"I'm goin' to Strabane."
"And what would ye be doin' there?"
"My people live there," I said.
"It's ye that has the Donegal tongue, and be the same token ye're a great liar," said the girl, and I hurried off.
A man gave me a lift on the milk-cart for a mile of the way. "Where are ye goin'?" he asked me.
"To Strabane to buy a new spade," I told him.
"It's a long distance to go for a spade," he said with a laugh. "D'ye know what I think ye are?"
"What?" I asked.
"Ye're a cub that has run away from his master," said the man. "If the pleece get ye ye'll go to jail for brekin' a contract."