One of the strange women was named Gourock Ellen, which goes to show that she had a certain fame in the town of that name. The day's drag had hacked and gashed her knees so that they looked like minced flesh in a butcher's shop window. She showed her bare knees, and was not in the least ashamed. I turned my head away hurriedly, not that the sight of the wounds frightened me, but I felt that I was doing something wrong in gazing at the bare leg of a woman. I looked at Norah Ryan, and the both of us blushed as if we had been guilty of some shameful action. Gourock Ellen saw us, and began to sing a little song aloud:
"When I was a wee thing and lived wi' my granny,
Oh! it's many a caution my granny gi'ed me,
She said: 'Now be wise and beware o' the boys,
And don't let the petticoats over your knee.'"
When she finished her verse she winked knowingly at Micky's Jim, and, strange to say, Jim winked back.
We boiled a pot of potatoes, and poured the contents into a wicker basket which was placed on the floor of the vault. Then all of us sat down together and ate our supper like one large family, and because we were very hungry did not mind the reeking midden behind us.
During our meal an old bent and wrinkled man came hobbling across the dung-heap towards the fire. His clothing was streaming wet and only held together by strings, patches, and threads. He looked greedily towards the fire, and Gourock Ellen handed him three hot potatoes.
"God bless ye," said the man in a thin piping voice. "It's yerself that has the kindly heart, good woman."