"I suppose Teige O'Leary would try to make Sinn Feiners of them, and shoot the whole family if they held out," I suggested.

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66

Ah, not at all," replied Dinneen. Teige is a good decent fellow, sound through and through. A sincere patriot if ever there was one."

I heard this with surprise, for the scene at the murdered policeman's funeral recurred vividly to me. Then I remembered the piper's music and its soaring idealism, which accompanied so incongruously a hideous and revolting act.

Dinneen went on: "I'm not saying that what he does is right; it's his spirit I admire. He's sincere and straight himself, and wouldn't force any one to go agin their conscience. He's not agin the Government because it's English, but because he believes it has no right to govern Ireland. If you'd be arguing, he'd say, Well, and what about conscription? If the English were our rightful rulers they'd surely have forced us to join their army.' And many think the Sure, if a government has no faith in itself, it can't blame any one for doubting or disobeying it."

same.

This indeed was undeniable. For through unjust inaction in Ireland the Government has denied its just assertions.

"I'm sorryfor Teige, ma'am,"

bad luck. I knew him when we were training near Carrigarinka in '15. He used to be hanging about watching the drilling wistful-like, wanting to join up and fight the Germans, and tormented in his mind because the other side was telling him he'd be a traitor to Ireland if he did. There were thousands like him in the country, though I'm not saying all of them were as keen as he to do the right sportsmanlike thing. But they'd have given the eyes out of their heads to fight on one side or the other. They were only waiting for a definite lead. And England just stepped back and let them go Sinn Fein."

While he spoke I watched him, wondering at his unembittered generosity. Traces of recent ill treatment showed plainly on his face. The mere fact of his presence in the glen -a man crippled in his country's service, driven to obtain food by stealth-was, I felt, disgraceful evidence of Sinn Fein's inhuman cowardly methods. It was also a terrible indictment against the Government that such things should be possible.

I determined to spare no effort to ensure comfort and just treatment for Dinneen.

As I walked homewards I caught sight of a man slipping through the bushes at the entrance of the glen,

It was Teige O'Leary.

I lay awake late that night thinking out plans for Dinneen's welfare.

It was by no means easy to see my way, for there was nobody I could ask to help me. Neighbours of my own class were few and far between, and every one already found it hard enough to "carry on " amid the ever-increasing difficulties that only Southern loyalists know.

The Carrigarinka villagers must on no account be involved in my schemes lest the boycott should be extended to them, in which case Dinneen's life might become unendurable. Nor was any form of public support at the moment available. In the nearest town the pensions offices, together with other Government buildings, had recently been burned down. Weeks must elapse before they would be sufficiently re-established to give any practical help. The police, our usual protectors, were themselves boycotted, and isolated behind the sandbags and steel shutters of their barracks. Moreover, within the last fortnight the District Inspector, a sergeant, and three constables had been shot dead, and the duties of the R.I.C. were now carried out by the military.

And I hesitated to bring the matter to the soldiers' notice, for it was well known that in order to avoid injuring Sinn Fein susceptibilities their every

action was delayed and hampered by official red tape. They were themselves victims to a policy of "conciliation," and any application for help would probably be referred from one authority to another before definite results could be obtained. Meanwhile Dinneen might starve.

There remained old Bat Cronin, who doubtless would aid and abet me to the best of his ability, though it was only too likely he would be detected and punished. Indeed, he might already be under suspicion, for surely no mere chance had brought Teige O'Leary to the glen at the very hour that Dinneen received his daily supplies. Though I believed the young Sinn Feiner had not actually seen me on that occasion, I felt uneasily that he was out to obtain evidence against Cronin, and had perhaps intended to intercept him.

Think how I would, the matter resolved itself into a contest between three loyalists and one rebel. But the rebel had the whole unscrupulous power of Sinn Fein behind him.

It was at this point that an unreasonable and extraordinary idea suggested itself, which at first I smothered as being too outrageous for sober consideration. Impatient with myself I switched off the light and tried to go to sleep.

I sat on the bank in the garden watching Bat Cronin, who, having reduced the peas to order, was now paying attention to the grass under the laburnums.

Every swing of the scythe in his lean old hands seemed to mow down a smooth halfcircle, but the next instant the stronger tufts of grass would spring up again, bent but unsevered by the rusty blade. Just so, I reflected, when one stroke of reason swept my plan aside, a few strong points in its favour arose irrepressibly.

Mere reason is sometimes a blunt and unsatisfactory tool.

Cronin, scenting an opportunity for conversation, approached.

I asked a few casual questions concerning Teige O'Leary. Cronin shot me a keen glance before inquiring

"And why would your ladyship's honour be bothering yourself about that thrash? "

Without waiting for a reply, he went on, "He's something about the one age with me youngest boy-him that went out beyond France to Gallopoli, and was blown to bits by the haythen, glory be to God! Them Learys is a quare lot entirely, and as wild as the wind. Indeed, some people did be saying that Teige's grandfather was in league with the fairies, and 'twas themselves taught him the music

for the boys and girls in the evenings at the little rock of the dancing, and sometimes maybe there'd be others dancing there too, unbeknownst. Anny time the old fella'd play his fiddle or his pipes ye'd hear more music than himself 'ud be making. There'd be whistling and singing, very soft and quiet, and piping. And if ye'd hear the piping before dawn 'tis dead some one'd be, and the saints themselves couldn't prevint it."

What about Teige? I interposed, trying to keep the old man to the point; but he pursued his own line of thought without deviation.

"Teige himself is mad on the music. Sure he'd play tunes going to his death! He always had a great wish for the fairies-the on-natural fella! I heard tell he seen a witch once, and she riding upon a say-gull. She threwn herself off the say-gull on top of the potatoes. 'Tis to blight yees I've come,' says she to them, the English Governmint have it settled with me, and ye'll not get to grow at all,' and with that she drew the fog down on them as thick as the smoke of hell."

Inwardly I laughed at this fresh instance of English injustice to Ireland. Aloud I said

"It would have been better if Teige had joined up for the war instead of studying the fairies."

"Well now, ma'am, that's

character. His

a

seemed one of those cases, common enough in Ireland, where a man by nature visionary and idealist, but like most uneducated Irishmen inflammable and unbalanced, falls an easy prey to seditious doctrines.

war.

'Twas the Black Pig drove many a man to go Sinn Fein. Teige O'Leary seen it in the wesht, and the setting sun red like blood behind it. And the Sinn Fein leaders told him there was a curse coming to Ireland, and that the boys would have to be striving to drive it away. The thought preyed on him till he joined the Sinn Fein army to save Ireland from the curse."

As the old man rambled on, I realised for the hundredth time the difficulties the English have to contend with in dealing with a nation swayed equally by sedition and superstition.

The gleanings of this conversation, added to what Dinneen had said, gave me some understanding of Teige

Clearly he was not yet one of the extremists, though his very sincerity might in time lead him far on the road to fanaticism. Taking all into consideration, there seemed just a chance, albeit a small one, that, if properly approached, he might prove not altogether unamenable. For my project was to appeal to him on behalf of Mike Dinneen, and persuade him to get the boycott revoked.

Although asking any favour from a rebel was intensely repugnant to me, I reminded myself that, as the rightful authorities could neither help nor protect, it was necessary to make the best I could of a bad business. Besides, anything was better than allowing an ex-soldier to starve.

Even if I did not succeed in getting the boycott removed, it was still possible that Teige might refrain from interfering with my efforts to provide food for Dinneen.

Beyond this I would not look for the present.

Contrary to my expectations, no immediate attempt was made to molest me. I received

the

no threatening threatening letter; tradesmen's carts continued to call as usual.

The respite gave me time to lay in extra stores in view of a possible boycott. It also enabled me to send by registered post a report of Dinneen's case to the Pensions head office in Dublin, and another (mentioning no names) to an influential friend in England. But in present-day Ireland the payment of registration fees does not ensure safety for one's correspondence.

Of these two letters, the first presumably fell into the hands of raiders, for no reply ever reached me. The second, torn and dirtied to an incredible degree, returned within a week. Across the envelope was stamped "Opened by I.R.A." Inside I found scrawled across the margin of the letter, "Not passed by Cencer. You are very busy about the state of Ireland. Don't worry. When the english enemy and they that backs them is cleared out or dead it will be all right. Beware of the venjance of the Republic. Sinn Fein aboo. (Signed) Comp. Mil. Authority, I.R.A."

On reading this I knew that at any moment I might be obliged to seek special protection, and that, as the prothe probable outcome of such a step, existence in Ireland, not only for myself but for Mike Dinneen and even for old Bat Cronin, would become impossible.

Clearly the best chance lay in pocketing my pride and coming to terms with Teige O'Leary as soon as possible.

There arose the question of how I should contrive to meet him. Though he was supposed to work on his uncle's small farm just under the little rock of the dancing, I knew he was seldom there, for I had only seen him a couple of times during the last two years. Nor, indeed, was it likely that his party would allow a man of his zeal and abilities to remain long at agricultural work.

Nevertheless I took the first opportunity of crossing the fields and strolling round the O'Learys' cottage in its sheltered nook. The door was closed, and the windows as well. Only a thin wisp of smoke rising from the chimney showed it actually was inhabited.

I was turning away when I noticed a large brown mark on the surface of the field just below the rock. Closer inspection revealed an oblong patch worn bare by the tramping of many feet. Here and there a footprint stood out clearly with the symmetrical outline of a well-made boot. There were indications, too, of rubber studs. It was not the footprint of the average countryman.

Something old Cronin had said rushed to my mind—" In the latther days 'tis there the boys'd be drilling."

Just then a motor lorry filled with soldiers rattled past the cross-roads. Over the fence-top I had a glimpse of trench helmets and of the muzzles of many rifles. I