Dan looked appealingly round as though seeking contradiction, but could not summon up enough courage to speak. He sat still, rubbing his hands, and smiling a rather vacant smile; and by-and-by, having exhausted their queries and conjectures, the visitors left the cabin, and the old couple were alone.
They stared at each other for a moment or two in silence, Mary Brophy fingering the letter which she could not read.
"That's grand news?" she remarked presently, with a querulous interrogative note in her voice.
"Grand entirely," repeated her husband submissively, rubbing the patched knees of his corduroy trousers for a change.
"We'll have to be gettin' ready to be off soon, I suppose?" pursued Mary, still in a tone of vexed inquiry.
"Aye," said Dan, continuing to rub his knees.
"Ye ought to be out o' yer wits wid delight," asserted Mrs. Brophy angrily.
"So I am," said Dan, with a ghastly attempt at cheerfulness.
"Ah, go 'long out o' that!" cried Mary. "Ye have me moithered, sittin' there starin' the two eyes out o' yer head. Go out an' give the hens a bit to ate."
"Sure we haven't had our own suppers yet," returned Dan, slowly rising; "time enough to give the cratur's what's left."