He ate hurriedly like a dog, as if afraid somebody would snatch the bread from between his jaws. He must have been very hungry, and I felt sorry for the man. I handed him the can of milk which I had procured at the farmhouse, and he drank the whole lot at one gulp.
"It's yerself that is the dacent youngster, God bless ye!" he said, and there were tears in his eyes. "And isn't this a fine warm place ye are inside of this wet night."
The smell of the midden was heavy in my nostrils, and the smoke of the fire was paining my eyes.
"It's a rotten place," I said.
"Sure and it's not at all," said the man in a pleading voice. "It's better than lyin' out under a wet hedge with the rain spat-spatterin' on yer face."
"Why do you lie under a hedge?" I asked.
"Sure, no one wants me at all, at all, because of the pain in me back that won't let me stoop over me work," said the man. "In the farms they say to me, 'Go away, we don't want ye'; in the village they say, 'Go away, we're sick of lookin' at ye,' and what am I to do? Away in me own country, that is Mayo, it's always the welcome hand and a bit and sup when a man is hungry, but here it's the scowling face and the ill word that is always afore an old man like me."
One by one the women went away from the fire, for they were tired from their day's work and wanted to turn into bed as early as possible. The old man sat by the fire looking into the flames without taking any heed of those around him. Jim and I were the last two to leave the fire, and my friend shook the old man by the shoulder before he went out.
"What are ye goin' to do now?" asked Jim.
"Maybe ye'd let me sleep beside the fire till the morra mornin'," said the man.