ing followed and Ireland turned into one vast tract of
Gobstowns! Would not any fate at all be better than that?' I who knew
said, 'God knows it would.'

"My cousin sighed heavily. He turned from me, leaving me standing there
in the kitchen, and I saw him moving with a ladder to the loft overhead.
This he mounted and disappeared in the black rafters. I could hear him
fumbling somewhere under the thatch. Presently down he came the ladder,
a gun in one hand, and a fistful of cartridges in the other. He spoke no
word, and I spoke no word. He came to me and put the gun in my hand and
the handful of cartridges in my pocket. He walked to the fire and stood
there with his back turned. I stood where I was, a Gobstown mohawk, with
the gun in my hand. At last I said, 'What is this for?' and grounded the
gun a little on the floor. My cousin did not answer at once. At last he
said without moving, 'It's for stirring your tea, what else?' I looked
at him and he remained as he was and, the sweat breaking out on the back
of my neck, I left the house and made across the fields for home, the
cartridges rattling in my pocket every ditch I leapt, the feel of the
gun in my hand becoming more familiar and more friendly.

"At last I came to the summit of a little green hill overlooking
Gobstown, and there I sat me down. The sight of Gobstown rose the gorge
in me. Nothing came out of it but weak puffs of turf smoke from the
chimneys--little pallid thin streaks that wobbled in the wind. There,
says I, is the height of Gobstown. And no sound came up out of it
except the cackle of geese, and then the bawl of an old ass in the bog.
There, says I, is the depth of Gobstown. And rising up from the green
hill I made up my mind to save Ireland from Gobstown even if I lost my
own soul. I would put a bullet in the perfect heart of our good
landlord.

"That night I lay behind a certain ditch. The moon shone on the nape of
my neck. The good landlord passed me by on the road, he and his good
wife, chattering and happy as a pair of lovers. I groped for the gun.
The queerest feeling came over me. I did not even raise it. I had no
nerve. I quaked behind the ditch. His footsteps and her footsteps were
like cracks of this hammer on my head. I knew, then, in that minute,
that I was no good, and that Gobstown was for ever lost.... What
happened me? Who can say that for certain? Many a time have I wondered
what came over me in that hour. I can only guess.... Nobo