its hinges and every
few minutes a gust of wind came down the chimney and blew the ashes into
our faces. We huddled nearer the fire.

"Can't ye fix up that oul craither's head a bit?" Jamie asked. I brought
over the bogman's coat. Anna made a pillow of it and placed it under his
head. He turned over on his side. As he did so a handful of small change
rolled out of his pocket.

"Think of that now," Jamie said as he gathered it up and stuffed it back
where it belonged, "an oul dhrunken turf dhriver wi' money t' waste
while we're starvin'."

From that moment we were acutely hungry.

This new incident rendered the condition poignant.

"Maybe Mrs. Boyle an' th' wains are as hungry as we are," Anna
remarked.

"Wi' a bogful o' turf at th' doore?"

"Th' can't eat turf, Jamie!"

"Th' can warm their shins, that's more'n we can do, in a minute or
two."

The rapidly diminishing coals were arranged once more. They were a mere
handful now and the house was cold.

There were two big holes in the chimney where Jamie kept old pipes, pipe
cleaners, bits of rags and scraps of tobacco. He liked to hide a scrap
or two there and in times of scarcity make himself believe he _found_
them. His last puff of smoke had gone up the chimney hours ago. He
searched both holes without success. A bright idea struck him. He
searched for Boyle's pipe. He searched in vain.

"Holy Moses!" he exclaimed, "what a breath; a pint ov that wud make a
mule dhrunk!"

"Thry it, Jamie," Anna said, laughing.

"Thry it yerself,--yer a good dale more ov a judge!" he said
snappishly.

A wild gust of wind came down the chimney and blew the loose ashes off
the hearth. Jamie ensconced himself in his corner--a picture of despair.

"I wondther if Billy O'Hare's in bed?" he said.

"Ye'd need fumigatin' afther smokin' Billy's tobacco, Jamie!"

"I'd smoke tobacco scraped out o' the breeches-pocket ov th' oul divil
in hell!" he replied.

He arose, put on his muffler and made ready to visit the sweep. On the
way to the door another idea turned him back. He put on the bogman's
overcoat and rabbit-skin cap. Anna, divining his intention, said:

"That's th' first sign of sense I've see in you for a month of Sundays."

"Ye cudn't see it in a month ov Easther Sundays, aanyway," he retorted
with a superior toss of his head.

Anna kept up a rapid fire of witty remarks. She injected humor into the
situation and laughed like a girl, and although she felt the pang