin
him--an' small wonder, the ould ruffan; it's the quare woman would have
him."

"By all accounts she is that," said Gordie O'Rorke, joining the group;
"they say she's six fut in her stockin's an' as blackavised as the ould
boy himself."

"We'll be givin' her