The
hours dreamed themselves away, and it became his habit to go to
the lake every morning. One morning he met the landlord, and they
walked together, talking of the country, of what it had been, and
the ruin it was slipping into. James Bryden told him that ill
health had brought him back to Ireland; and the landlord lent him
his boat, and Bryden rowed about the islands, and resting upon his
oars he looked at the old castles, and remembered the pre-historic
raiders that the landlord had told him about. He came across the
stones to which the lake dwellers had tied their boats, and these
signs of ancient Ireland were pleasing to Bryden in his present
mood.
As well as the great lake there was a smaller lake in the bog
where the villagers cut their turf. This lake was famous for its
pike, and the landlord allowed Bryden to fish there, and one
evening when he was looking for a frog with which to bait his line
he met Margaret Dirken driving home the cows for the milking.
Margaret was the herdsman's daughter, and she lived in a cottage
near the Big House; but she came up to the village whenever there
was a dance, and Bryden had found himself opposite to her in the
reels. But until this evening he had had little opportunity of
speaking to her, and he was glad to speak to someone, for the
evening was lonely, and they stood talking together.
"You're getting your health again," she said. "You'll soon be
leaving us."
"I'm in no hurry."
"You're grand people over there; I hear a man is paid four dollars
a day for his work.
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