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tumnal chill, and from twig to twig in the hedges hung a tapestry of spiders' webs wonderfully beaded with dew.

Theresa had armed herself with a holly branch, then when the old gray ass desired to go home to his owner and went sideways across the road, looking at Sheila with a cautious eye, Theresa would correct him with a loud screech and a blow from the holly branch.

In this way they got on very comfortably together a good piece of the road. Then the warm sun came up and, flashing through the hedges, turned the gray dew-drops to many-colored flaming jewels. Soon it woke up flies or wasps from their sleep, and, smelling the sweet heather honey as it passed, they followed after Sheila in an increasing swarm.

Carts and donkeys laden with honey and butter and eggs began to overtake them, and Sheila and Theresa received many greetings and kind words, for in their slow traveling all the fair that took that way must pass them.

As they drew on to the town, the air was alive with the noise of men's voices shouting, of the screaming of poultry and the squealing of pigs. They could hardly find a way to guide their ass and precious creels through the people to the great wall of the convent garden beneath which always sat the women with their eggs and butter and the honey of the autumn fair.

Theresa had secured a board and trestles, and they set out their two pots side by side and tethered the ass near by. So much business done, Theresa fell to talking at a great rate with the women right and left of her. Sheila found a block of wood for a seat and leaned back against the wall, excited and bewildered.

This was the first time she had been at a fair; her mother, come of a strict and respectable family herself, had never allowed her daughter even to the market; so that this was only the second time she had been to Gurt.

From her seat she looked across the wide sunny marketplace, feeling somewhat forlorn, for Theresa was not of her blood; and then her talk was that of an old woman, and Sheila had the thoughts of a young girl who still fears the mysteries of life.

The market-place was fast filling, and her ears were almost deafened by the noise that rose up from the crowd. To her right, across the slated roofs of the better-class houses, she could see the Chapel Tower, in the shadow of which her parents were resting. Right across the marketplace was the ancient Abbey of Gurt, showing now only a ruined arch or two shadowed in tree-tops that appeared above the edge of the hollow in which it had hidden secure during hundreds of years.

On the left hand, whitewashed cottages, their roofs of every shade from dun to gold, climbed up the slope.

On the far side of the market-place a man was putting his head out of a barrel and inviting the young men to take shots at it. In front of Sheila and a little distance off, a cheap Jack had pulled up his cart. He had raised a white canvas awning over it, and now he was shouting and dancing upon it in the middle of his wares.

The crowd grew thicker and the noise greater every moment; it seemed a good-humored crowd and well clothed, the men in their gray-blue frieze, the women in their scarlet cloaks or petticoats, greeting, talking, and bargaining together.

Sheila had lived so lonely upon her hill that she knew little or nothing of what was in the public mind of the people. She had heard now and then a talk of the Protestant tithes; Theresa had told her a tale of how soldiers, horse and foot, had been sent into the next county to take a Catholic widow's cow. But Sheila had lived too remote, and the signs of a secret discontent, shared here and there among little dark-faced groups, passed unnoticed by her.

As she gazed about her, the traveling merchant having assembled a fine company about his cart by his antics, commenced business by dangling an article of clothing before their eyes.

“Look at this, now," he shouted in a powerful roar, now using English, now Irish. “ What do ye call this? I won't make so bold as to name it, but I'll just ask ye to look at the beauty of it. There's cut for ye and patthern. Sure the red soldiers themselves don't have a better shape to them than this, and no offense. How much? Six shillin's? Ah, take shame to yourself. Will six shillin's pay the sheep that carried it, and the man that wove it, and the ship that took it over the say, and me for the trouble I'm at to improve yer appearance? Sure this is rale English. Eight shillin's? Eight dhivils! Aren't I after telling ye it's rale English? None of your dirty Irish factory stuff, as thick as a board, that the girls is tired of beholdin'. Eight and six, nine shillin's. Look at the check on it. Ten and six. Here ye are, me boy, and that ye may never repint it!”

And rolling up the article, in a moment he had sent the little bundle flying over the heads of the people in the direction of a bashful young peasant in the background.

Sheila was still smiling at the antics of the little blackbrowed man, when a sudden strange misgiving came upon her. was like the rising of a cloud that darkens a sunny day. She felt as though some ill-wishing person were near, or as though she were somewhere evilly spoken of.

At the same moment she saw people's heads all turning in one direction; some were laughing and others gaping. Sheila looked, and in the distance across the market-place she saw moving a strange purple-colored dress. The people between hindered her view of the woman that wore it, and she had just stood up to look, when Theresa spoke in her ear.

“Sheila,” she said in a hurry, “I'm just goin' round the fair, and it'll not be wan minute before I'm back. I've sold me honey, pot and all, to Mrs. Muldoon, and I ’d advise you to be lookin' after your own in place of gapin' about ye.

There was a tone of sharp familiarity in Theresa's voice, yet Sheila in her new unrealized anxiety took her by the sleeve, saying,

“Oh, Theresa, why would ye leave me? See, now, I don't know the place nor the people, nor yet how to sell the honey."

Theresa looked cross.

Don't I tell ye I'll be back in a minute?” said she. “ To hear ye talk, annybody would think ye were a baby, and you nigh eighteen years old.”

Sheila took away her hand and drew up her head. “And look at here, now," went on Theresa more kindly,

the wasps is something to frighten you. I never seen the like of them. They 're into the honey in spite of ye. Here's for ye, now, and Mrs. Mulcahy 'll mind ye while I'm gone.” Thrusting a stick with a piece of leather on

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