It went to my heart to play the churl to a woman, but I durst not let her up on the turnips, where perhaps a chance kick of her feet might betray the ugly guns beneath.
I was sorry afterwards I did not yield to my better instincts, for the woman was known in these parts, and with her perched beside me no one would have looked twice at me or my cart.
As it was, when I had shaken her off, and left her rating me loudly till I was out of sight, I passed one or two folk who, but that it was growing dusk, might have caused me trouble. One was a clergyman, who hailed me and asked did not I think my beast would be the better of a rest, and that, for turnips, my load seemed a heavy one, and so forth.
To ease him, I was forced to halt at the next village, to give the poor beast a feed and a rest. Here two soldiers came up and demanded where I came from.
“From Fahan,” said I, naming the town I had lately passed.
“Whose turnips are these?”
“Mister Gallagher’s,” said I.
They seemed inclined to be more curious; but as good luck would have it, the clergyman came up just then and spoke to me in a friendly way as he passed, for he was glad to see me merciful to my beast.
And the soldiers, when they saw me acquainted with so reverend a gentleman, took for granted I was on a harmless errand, and went further on to inquire for the miscreant they were in search of.
The fellow of the yard where I fed my horse laughed as he watched me mount up on to my turnips.