y're after
now. What'll we do at all, at all?"

The kitchenmaid, stirred from her private grief by the news, left her
potatoes and came to the kitchen. She and Molly clung to each other.

"It's the Sinn Feiners," she said, "and they're out for blood."

"Where's the police?" said Molly. "What good is the police that they
wouldn't be here and us being murdered?"

"It's blood they want," said the kitchenmaid, "and if s blood they'll
have."

"Molly," said Mrs. O'Halloran, "is there men in the house or is there
not? Stop your bawling now, and tell me."

"There is, there is," said Molly, "with guns and cannons and knives.
Glory be to God, but I never thought to die this way. What'll we do at
all, at all? Would it be any good hiding?"

Mrs. O'Halloran, with cool deliberation, shifted the position of two
pots on the kitchen range. Then she wiped her hands on her apron.

"It's your place to attend the door and not mine, Molly," she said, "but
if you're afeard...."

She looked scornfully at the two girls and left the kitchen.

In the hall a young man stood just inside the door on the mat. He wore
a greenish-grey uniform and carried a rifle. Across his chest was
a bandolier. He looked uncomfortable, like a man who finds himself
unexpectedly in a public place when wearing a fancy dress. The door was
wide open. On the steps outside were two other young men. They also wore
uniforms and carried rifles.

"Now what may you be wanting?" said Mrs. O'Halloran.

The man on the mat--he was really little more than a boy--fumbled in one
pocket after another.

His uniform, like that of the British soldier, had a good many pockets.
Finally he drew out a sheet of paper.

"This is my authority," he said, "from the Provisional Government of the
Irish Republic."

He handed the paper to Mrs. O'Halloran.

"If it's a collection you're making for the Irish Language Fund," said
Mrs. O'Halloran, "her ladyship gave half a crown last week to one of
yees, and she'll give no more, so you can take yourselves off out of
this as quick as you like."

"We are not collectors," said the young man, with dignity.

"Whether you are not, it's what you look," said Mrs. O'Halloran,
"dressed up in them clothes, with your toy guns and all. You ought to be
ashamed of yourselves."

The suggestion that his rifle was not a real weapon roused the spirit of
the young man.

"In the name of the Irish Republic," he said, "I take possession of this
house fo