"She's not dead," he said. "Get some cold wather quickly!" They dashed the water in her face and brought her back to consciousness. When she looked around she said:
"Who's this kind man come in to help, Jamie?"
"He's a farmer," Jamie said, "an' he's brot ye a pint ov nice fresh milk!" The man had filled a cup with milk and put it to Anna's lips. She refused. "He's dying," she said, pointing to the boy, who lay limp on the lap of a neighbor. The child was drowsy and listless. They gave him the cup of milk. He had scarcely enough strength to drink. Anna drank what was left, which was very little.
"God bless you!" Anna said as she held out her hand to the farmer.
"God save you kindly," he answered as he took her hand and bowed his head.
"I've a wife an' wains myself," he continued, "but we're not s' bad off on a farm." Turning to Jamie he said: "Yer a Protestant!"
"Aye."
"An' I'm a Fenian, but we're in t' face ov bigger things!"
He extended his hand. Jamie clasped it, the men looked into each other's faces and understood.
That night in the dusk, the Fenian farmer brought a sack of potatoes and a quart of fresh milk and the spark of life was prolonged.