"Can't ye fix up that oul craither's head a bit?" Jamie asked. I brought over the bogman's coat. Anna made a pillow of it and placed it under his head. He turned over on his side. As he did so a handful of small change rolled out of his pocket.
"Think of that now," Jamie said as he gathered it up and stuffed it back where it belonged, "an oul dhrunken turf dhriver wi' money t' waste while we're starvin'."
From that moment we were acutely hungry.
This new incident rendered the condition poignant.
"Maybe Mrs. Boyle an' th' wains are as hungry as we are," Anna remarked.
"Wi' a bogful o' turf at th' doore?"
"Th' can't eat turf, Jamie!"
"Th' can warm their shins, that's more'n we can do, in a minute or two."
The rapidly diminishing coals were arranged once more. They were a mere handful now and the house was cold.
There were two big holes in the chimney where Jamie kept old pipes, pipe cleaners, bits of rags and scraps of tobacco. He liked to hide a scrap or two there and in times of scarcity make himself believe he found them. His last puff of smoke had gone up the chimney hours ago. He searched both holes without success. A bright idea struck him. He searched for Boyle's pipe. He searched in vain.