uldn't," said Dr. O'Grady. "Not while
Father McCormack is listening to you anyhow. And you may take my word
for it that the old General was just the same. He may have been a bit of
a lad in his early days----"

"I wouldn't mind that," said Father McCormack. "I wouldn't mind that if
it was twice as much, so long----"

"But he'd never have said anything really disrespectful in the presence
of a clergyman of any denomination. Whatever his faults were--and he had
faults, of course--he wasn't that kind of man. So you needn't hesitate
about taking the chair at the meeting, Father McCormack. I defy the most
particular bishop that ever wore a purple stock to find out anything
really bad about the General."

"If I have your word for that," said Father McCormack, "I'm satisfied."

"I'm not a rich man," said Dr. O'Grady. "I can't afford to lose money,
but I'll pay down L50 to any man who proves anything bad about the
General. And when I say bad I don't, mean things like----"

"I understand you," said Father McCormack.

"I mean," said Dr. O'Grady, "atheism of a blatant kind, or circulating
immoral literature--Sunday papers, for instance--or wanting to turn the
priests out of the schools, or not paying his dues----"

"I understand you," said Father McCormack.

"I know what I'm talking about," said Dr. O'Grady, "for I've had a man
looking up all that's known about General John Regan in the National
Library in Dublin."

CHAPTER VII

At the very bottom of the main street of Ballymoy, close to the little
harbour where the fishing boats nestled together in stormy weather,
there is a disused mill. Corn was ground in it long ago. The farmers
brought it from the country round about after the threshing was over,
and the stream which now flows idly into the sea was then kept busy
turning a large wheel. Since the Americans have taken to supplying
Ireland with flour ready ground, bleached, and fit for immediate use,
the Irish farmers have left off growing wheat. Being wise men they see
no sense in toiling when other people are willing to toil instead of
them. The Ballymoy mill, and many others like it, lie idle. They are
slipping quietly through the gradual stages of decay and will one day
become economically valuable to the country again as picturesque ruins.
Few things are more attractive to tourists than ruins, and the country
which possesses an abundance of them is in a fair way to grow rich
easily. But it is necessary t