“Be quiet! I cannot with himself all perishing of the cold. And the cough on his chest something awful. It’s dead he’ll be before he reaches the Castle. You wicked, wicked woman, you were after knowing those bullets were there.” Her voice rose and cracked, and she became inarticulate. “Now, Mrs. O’Grady, pull yourself together,” ordered Mrs. Slaney, sharply. “Pull yourself together at once. You’re hysterical. O’Grady will come out of this all right, he’ll come to no harm. Indeed, it will be good for them both to experience what hundreds of our splendid young men are suffering every day. Come upstairs and I’ll give you a little wine. Come up all of you. It’s things like this, trials, that bring us close together. Mrs. Fitzgerald will tell you that. It is trials that have united Ireland.” Mrs. O’Grady mouthed words that never came. We could only catch an occasional croak of “wicked old woman.” “We’d better go along, too,” said Mrs. Fitzgerald, “for Mrs. O’Grady’s sake. We little thought when we watched Desmond drive away that night that the next person would be your husband.” “No, and I don’t quite know what to do about it, or who to go to.” “You’ll go to the Castle the first thing in the morning. And if you can’t do any good, I should suggest finding a Unionist solicitor. I can only send you to Sinn Feiners, and they have all been mixed up in court-martial cases, which make them useless as far as the Castle is concerned. If you could get a Unionist for your husband it would be better. You must do everything quickly. Ammunition is a serious charge.” We had reached Mrs. Slaney’s quarters. They were upside down. “Look at this!” she exclaimed. “Monstrous! They have no respect for sex or age. They thought they would terrify me; but I’m not afraid, not if the whole British Army were to come. I never flinched once, and the man in charge was abominably rude. I showed them that an Irish woman, and an elderly and helpless one at that, could face them. I never flinched.” Mrs. O’Grady had recovered her voice. “It’s black trouble you’ve brought on us all, and it’s worse you’ll bring. Leaving bullets under your bed where little girls can find them.” “What do you mean?” Mrs. O’Grady shook. “You can’t pretend that you didn’t know those bullets were there, not to me, mum. Little Polly Pluck told me on them weeks ago, and it’s little sleep either O’Grady or me has had ever since.” My mind leaped back to the day Mrs. O’Grady had talked so mysteriously. “Do you mean to say that you kept such stuff there? Why didn’t you send it to the proper quarters?” demanded Mrs. Fitzgerald. “If you’d told me, I could have had it all taken away by the right people.” “A few war trophies!” Mrs. Slaney exclaimed. “A few simple war trophies of no interest to anybody?” “The Auxiliaries thought them interesting,” I retorted bitterly. “Yes, mum,” chorused Mrs. O’Grady.