"I don't know, Willie."
"'So ye haave th' Son ov Maan t' dinner th' day?' 'Aye,' says I.
"'An' givin' 'im yer lavins!'
"It was like a piece ov stone cuttin' the ball ov m' eye. It cut deep!
"I ran down th' road an' says I t' th' Dummy, 'I'll tie a rag on a stick an' whin ye see m' wavin' it come an' take yer dinner an' I'll take what's left!'
"I didn't wait fur no answer, but went and did what I shud.
"That summer whin she was hungry she hung an oul rag on th' thorn hedge down be the wee plantain where she camped, and I answered be a rag on a stick that she cud share mine and take hers first. One day I towld 'er yer mother's story about th' Son ov Maan. It was th' only time I ever talked wi' 'er. That winther she died in th' poorhouse and before she died she sint me this." He pulled out of an inside pocket a piece of paper yellow with age and so scuffed with handling that the scrawl was scarcely legible:
Mr. Withero
Stone breaker
Dublin Road
Antrim
"I seen Him in the ward last night and I'm content to go now. God save you kindly.
The Dummy."
Withero having unburdened, we dandered down the road, through Masserene and home.
I proposed to Anna a little trip to Lough Neagh in a jaunting car.