“There’s no place like home,” said Micus.
The Land of Peace and Plenty
“Ah, God help us, but ’tis a bad night for poor sailors,” said Padna Dan, as he pulled his chair close to the glowing hearth where faggots blazed and a kettle sang. “The strand will be strewn with wreckage to-morrow, and there will be more widows and lonely mothers in the world than ever there was before, and all because the winds have no mercy, and the sea has no mercy, and there’s no mercy anywhere but in the heart of God. There’s a peal of thunder now, and if the clouds burst and the rain comes, there won’t be a sheaf of corn left standing in Castlebawn to-morrow.”
“There will, please God,” said Micus, as he stirred the fire.
“’Tis like you to have the good word,” said Padna, “but I’m sick and tired of this country altogether. When we have a fine summer we have a bad autumn, and when we have a good spring we have a wet summer, and when we have a hard winter we have nothing at all. I can’t understand these things. ‘Pon my word, I can’t.”
“No, nor any one else, either,” said Micus. “How is it that decent fathers and mothers rear worthless children, and worthless children rear decent fathers and mothers? Or how is it that grass grows in the fields, and the lark sings in the sky, and the trees lose their leaves in winter? Or how is it that the world isn’t under water long ago after all the rain we’ve had since Cromwell went to hell? Or how is it that people will spend half their lifetime educating themselves, and then go to war and kill people they had no quarrel with at all?”
“Didn’t I tell you I can’t understand these things?” said Padna, rather piqued. “Sure if I could, I’d be a philosopher, and if I was a philosopher, I wouldn’t have to worry about anything.”
“And why?” said Micus.