e be another boat sailing in the week, and

I’m thinking it won’t be long till he’s here now, for the tide’s turning at the green head, and the hooker’ tacking from the east.

I hear some one passing the big stones.

Looking out.—He’s coming now, and he’s in a hurry.

Comes in and looks round the room. Speaking sadly and quietly.—Where is the bit of new rope, Cathleen, was bought in Connemara?

Coming down.—Give it to him, Nora; it’s on a nail by the white boards. I hung it up this morning, for the pig with the black feet was eating it.

Giving him a rope.—Is that it, Bartley?

You’d do right to leave that ro