yans' neighbouring field there is
a block of quartzite, as big as a small turf-stack, which gleamed
exceedingly white from amongst the deep muffling greenery of the
potato-plants. Mrs. Joyce had been praising their thriving aspect to old
Paddy, who, however, was disposed to express a gloomy view of them.

"It's too rank they're growin' altogether," he said; "ne'er a big crop
you'll get under that heigth of haulms. 'Heavy thatchin' and light
liftin',' as the sayin' is."

To Felix O'Beirne the smooth leafy surface recalled a far-off incident
of the War, when the dense foliage of a certain potato-field had
permitted the execution of a curious military manoeuvre. It was one of
old O'Beirne's favourite stories, and he often related it at full
length, but to-day it was cut short by the arrival of Ody Rafferty's
aunt, whom Mrs. Joyce and Mrs. Ryan were prompt to greet, making room
for her between them on the bank with an alacrity which somehow conveyed
an impression of uneasiness lest she should establish herself elsewhere.

Presently she said: "And what at all is Theresa busy wid over
yonder--and young O'Meara? Is it bogberries they're after pullin'?"

Mrs. Joyce said: "No, ma'am, it isn't bogberries;" and left further
explanations to Mrs. Ryan, with the air of one who refrains from
self-glorification, but counts upon its being done for her, more
gracefully, by deputy.

"Sure wasn't he out on the bog the len'th of the day, since early this
mornin', he and little Joe, gadrin' her the bog-cotton?" said Mrs. Ryan.
"The full of a pitaty-creel he brought her. They have it there in a
hape."

"'Twas because he heard her sayin' last night she wished she had a good
bit of it to stuff the pillow she's makin' me," put in Mrs. Joyce. "Off
he went after it the first thing this mornin'."

"Whethen now, is that the way of the win'?" said Ody Rafferty's aunt,
with a pleased smile, striking out unfamiliar paths among her wrinkles.
"Troth, but I'm rael glad to hear it. Bedad, it's a grand thing for
little Theresa."

"He's a very dacint poor lad," Mrs. Joyce said, looking over with pride
at the handsome young sergeant, and thinking that Ody Rafferty's aunt
must have some good nature in her after all, since she was so evidently
glad of their good luck.

"'Deed but there's not a finer young man in the kingdom of Connaught
this day," said Mrs. Ryan, who could, of course, be frankly laudatory.
"And wid everybody's good word, high and low