Chapter I

Whethen is it yourself, Mister Hagan? an’ lookin’ right hearty you are;
’Tis a thrate to behold you agin. You’ll be waitin’ to take the long car
For Kilmoyna, the same as meself, sir? They’re late at the cross-roads to-night,
For I mind when the days ’ud be long, they’d be here ere the droop of the light,
Yet out yonder far over the bog there’s the sunset beginnin’ to burn
Like the red of a camp-fire raked low, and no sign of thim roundin’ the turn.
So the dark’ll git ahead of us home on this jaunt; we’ve good ten mile to go,
And thin afther the rain-pours this mornin’, we’re apt to be draggin’ an’ slow--
Ay, you’re right, sir: alongside the road I’ve been thravellin’ you’d scarce count that far;
You’ll cross dark an’ light times and agin between Creggan and Kandahar.