"Creggan, ain't you just too awfully glad for anything?"
Our hero looked from one to the other in a kind of puzzled way.
"Are you all mad?" he said.
"No, no, no, but we're nearly home, man alive!"
"He isn't half-alive! He isn't awake yet!"
Then it began to dawn upon Creggan.
He jumped up on the locker, and had a peep out through the tiny port, or scuttle-hole.
Why, it was like looking through a mirror into fairyland. The picture was very limited, it is true, but yonder, high up on a green brae, was a long, white-washed cottage with a woman at a tub washing clothes in front of it, and a brindled cow quietly chewing her cud and looking on.
And this was home at last! A little picture from dear old England!
Creggan stopped longer upon the locker than there was any need for, because the tears had sprung to his eyes, and he cared not that his chaffing messmates should witness such weakness.