“She do, sir. Many’s the time me daddy’s mended her, and he at home. There’s no one to do it now, till I get a bit bigger—Patsy he’s destroyed with work, he says, and he can’t be lugging tools all this way, says he. And that Michael McCarthy, he’s no use at all in the world.” Timsy knitted his brows, a worried little figure. “It’ll be a good thing when the ould war is over and all them Germans kilt. Then me daddy’ll come back and fix everything.” “Would you rather he hadn’t gone, Timsy?” The small boy’s lip trembled. “’Twas awful when he went. Me mother cried, and so did old Nanny and Bridget. But me mother and me daddy they says there’s no dacint man can stop out of it. I wisht I was big enough to go too. Will they take drummer-boys in your regiment, Mr. Wally? I’m pretty big when I howld meself straight.” “I’m afraid you’ve got to be a bit bigger yet, old man,” Wally told him. “But you’ve got to be here, to keep an eye on the place; it must be a great comfort to your daddy to know you’re here, to look after your mother. There must be a certain number of fellows at home to mind Ireland in case the Germans should send troops here, you know; so we leave those at home who are too young or too old to march fast, and carry heavy loads, and do rough digging. You’re doing your bit as long as you’re helping at home.” “Is that so, truly?” said Timsy, much cheered. “And could I go when I’m bigger?” “Of course you could, if the war is still there,” Wally answered, cheerfully. “Only we hope it won’t be. You’ll be able to fight much better in the next war if you have your daddy home to train you first. It isn’t every fellow who can have a sergeant all on himself to train him, you know.” “I’d be in great luck, wouldn’t I?” said the small boy, hopefully. “But sure, we’ll all be in the heighth of luck once we get daddy home.” Wally had poled the old boat out of the submerged trees, with many a bump and scrape that made him look apprehensively at the boards. The gaunt and stunted tree-ghosts ceased, and the water deepened, so he took to the oars. They pulled up against a freshening breeze to the head of the lough, where Wally shipped the paddles thankfully. “That’s a great pair of oars,” said he. “One weighs a ton and the other only a hundredweight, so pulling becomes a matter of scientific adjustment. Well, we’ll drift down, Nor, and see what Lough Anoor holds.”