man, and them all listening to him and nodding their
heads at each other, and wondering at his education and
all: or, maybe, the neighbours to be singing, or him mak-
ing me sing the Coulin, and him to be proud of me . . .
and then him to be killed on me with a cold on his chest.
. . . Ah, then, God be with me, a lone, old creature on
a stick, and the sun shining into her eyes and she thirsty
--I wish I had a cup of tea, so I do. I wish to God I
had a cup of tea and a bit of meat . . . or, maybe, an
egg. A nice fresh egg laid by the speckeldy hen that
used to be giving me all the trouble, the thing! . . . Six-
teen hens I had, and they were the ones for laying,
surely.

. . It's the queer world, so it is, the queer
world--and the things that do happen for no reason at
all.... Ah, God be with me! I wish there weren't
stones in my boots, so I do, and I wish to God I had a
cup of tea and a fresh egg. Ah, glory be, my old legs
are getting tireder every day, so they are. Wisha, one
time--when himself was in it--I could go about the
house all day long, cleaning the place, and feeding the
pigs, and the hens and all, and then dance half the night,
so I could: and himself proud of me...."

The old woman turned up a little rambling road and
went on still talking to herself, and the Philosopher
watched her go up that road for a long time. He was
very glad she had gone away, and as he tramped for-
ward he banished her sad image so that in a little time