When she emerged, fully dressed, she still seemed the only person awake. Downstairs, however, she encountered the “odd-boy,” who was sweeping the hall with a lofty disregard of corners, wherein the dust of many sweepings had accumulated in depressing heaps. Through a cloud of dust he blinked in amazement at her. “Were you wantin’ anything, miss?” “No, thanks,” Norah answered; “I was going for a walk. Is there anything to see in the village?” The “odd-boy” thought deeply, and finally replied with gloom that he didn’t know why anybody would be looking at it at all. Then, suddenly inspired, he hastened to the door in Norah’s wake. “There’s Willy Gallaher’s ould pig, miss, an’ she after having eleven of the finest little ones yesterday. Ye’d ought to see them. Willy’s the proud man. ’Twas himself was due for a bit of good luck, though, with twins not a week old!” “Thanks,” said Norah, laughing. “But I’d rather see the twins.” Which astounding preference left the “odd-boy” gaping. Twins were a regrettable everyday occurrence, but eleven “bonnivs” were the gift of Providence, and not to be lightly regarded. Norah made her way up the narrow street. The air was full of the pleasant smell of newly-lit turf fires, and in the cottages the women were beginning their day’s work. Children ran to peep over the half-door at the stranger, and Norah, peeping over in her turn, saw fat babies crawling about the earthen floors and made friends with them until their mothers picked them up and brought them to the half-door for further admiration. Thus her progress up the street was slow, and it was some time before she came to the outskirts of the village and crossed a green where asses, geese, fowls, and long-haired goats wandered sociably. Beyond the green the high road curved, and, following it, Norah came upon a narrow river that tumbled from the hills, racing under an old bridge of grey stone in a mass of foaming rapids. On the other side was a little ruined castle, upon which she advanced joyfully, with the passion for anything old which gave the Australians the keenest enjoyment of all their experiences of travel. It was not much of a castle; the walls had long since collapsed into heaps of broken stone, most of which had been carried away to build cabins and were now concealed under the whitewash of years. A small square tower yet stood, but was obviously unsafe, since the crumbling stairway that wound upwards inside it had been shut off by rusty iron bars. It was not easy to make out the outlines of what had been rooms, for the stones had fallen in all directions, and grass and brambles grew wildly over them. But everywhere, softening the cruelty and destruction of time, ivy clambered; a kindly cloak of green that blotted out harsh outlines and turned the whole into something exquisite.