Chapter II: Part 2

[She shakes hands with him warmly and
warns the husband by nods not to
resume the argument.]

It's the brave weather for the crops this.

JOHN GRAEME.

Indeed we should be deeply thankful for the marcies vouchsafed us.

[Solemnly.]

Aye indeed.

WILLIAM JOHN GRANAHAN.

Well indeed I would be that myself, only the half o' them young chickens goin' off with the gapes. It was a tarr'ble to do to save what's left o' them.

MRS. GRANAHAN.

Oh well. Its all in the way o' Providence, Mr. Graeme.

[She looks disapprovingly across at Granahan.
The two men seat themselves. John Graeme
beside table and Wm. Granahan on edge of
table next him.]

That was a fine lecture on the Temperance ye gied us Mr. Graeme, at Ballykelly. It done some people a heap o' good.

[She looks across meaningly at William
Granahan.]

JOHN GRAEME.

[Apparently much pleased.]

Do you say so, Mrs. Granahan? I'm much pleased indeed to hear o' it.

MRS. GRANAHAN.

I only wished more o' the same kind had heerd you.

[She looks across again at William John
Granahan who avoids her eye.]

But you'll excuse me, I'm sure. I ha'e some things next room to look after for the evenin'.

[She curtsies to Graeme and with a warning
look at Granahan goes into room.]

JOHN GRAEME.

I am very much pleased indeed to hear your good woman say she liked what I said. How did ye take to it yourself, Mr. Granahan?

WILLIAM JOHN GRANAHAN.

[Suddenly waking up from twisting and
untwisting a piece of string which he
has found and in which he appears
deeply interested while his wife is
talking.]

How did we like the speech you gave on temperance, d'ye say?

[Carelessly.]

Och, it was a very good and sensible discoorse, so I heerd Ellen and Mrs. Granahan say.

JOHN GRAEME.

Ye didn't go yourself then.

[Disappointedly.]

Man, I wanted ye there particuler.

WILLIAM JOHN GRANAHAN.

I ha'e no doot if I had been there, I could ha' got up and contradickted ye, for

[Emphatically.]

I did not agree wi' all I heerd ye said.

JOHN GRAEME.

[Surprised.]

Not agree wi' what I said.

[Scornfully with evident disgust.]

Man, ye couldn't argy wi' facts. What did ye disagree wi' in the discoorse?

WILLIAM JOHN GRANAHAN.

Well for one thing, ye said there was too many public houses in the country.

JOHN GRAEME.

[Scornfully.]

And every right-minded man would agree wi' that.

WILLIAM JOHN GRANAHAN.

Well I can shew you another. You'll no argy wi' me that if a man wants to drink, he will drink.

JOHN GRAEME.

[Somewhat perplexed.]

Well----

[Slowly.]

I suppose I do agree till that.

WILLIAM JOHN GRANAHAN.

And if a man will drink, he's boun' till get drunk.

JOHN GRAEME.

Na. Na. I don't agree till that.

WILLIAM JOHN GRANAHAN.

[Triumphantly.]

Did you ivir hear tell of a man who was drunk wi'out drinkin'?

JOHN GRAEME.

That's no' in the argyment at all.

WILLIAM JOHN GRANAHAN.

But I tell you it is. A man's bound to be drinkin' if he gets drunk.

JOHN GRAEME.

I'm no contradickin' that at all. I----

WILLIAM JOHN GRANAHAN.

[Interrupting.]

Now houl' your tongue till I explain till ye. If a man get's drunk when he's drinkin', he's bound to be drunk o' coorse.

JOHN GRAEME.

[Contemptuously.]

Ye talk like a child.

WILLIAM JOHN GRANAHAN.

Now wait till I get it hammered intill ye. Now when that man's drunk, he's boun' to ha'e been drinkin'.

[He hesitates and is obviously confused.
Then suddenly seems to grasp the idea he
wants.]

Aye--in a public house o' coorse.

JOHN GRAEME.

O' coorse. What else would he do there but drink.

WILLIAM JOHN GRANAHAN.

Now that man gets drunk.

[He looks inquiringly at Graeme]

JOHN GRAEME.

[Hopelessly.]

Aye.

WILLIAM JOHN GRANAHAN.

Now the public houses are that scarce that he has till walk home maybe ten mile or more.

JOHN GRAEME.

Well?

WILLIAM JOHN GRANAHAN.

And ten till wan he gets lost or somethin', and they have the whole countryside upset lookin' for him. Now if he had a public house convanient in his own townland, there would be no bother at all, and he could be at his work the next mornin' wi'out any interruptin' o' labour. D'ye see what I mane?

MRS. GRANAHAN.

[Suddenly appearing at door evidently
angry.]

The more public houses the less drinkin' did he say? If he had _his_ way o' it, every other house from here to Buckna would be a public house.

[To husband.]

Quit your wastin' Mr. Graeme's time wi' your argyments, and settle what he has come here to do wi' ye.

WILLIAM JOHN GRANAHAN.

Well. Well. We'll agree till let the matter drop. You ha'e nobody but your daughter I suppose?

JOHN GRAEME.

Well I ha'e a sister married up in Dublin.

WILLIAM JOHN GRANAHAN.

But she's in a good way o' doin' I suppose?

JOHN GRAEME.

Oh yes. Purty fair. O' coorse I would like to lave her somethin'.

WILLIAM JOHN GRANAHAN.

Ach, gi'e her a lock o' your hair or somethin'. You'll lave the place to your daughter o' coorse.

JOHN GRAEME.

Yes. I'll be doin' that.

WILLIAM JOHN GRANAHAN.

Aye. It's a purty fair farm o' land. Ye bought it out o' coorse?

JOHN GRAEME.

Two year come March, and a good reduction.

WILLIAM JOHN GRANAHAN.

Aye. So I heerd. Well if ye gi'e her the farm and what money ye ha'e, I'll gi'e Robbie a cheque for a hunnert poun'.

JOHN GRAEME.

[Impressively.]

William John Granahan d'ye think this is a horse fair? My daughter will ha'e no man unner five hunnert poun'.

WILLIAM JOHN GRANAHAN.

[Uneasily and walking about.]

Man, you'll nivir get her married John Graeme, at that way o' talkin'. Five hunnert poun'. D'ye think I'm a Rockyfellow? Ha'e some sense about ye.

JOHN GRAEME.

Aither that or no son o' yours weds my daughter. Five hunnert poun' and not one ha'penny less. There's the family name to be thought o'.

WILLIAM JOHN GRANAHAN.

Ach! family name! a lock o' ould wives' blathers about who was married till who, till you'd have your head sore takin' it all in.

JOHN GRAEME.

You've heerd what I ha'e to say. Take it or lave it. You can plaze yourself.

WILLIAM JOHN GRANAHAN.

Five hunnert poun'. It's a tarr'ble price. Would two hunnert no' do? You see I ha'e Samuel James and Ellen to provide for.

JOHN GRAEME.

A Graeme o' Killainey weds no man unner five hunnert poun', William Granahan. Mind that. I want my daughter married to no beggarman.

WILLIAM JOHN GRANAHAN.

[Excitedly.]

Beggarman! Beggarman, did ye say? Hats, John Graeme, I think ye should be proud o' wan o' yours marryin' a Granahan. Money or no money, that's a nice way o' talkin'.

JOHN GRAEME.

I suppose ye know I come o' good family, Mr. Granahan?

WILLIAM JOHN GRANAHAN.

[Sarcastically.]

I heard ye were wance cotter folk up by Dromara mountain.

JOHN GRAEME.

[Proudly.]

My father and my forefathers had my farm--aye, from the time o' the plantin'.

WILLIAM JOHN GRANAHAN.

D'ye tell me? I nivir seen your laase o' the farm but of coorse if ye say so. Did ye nivir hear tell of Smith, Hunter, and Fargison?

JOHN GRAEME.

[Contemptuously.]

John Smith of Ballykelly?

WILLIAM JOHN GRANAHAN.

[Disgusted.]

Yon cratur? Ballykelly?

[Proudly.]

Lonnon! Well my mother was a daughter o' Samuel James Smith, and a niece o' Robert John Francis Fargison.

JOHN GRAEME.

[Contemptuously.]

I nivir heerd tell o' them.

WILLIAM JOHN GRANAHAN.

I wonner at your ignorance John Grame. A well educated man like yourself as sets yourself up to be taching the congregation on matters o' law and the temperance question, (_raising voice_) and you that ignorant o' common information.

MRS. GRANAHAN.

[Opening door and coming in a few steps.]

William John Granahan, didn't I tell ye not to be raisin' argyments. How you manage at the markets I nivir could understand. Get your business done, and ha' settled wi' it.

WILLIAM JOHN GRANAHAN.

[Soothingly.]

Whist, whist woman, I was only discoorsin'. Mind the tay and I'll mind the rest. There. There. I agree to your tarms, John Graeme. I'll do it, though it's lavin' me tarr'ble short.

JOHN GRAEME.

[Impressively.]

But there's one thing I'll no ha'e, William Granahan.

WILLIAM JOHN GRANAHAN.

[Alarmed.]

And what might that be?

JOHN GRAEME.

If your son is to marry my daughter, I'll ha'e none o' his music. Its all very well for quality and the like to go strummin' on instruments, but its no' meant for a sensible farmer.

WILLIAM JOHN GRANAHAN.

Aye. I agree wi' that. But look here. Mind ye a song or two and a bit o' a tune on a long winter's night keeps one from thinkin' long and between you and me, it keeps you from the bottle.

JOHN GRAEME.

That's where you and I differs. Supposin' he starts playin' a dance tune or two, and the neighbours gather in. You like to do the thing dacint, and ye send out for drink, and then it goes from bad to worse. Na. Na. I'll ha'e none o' that.

WILLIAM JOHN GRANAHAN.

Well. Well. Make your mind aisy. Ye know he has promised me nivir to play again, and I don't think you'll hear much o' his fiddlin'.

JOHN GRAEME.

I'm right glad to hear it, and I'll tak' your word for it.

WILLIAM JOHN GRANAHAN.

Very good.

[With admiration.]

Man, you'd ha' made a great horsedailer John Graeme.

JOHN GRAEME.

Aye. I had an uncle in the town, a dailer, and he was always sayin' that.

WILLIAM JOHN GRANAHAN.

And well you could ha' done it, if I knowed anythin'. I'll go to Banbridge a Friday wi' you to settle wi' the lawyers.

JOHN GRAEME.

Very good. I'll call for you wi' the trap that day. Its time I was for goin' home.

WILLIAM JOHN GRANAHAN.

We were expectin' ye ower the day, and I think Mrs. Granahan has the tay laid in the low room.

[Calls.]

Mrs. Granahan!

MRS. GRANAHAN.

[From room.]

Yes.

[She comes in and stands waiting near door.]

WILLIAM JOHN GRANAHAN.

We're just after settlin' up about Robbie John and Jennie. Can ye get us a drop o' tay?

MRS. GRANAHAN.

If you could just take Mr. Graeme for a turn round, I could ha'e it for you in wan second. The table's laid and the kettle's boilin'. Is your daughter wi' you Mr. Graeme?

JOHN GRAEME.

Aye. She was comin' over after me. I suppose she should be here by now.

WILLIAM JOHN GRANAHAN.

Well I can show you the new reaper and binder I got. That new Wexford machine, I was tellin' you about a Sunday in the Session.

JOHN GRAEME.

Very good. I'll just go out and see it.

[William John Granahan and John Graeme
go out by door at back.]

MRS. GRANAHAN.

[Going over to fire and arranging kettle.]

Five hunnert poun, and after me tellin' him to keep till four hunnert. Wait till I get ahoult o' him again. I'll speak till him. Did he no' hear me thumpin' four times on the door till remind him. He must ha'e a soft spot in his heart for Robbie John.

[Tap at door.]

Come in.

[Jane Graeme enters somewhat diffidently.]

Oh its you Miss Graeme.

[Shakes hands.]

Youre welcome indeed. Your father's just gone out wi' my good man.

JANE.

Yes. I know--but I thought perhaps--well that Robbie was in here.

MRS. GRANAHAN.

[Inspecting her critically.]

Deed now, I couldn't tell you where he might be.

JANE.

I'll just sit down a minute. I suppose you are all doing well here Mrs. Granahan?

MRS. GRANAHAN.

Ach aye. As well as one could expeck. There's nothin' to make much complaint o'.

JANE.

I haven't seen Robbie about for some time Mrs. Granahan. I suppose he's working hard at the harvest.

MRS. GRANAHAN.

Aye 'deed there's a brave press o' work on now, what wi' the corn a cuttin', and the rest o' it, he's been gey busy o' late.

JANE.

Indeed I am sure he was.

[She looks round, sees the fiddle hanging
up where Taylor has left it.]

[Aside.]

Is that the fiddle he was telling me about, I wonder?

[To Mrs. Granahan.]

Is that the tramp's fiddle, Mrs. Granahan?

MRS. GRANAHAN.

Aye, that's the poor cratur's belongin'. But you needn't be afeared. Robbie's indeed been very good. He's nivir played on it to my knowin', and keeps his promise well.

JANE.

Poor Robbie. Do you not think he's unhappy about something or other Mrs. Granahan. He's got very dull and moody this last while.

MRS. GRANAHAN.

Deed now I don't see much odds in him Miss Graeme. He nivir was a great boy with his tongue anyway;

[Slily.]

bar maybe an odd wan or two he would mak' up to.

JANE.

I think you do wrong to keep that fiddle hanging up before his eyes, when he has promised never to play again.

MRS. GRANAHAN.

Och blatherations. I nivir heerd the like o' the sort o' talk people goes on wi' nowadays. Do ye think my son bes only an ould ba cryin' for a toy? Deed now I don't think he worries his-self much about it.

JANE.

[Aside.]

Poor Robbie.

[To Mrs. Granahan.]

Robbie's a poor hand at the farming, Mrs. Granahan.

MRS. GRANAHAN.

[Snappishly.]

Och aye. But he's greatly mended since he giv up playin'.

JANE.

Yes. He's a very poor farmer. But he was a wonder with his fiddle.

MRS. GRANAHAN.

Oh well. It canna' be helped. He's better wi'out.

JANE.

I don't know.

[She goes over and takes down the fiddle
seats herself and draws the bow across
it as it lies on her lap.]

Robbie could have made it speak to you. He used to make me cry, and then laugh after it.

[She places the strings near her ear and
thumbs it wrapt in thought.]

MRS. GRANAHAN.

[Looking contemptuously at her and then
rising.]

You just stay here a second till I fix the tay.

[She goes into room. Jane remains seated
where she is, occasionally touching the
strings and seemingly deep in thought.
Robbie John passes window. He looks
in and then goes quickly to door and
enters.]

ROBBIE JOHN.

Who's that fiddlin'?

[Goes over to Jane.]

Why it's you. I heard you were come.

JANE.

Yes. I'm just in a minute or two.

[He sits down beside her.]

Robbie.

ROBBIE JOHN.

Well?

JANE.

Answer me one question. Aren't you a very poor farmer?

ROBBIE JOHN.

Well--I--I suppose I am.

JANE.

I knew you were. You're no good for selling cattle or going to market, or looking after crops.

ROBBIE JOHN.

You're very hard Jane to-night. What's put all that into your wee head?

JANE.

I've been listening to this and its been tellin' stories on you.

ROBBIE JOHN.

Aye and when its hangin' there dumb its speakin' to me, callin' to me. Don't think I'm mad Jane but I can't stand it much longer. What makes them hang it there to temp' me? Why? Just because they think they can make a few miserable pounds, they'll keep it there makin' me a liar, a pledge breaker, a man who can't keep his promise. I'll end it now. I'll smash it.

[He makes to take the fiddle out of her
hands.]

JANE.

[Resisting.]

No. No. I want to say--I want to ask something Robbie. What does it say to you?

ROBBIE JOHN.

What does it--Ach--I wonder would you laugh at me like the rest if I told you.

JANE.

[Sitting closer and putting her arm about
his neck.]

What does it say. Tell me. _I_ would never laugh at you Robbie dear.

ROBBIE JOHN.

[Hesitatingly.]

Ach--about--about takin' it and makin' a name for myself with it.

[Bitterly.]

It sounds like fool talk doesn't it.

JANE.

To my father and yours it would sound like that and Samuel James would laugh at you, but he'd encourage you to believe in it.

ROBBIE JOHN.

Let me break it then. Smash it.

JANE.

[Determinedly.]

No. Look Robbie if I said it was whispering you the truth, what would you say?

ROBBIE JOHN.

[Surprised.]

I would say that it was true. But you never would.

JANE.

[Determinedly.]

I say it is the truth.

ROBBIE JOHN.

You what? Ach you don't know what you say child. If I did take to it again, look what would happen. My father would turn me out, and your father would forbid me then ever lookin' at you again. Jane Graeme engaged to a penniless fiddler, and she the best match in the whole countryside. I need never think of you again Jane.

JANE.

I don't care what they bid. If you took to that fiddle and went away, would you forget me soon?

ROBBIE JOHN.

Forget you, Jane? What makes you think that? Sure you know I gave it up sooner than lose you.

JANE.

Then take that fiddle and do what your heart tells you to. I wondered often and often what it was that made you so sad, and I know now. God made you a musician and not a farmer.

ROBBIE JOHN.

And you? What would you do?

JANE.

I know and trust some day God willing, you'll come back to me, rich and famous enough to have them all at your feet. I know you will.

ROBBIE JOHN.

God bless you wee girl for you're put a heart into me.

[They embrace. Mrs. Granahan comes in.]

MRS. GRANAHAN.

There. There. Bide a wee. Here they're all coming in for their tays.

[William John Granahan, Graeme, Taylor,
Samuel James and Grandfather come in.
Robbie John goes over to fiddle and
puts it into a case.]

WILLIAM JOHN GRANAHAN.

[Puzzled.]

So you're at it again, are you? Well I suppose there's no harm in giving Miss Graeme a tune, but I thought you were a man to your word.

ROBBIE JOHN.

[Determinedly.]

Look here. I want you all to know I am goin' to try my luck with this.

SAMUEL JAMES.

[Exultingly.]

You're goin' to lave us like to mak' money wi' it.

ROBBIE JOHN.

I'm goin' to try.

MRS. GRANAHAN.

Robbie John are you daft. What wild nonsense are ye talkin' about. And you to be married at Christmas and everythin' settled about you this very day.

ROBBIE JOHN.

I am determined to do it. Nothin' can keep me back.

JOHN GRAEME.

There. That's enough. My daughter jilted by a Granahan! Come home out o' this Jane Graeme.

[He stamps his foot angrily and beckons
her to come. Jane moves past Robbie
John where he is standing and then
suddenly kisses him and goes out with
her father.]

WILLIAM JOHN GRANAHAN.

[Passionately.]

You see what you ha'e done Robert John Granahan. Broken your parents' hearts, and made the name of the Granahans a disgrace to the countryside.

[Wildly.]

Quick d--n ye before it's too late.

ROBBIE JOHN.

My mind's made up. Give me the address of that Professor you told me of, Mr. Taylor.

TAYLOR.

You're a fool, Robbie.

[Producing card and handing it to him.]

There. That's it.

WILLIAM JOHN GRANAHAN.

There's time yet, man. After John Graeme, and make it up wi' him. Swear you were only makin' fun.

ROBBIE JOHN.

I stick by the fiddle.

WILLIAM JOHN GRANAHAN.

[Mad with anger.]

Then stick by the fiddle. And know if ever you are weary or ahungered or in want, ye need nivir look me for any help.

[Shouts.]

Out you go. Out. Don't dar one of you as much as till take his hand. Out. Out the same as the beggar man gone, wi' the curse of your father on you.

[Robbie John goes toward back and stands
a moment as if in silent appeal at the
open door. Mrs. Granahan rushes forward
to her husband as if to entreat mercy.
He angrily puts her away.]

Out. Out you go.

CURTAIN.

EPILOGUE.

The same scene, about midnight. There is no light except that
of one or two candles and the turf fire. Grandfather seated
at fire. William John Granahan leaning despondently on table
beside which he is seated. Samuel James in his favourite seat
on the top of the table. Wind, storm and rain outside.

GRANDFATHER.

Aye. Aye. But its no use talkin' now. Ye might ha' been a wee bit the less hasty.

WILLIAM JOHN GRANAHAN.

And who was goin' to thole yon conduck. It was too bad of him and after the to-do we had over him this very day. Its a sore heartscald, Robbie John, ye've been to me this day.

SAMUEL JAMES.

Ach, sure its over. Its full time we were in our beds.

[Viciously.]

You'd think he was dead and buried to hear the two of ye goin' on. Sure for all know, he may be comin' back and a great name wi' him.

GRANDFATHER.

That's you to the ground, ye cunnin' rascal. Keep him out at all costs.

[Thunder and lightning.]

D'ye hear yon? To think o' that poor sowl wi' his wee bit o' a coat out in the coul' and wet. If any harm come till him, Samuel James, know this, you were the cause o' it.

SAMUEL JAMES.

It was his own choosin'.

GRANDFATHER.

His own choosin'. Who flattered him and led him on? Who kep' the fiddle hangin' there and would let no one take it down, a continuin' temptation till him? And you, William John Granahan, wi' your lust for money. Aye. Lust for money. You couldn't abide him heartenin' up the house wi' a tune or two, but ye'd brak the boy's heart sendin' him out till work again, and him workin' as much as two of Samuel James there. Ye thought he was wastin' time and money. D'ye think there's nothin' in this life beyond making money above the rent. I tell you it's not the money alone that makes life worth livin'. It's the wee things you think nothin' o', but that make your home a joy to come back till, after a hard day's work. And you've sent out into the coul and wet, the one that was makin' your home somethin' more than the common. D'ye think them proud city folk will listen to his poor ould ballads wi' the heart o' the boy singin' through them. Its only us--its only us, I say, as knows the long wild nights, and the wet and the rain and the mist o' nights on the boglands,--its only us I say, could listen him in the right way,

[Sobbing.]

and ye knowed, right well ye knowed, that every string o' his fiddle was kayed to the cryin' o' your own heart.

WILLIAM JOHN GRANAHAN.

[Half sobbing.]

There. There. God forgive me, my poor ould boy. I did na know. Whist. Maybe if I say a word or two:--Oh God forgive us this night our angry words, and ha'e marcy on my wayward son, O Lord, and keep him safe from harm, and deliver him not unto the adversary. Amen.

GRANDFATHER.

Amen. Aye. Aye. Ye done well. Let no the sun go down upon your wrath.

WILLIAM JOHN GRANAHAN.

[Going to door.]

It's a coorse night.

[Pauses.]

I'll lave the door on the hesp.

[He unbolts the door.]

CURTAIN.

O'GORMAN AND COMPANY, PRINTINGHOUSE, GALWAY.

_PRESS OPINIONS OF PERFORMANCES._

"The Turn of the Road" ... is beyond question one of the most sterling products of the Irish literary revival ever seen at the Abbey Theatre. Whether depicting a matchmaker like the astute Mrs. Granahan ... or reproducing the conversation of farmers just returned from fair or market, discussing parish affairs or speculating on harvest prospects, the author is equally delightful and successful.--_Irish Times._

The "Turn of the Road" ... is one of the most successful pieces ever written dealing with Irish life. The author "Rutherford Mayne" has drawn his characters with a master's hand and they stand out clear and distinct.--_Freeman's Journal._

The play was of engrossing interest and was a masterpiece of composition which speaks hopefully of the work to be expected of the Ulster School of Drama.--_Daily Express._

"The Turn of the Road" is a brilliantly written comedy characteristic of the County of Down.--_Irish Independent._

The charm of this little play is delightful and natural; its comedy is beautifully balanced and its pathos ... superb and admirably restrained.--_Evening Herald._

"The Turn of the Road" is a clever and poetic conception clothed in smart effective County Down dialogue with many bright and sparkling lines. The significance, the pathos, and inherent beauty of the concluding scene is a piece of consummate art.--_Belfast Newsletter._

The author ... builds his scenes out of simple materials but always with the eye of a craftsman for striking effects and incidents.... The "Return from Market," "The Marriage Bargain," and the last scene ... have the illusion of life, and are in a phrase--which, though blunted by misuse, expresses a real need in Irish Art--"racy of the soil"--_The Northern Whig._

"The Turn of the Road" is a cleverly constructed picture of life in a County Down farmhouse, evidently drawn by one who knew his characters or their prototypes in the flesh.--_Irish News._

It is a play that transports the hedge rows, the farm kitchen with its dresser and turf fire, and above all the real vernacular right into our preception more vividly than an experience. The author has written a remarkable fine play of life, humour, and realism.--_Nomad's Weekly and Belfast Critic._

Into the brief compass of his two acts Mr. Rutherford Mayne has compressed the age-long attitude of Ulster towards the arts.... Light is breaking after the long Arctic night. The very existence of this poignant play pregnantly indicates that the old order is changing and must soon give place to the new.--_The Lady of the House._

The more we see this peasant drama in two scenes and an epilogue, the more we admire its unpretending art and its real greatness.--_Belfast Evening Telegraph._

End of Project Gutenberg's The Turn of the Road, by Rutherford Mayne