“I like his rabid Irishism, I own,” said Grenfell, “and I intend to post myself up, as the Yankees say, in rebellious matters before we leave this.”
“Is that Lough Anare, that sheet of water I see yonder?”
“Yes,” said O’Rorke.
“There’s a ruined tower and the remains of seven churches, I think, on an island there?”
“You’d like to draw it, perhaps?” asked O’Rorke, with a cunning curiosity in his eye.
“For the present, I’d rather have a bathe, if I could find a suitable spot.”
“Keep round to the westward there. It is all rock along that side, and deep water close to the edge. You’ll find the water cold, if you mind that.”
“I like it all the better. Of course, George, you’ll not come? You’ll lie down on the sward here, and doze or dream till I come back.”
“Too happy, if I can make sleep do duty for books or newspapers,” yawned out Grenfell.
“Do you want a book?” asked O’Rorke.