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

thrue," said Cronin; "and, O'Leary's
bedad, he had a right to lose
his life when others as good-
yes, and better-was being
killed continually." He paused,
removing his hat. I knew he
was thinking of his own sons.
After a moment's silence he
said, "Let me tell ye now, 'tis
me belief he'd have joined up
in the latther end only for the
Black Pig."

His voice was suitably impressive as he mentioned the dreaded phantom said to have appeared in Ireland during the

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.

VI.

Contrary to my expectations, no threatening letter; the no immediate attempt was

made to molest me. I received

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.

was

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 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 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 country

man.

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

became aware that the cottage door had opened. Teige's old uncle, with a vexed yet eager expression, was watching the disappearing patrol.

His reply to my greeting was ungracious in the extreme, and when I asked after his nephew, he seemed on the point of shutting the door in my face. Relenting somewhat, he said in a gruff voice, "How'd I know where Teige'd be? Hadn't he a right to be going cutting the hay for me?"

"You have a good crop of hay," I remarked; but heedless of my presence, he was surveying the rock with twitching uneasy eyes.

"Plotting and skaming," he muttered, "bringing throuble to the decent people. Them young lads have me moidered and torminted."

Then he addressed himself to me with sour vehemence: "Them military pathrols is no good thravelling the roads as regular and noisy as the mail thrain."

His last words before closing the door evidently referred to his nephew. There was an earnest and prayerful ring about them: "Please God, the police have him took!"

I was sorry for old O'Leary. Like many another, he obviously disapproved of Sinn Fein, yet was obliged to shelter one of its most ardent followers. That the rock had witnessed many strange doings I felt certain. Not only did it command the whole countryside, but it formed a natural barrier

VOL. CCIX.-NO. MCCLXIII.

between the cross-roads and the fields. In fact, it seemed designed by nature for the use of Sinn Fein.

I hurried home through the hayfield, whose sweet-scented crop was laid flat in places by the recent rain. There was no sign of Teige. I could not delay, however, for it was nearly time to take the provisions to Dinneen.

An hour later, with with the basket packed extra full in view of possible contingencies, I made my way slowly down the glen. A few paces from the horse- chestnut tree I stopped, arrested by a weird little melody that rang out suddenly over the songs of the birds. It came quivering through the blackthorns, gaining in resonance as it crossed the pool. The cliff at the entrance to the glen threw back the echo.

What gripped me was the indescribable sadness of the tune. Even in that quiet sunlit glen, radiant with the beauty of early summer, it brought a sense of deepest gloom.

There was a kind of hopeless finality about it, a foreboding of bitter and inevitable tragedy.

When the music ceased, the sense of gloom and oppression remained. I believe I did not move at first. Then I saw that the blackthorn branches had parted, and that Teige O'Leary stood before me.

Touching his cap, he said diffidently

"Will I carry the basket to Dinneen for ye, ma'am?

B

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VII.

There is no doubt that in this land of contradictions one is seldom completely astonished. The man who fires at you from behind a hedge may, if he misses you, grasp your hand in cordial friendship tomorrow. And the man who prayerfully wishes you prosperity and long life may be plotting the destruction of your property and your death.

Anything may happen in Ireland, and so the element of surprise is practically eliminated.

I thanked Teige for his offer, feeling by no means taken aback by this unexpected development in the situation.

It was only when he passed the usual rendezvous, and, with his bagpipes under his arm and the basket on his shoulder, led the way up the farther side of the glen, that I asked him where he was going.

He explained that Dinneen was ill, and "keeping the bed with a shivering fit on him and a wakness he cot in the thrinches."

From the description, I diagnosed the illness as a touch of malaria.

How the young Sinn Feiner had come to befriend Dinneen was beyond my powers of conjecture; but though consumed by curiosity I did not try to find out. It seemed more discreet to accept everything as a matter of course. Future events might bring enlightenment.

I seized the opportunity, however, of extolling Dinneen with no uncertain voice. His patriotism, his courage, and his misfortunes were all set forth for the rebel's edification, as though I took it for granted he would share my opinion.

And my discourse was punctuated at intervals by a warmly spoken, "Indeed, ma'am, that's thrue."

Then, forgetting for the moment his recent experiences, I said, "It's terribly painful to starve."

Teige replied, quite unembarrassed

"And that's thrue too,

ma'am ! Sure I learned it when I went on the hungrystrike in prison."

And his deep fanatical eyes, set in a face still thin and haggard from his self-imposed fast, held an expression of complete sincerity.

Not indeed till we emerged from the glen did his manner cease to be perfectly natural. Once we reached the fields a sudden self-consciousness descended upon him. He hesitated, glancing furtively about. I guessed that in the open my presence was no longer desirable, and perhaps was scarcely safe. So I wished him good evening and turned homewards.

Alone, I was consumed by doubts and suspicions. What was the explanation of it all? By what strange means had Teige renewed his friendship

with the man whom, if report said true, he had been among the first to ill-treat? Were his motives genuinely compassionate, or was he merely collecting additional evidence to lay before Sinn Fein?

If his profession of admiration for Dinneen were sincere, why did he not obtain a revocation of the boycott instead of merely helping in the surreptitious conveying of food?

I put this question to Dinneen when, having recovered from his attack of malaria, he met me as usual in the glen. He replied

"It's not he that got me boycotted at all. He'd not have done it of himself any more than he'd have cut off Bridgie Moylan's hair. There's others over him that order these things. Why, it's a risk for him to have carried the basket to me the two times he did. There's some, ma'am, that are death on soldiers."

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"Teige himself could hardly tell that. But it's known that he was brought up foreign, and that he's a boss in the republican army. In the village they call him Con-the hound-for he'd track down any one or anything. He's a dangerous unscrupulous man, ma'am ! Teige is out to make Ireland a little bit of heaven. Con's business is to see we don't escape hell." Dinneen concluded with a grim laugh.

And from all accounts Teige and Con were indeed representatives of two sections of Sinn Fein-the one striving after an unpractical and impracticable ideal, the other bent upon revolution and anarchy.

And it was evident that the latter was fast gaining in power.

VIII.

During the following days my suspicions dwindled considerably, and were replaced by something resembling compassion for the young rebel. I realised regretfully that his sincerity and misdirected zeal would certainly end in tragedy. For either he would blindly obey those who impelled him towards violence and crime, or some sudden enlightenment would result in a devastating disillusionment. Meanwhile he seemed he

have but few friends in Carrigarinka. His half-cracked old uncle openly anathematised him. The other farmers and villagers, though outwardly civil, feared and avoided him as a possible spy.

Although undeniably a rising light in the Sinn Fein firmament, his brightness was not appreciated in his own neighbourhood and I have no doubt that the sensitiveness which accompanies an inflamseemed to mable and idealistic tempera

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