"Yes," I said. "Does your road go near Ballygawley? If so, I'll go with you and you can point it out to me."
"Yes," she answered. "But——"
But I was already on my way to get the suitcase and did not wait to listen to her objections. As I came down again I heard the girl say:
"—that's what I'd like to know."
"Well," I said. "What I'd like to know is who the girls were who brought the message to Dublin from Tyrone. There were two, I know; one was redhaired but it was the other delivered the message by word of mouth. I'd like to know who she is."
"I brought the message," said the girl who belonged to the house.
"You brought the message," I said and stared at her. "YOU—did you know that it was a wrong one? Don't you know that you reported a false state of affairs? How could you?"
"Well enough," she answered. "You've ruined this farm with your capers. The men are unsettled, my two brothers are in hiding, and not a thing being done on the farm."
"Farm," I repeated and turned to the visitor. I saw her blush for her acquaintance with the woman who had no soul but for a farm.
"Come," said the visitor to me. "I'll show you the road." And without another word we left. We went silently on our way. We crossed fields which brought us out on to a road, along which we walked for about ten minutes till we came to a branching of it. "We'll go up here," said my guide. I saw that it was a kind of boreen leading up to a very small farm cottage. As soon as we entered the woman turned to me and said, "We're not all like that"—not saying who or what she meant. Then again she said, "It's our shame and disgrace that our men are not helping the men in Dublin." A young man had risen from his seat when we entered. She next spoke to him and gave him a message. "It's for him," she said, nodding her head in the direction we had come from.