“No,” said I;” he's only a good Catholic.”
She wrung her hands, as if in disappointment; and then, taking up the lantern once more, said, “Come along! I 'll show yez where ye can stay.”
We followed, I leading the others, up a narrow and rickety stair, between two walls streaming with damp and patched with mould. When she reached the landing she searched for a moment for a key, which having found, she opened the door of a long low room, whose only furniture was a deal table and a few chairs; a candle stuck in a bottle, and some drinking-vessels of tin, were on the table, and a piece of newspaper containing some tobacco.
“There,” said she, lighting the candle, “you may stay here; 't is all I 'm able to do for yez, is to give ye shelter.”
“And nothing to eat?” ejaculated the old man, sorrowfully.
“Hav' n't you a few potatoes?” said Joe.
“I did n't taste food since yesterday morning,” said the hag; “and that's what's to keep life in me to-morrow!” and as she spoke, she held out a fragment of blackened sea-biscuit such as Russian sailors call “rusk.”
“Well, by coorse, there's no use in talking,” said Joe, who always seemed the first to see his way clearly. “Tis worse for the girls, for we can take a draw of the pipe. Lucky for us we have it!”
Meanwhile, the two girls had taken off their cloaks, and were busy gathering some loose sticks together, to make a fire,—a piece of practical wisdom I at once lent all aid to.
The hag, apparently moved by the ready compliance to make the best of matters, went out, and returned with some more wood,—fragments of ship-timber,—which she offered us, saying, “'T is all I can give yez. Good night to yez all!”