“The people that’s in England is richer nor the Jews— There’s not the smallest young gossoon but thravels in his shoes!” “Indeed, they don’t do that here,” said Mr. Linton, looking at the ragged boy by the wayside. “Not they—shoes only come with years of discretion, and often, not then. But don’t they look rosy and well?—nothing of the pinched look of the youngsters in a city slum.” “No—I think the air must be nourishing!” remarked Wally. “You’re quite right; it is. But they grow little crops, in tiny corners between the stones. The soil is bad enough; they are lucky if they are near the sea, for then they can bring up mussels and kelp as manure. There’s a woman bringing some now”; and Sir John pointed to a bent figure, bare-legged, a red shawl over head, and on her back a huge basket, beneath which she was labouring up a steep cliff-path. “She has a kish full of shell-fish there—you wouldn’t find it a light load, even on the level, but they carry hundreds of them up these cliffs. There are parts of Donegal so bleak that they have to warm the ground before sowing the seed; they burn the dried sea-weed on the prepared soil, and sow the crop while the ashes are still smoking.” “Great Scott!” said Jim, feebly. “Fancy an Australian doing that!” Sir John laughed grimly. “I fancy an Australian would flee in horror if he were offered as a gift a tract of land that supports hundreds of these people,” he said. “You should see them reaping their tiny, pocket-handkerchief crops; they do it with a little reaping-hook, and, upon my word, some of them are so small that you might harvest them with a pair of scissors! Of course they’re not worth much; but then these people are accustomed to live on very little, and they scarcely need more than they have, if the sea is kind and the fishing fair. They look wild enough; but they are intelligent, even if ignorant, and you will always meet with courtesy among them.” “They would make great fighting men,” Jim observed, watching a broad-shouldered, dark-faced young fellow who was digging in a tiny field by the road. He had paused to look at the motor, one foot on the spade, and his splendid young body upright. “Oh, every sound Irishman is that naturally,” Sir John said, with a laugh. “And the women could do their bit if occasion arose. Did you hear, by the way, of the women of Limerick, when some of the disaffected idiots of whom there are too many in the country made a pro-German demonstration there lately? They chose a day when most of the loyal men of the city were away; these fellows were from Dublin, and they made a procession and planned quite a little show. But they reckoned without the women.” “What—did they take a hand?” asked Mr. Linton.