the year on the Island, a beautiful bright
sunny June day. On a plateau the men played at the hurley and putting
the stone; and there was a tug of war for married men and single, and
after that for the women, amid much jollity and laughter. Above the
plateau the hill sloped, and that long sunny slope was the place from
which the girls and women looked on at the prowess of their male kind.
That day out of all the year there was a general picnic on the hill,
and meals were eaten and the long day spent out of doors, till the
dews came on the grass.

Now one of the events was a rowing contest, and the course was right
under the hill-slope. Father Tiernay every year gave a money prize for
the winner, and the distinction in itself was ardently coveted. Randal
Burke was rowing against another young fisherman, and it was not easy
to forecast the winner, both men were so strong, so practised, and so
eager in the contest.

The race had begun, and the people on the hillside were standing up in
their excitement watching the boats, which were nearly dead level.
Mauryeen stood by Randal's mother, with one hand thrust childishly
within her arm, and the other shading her eyes from the bright sun.
Suddenly the people were startled by the sound of running feet, and
all looking in one direction they saw Mauryeen's mother coming
without bonnet or cloak, her face working with passion and her hands
clenched. The people fell back before her. She had an evil reputation,
and for a minute or two they thought she had gone mad. Mauryeen, who
did not fall back with the others, found herself standing in the
centre of an empty space, while her mother panted before her,
struggling for words. All the women-folk behind pressed together and
craned over each other's shoulders, half alarmed and half curious.

At last the woman found her breath. She pointed a yellow finger at the
girl, who stood before her with her head proudly lifted, and her eyes
amazed but fearless.

'Look at her,' shrieked the beldame, 'all of you, and you, Kate Burke,
that boasts your family's the oldest on the Island. Look well at her!
Och, the good ould ancient blood! Look at _her_, for her blood's
ancienter still. Do you see anything of Con Daly in her?'

The girl looked round with a forlorn sense of being held up to public
scorn, but the women were huddling together, and the fear kept any
one from coming to stand by her side.

'Look at her,' again shrieked the hoarse voice.