The boat was crowded. It seemed impossible that any one else could get on, and there were hundreds to come. My belated husband had deserted me in the confusion. I picked him up presently on the boat. “Have you seen about a berth?” he asked. I shook my head and penetrated to the women’s cabin. It was the most uncomfortable place I had ever seen. I struggled past heaps of rugs and luggage, and stumbled over legs as far as the stewardess, an overworked woman, who answered me impolitely. There was no berth left, and I struggled up to the deck again through the descending people with my heart in my boots. There was nothing but a cold, hard seat and the whistling wind. Scraps of conversation reached us in between the noises. People who had fared as badly as we had stood about in sulky groups. Dour Northerners clustered together and eyed a party of priests. On the hatches some Tommies lifted up their voices in song, and round the deck paced military officers with suffering faces. It was an evil night. In the early morning I, who had never thought to see a dawn again, caught a glimpse of Dublin Bay. The shattered boatload poured along the platform. I stood by the small luggage while my husband went to pounce on the rest from the hold. A long-lipped porter weighed up my wealth. “What time does the train go?” “Half-seven.” “It’s been a choppy night.” “It has.” An Irishman never says yes or no. I learned that quickly. “Here’s himself coming back.” My husband turned up. “You’ve been christened Himself,” I said. “I’m going to call you that while we’re in Ireland.” “Do you feel pretty bad?” he answered. “Awful.” I subsided on an unknown person’s luggage. Himself wandered about, and the long-lipped porter, having decided we were worth while, wandered after him doing as little as possible. I was put into a train, and from that train we emerged at last. Himself went to get a garry, and once more I did sentinel duty over the luggage. A youth with a dirty grey cap pulled over his eyes and a trench coat on eyed me from behind a pillar-box. I stared back and he seemed to retire. Presently I saw his head round the other side of the pillar-box. He chewed a small green leaf. We piled our things up on the garry. The soft clean air curled round my face and I breathed contentedly. The jarvey was a cheerful soul, and was prepared to be talkative as we balanced ourselves on the side of his swaying car. The youth who was chewing a leaf propped himself against a lamp-post and watched our departure. I wondered why we fascinated him.