the
back of the stable. It was there since the early fall, the dry earth cut
from the bog, the turf that would make bright and pleasant fires in the
open grates of Connacht for the winter months. Away from it spread the
level bogland, a sweep of country that had, they said, in the infancy of
the earth been a great oak forest, across which in later times had roved
packs of hungry wolves, and which could at this day claim the most
primitive form of industry in Western Europe. Out into this bogland in
the summer had come from their cabins the peasantry, men and women,
Denis Donohoe among them; they had dug up slices of the spongy, wet sod,
cut it into pieces rather larger than bricks, licked it into shape by
stamping upon it with their bare feet, stacked it about in little rows
to dry in the sun, one sod leaning against the other, looking in the
moonlight like a great host of wee brown fairies grouped in couples for
a midnight dance on the carpet of purple heather. Now the time had come
to convert it into such money as it would fetch.

Denis Donohoe whistled merrily that night as he piled the donkey cart,
or "creel," with the sods of turf. Long before daybreak next morning he
was about, his movements quick like one who had great business on hands.
The kitchen of the cabin was illuminated by a rushlight, the rays of
which did not go much beyond a small deal table, scrubbed white, where
he sat at his breakfast, an unusually good repast, for he had tea,
home-made bread and a boiled egg. His mother moved about the dim
kitchen, waiting on him, her bare feet almost noiseless on the black
earthen floor. He ate heartily and silently, making the Sign of the
Cross when he had finished. His mother followed him out on the dark road
to bid him good luck, standing beside the creel of turf.

"There should be a brisk demand now that the winter is upon us," she
said hopefully. "God be with you."

"God and Mary be with you, mother," Denis Donohoe made answer as he took
the donkey by the head and led him along the dark road. The little
animal drew his burden very slowly, the cart creaking and rocking
noisily over the uneven road. Now and then Denis Donohoe spoke to him
encouragingly, softly, his gaze at the same time going to the east,
searching the blank sky for a hint of the dawn to come.

But they had gone rocking and swaying along the winding road for a long
time before the day dawned. Denis Donohoe marked the spread of the
light, th