“Inside!” Burgeman senior almost shouted it. Then he turned to Patsy and there was more than mere curiosity in his voice: “Who are you?”
“No one at all, just; a laggard by the roadside,” she repeated, wistfully. And then she added in her own Donegal: “But don’t ye let the lagging count for naught. Promise me that!”
The sick man turned his head for a last look at her. “Such a simple promise—to throw away the fruits of a lifetime!” Bitterness was in his voice again, but Patsy caught the muttering under his breath. “I might think about the boy, though, if the Lord granted me time.”
“Amen!” whispered Patsy.
She scrambled down the bank the way she had come. For a moment she stopped by the lake and skimmed a handful of white pebbles across its mirrored surface. She watched the ripples she had made spread and spread until they lost themselves in the lake itself, leaving behind no mark where they had been.
“Yonder’s the way with the going and coming of most of us, a little ripple and naught else—unless it is one more stone at the bottom.” She heaved a sigh. “Well, the quest is over, and I’ve never laid eyes on the lad once. But it’s ended well, I’m thinking; aye, it’s ended right for him.”