The girl was still absent, and Thady again sat himself down by the fire, the blazing turf on which gave the only signs that the old man had moved. Again he counted the rafters, counted the miserable scraps of furniture, counted the sods of turf, speculated where the turf was cut--who cut it? who was the landlord of the cabin? what rent was paid? who collected it? But a minute--half a minute sufficed for the full consideration of all these things, and again he began to reflect how long it would be before the police would find him, and drag him forth from that dreary place; how long it would be before he should feel the handcuffs on his wrist; and before the first day of his concealment had passed over, he had become almost impatient for that time; and looked forward to the excitement of his capture, which he knew must sooner or later take place, with something like a wish that it might soon occur, to relieve him from the weight of his present condition. At last he determined to speak to his companion, and after considering for some time what he should say to him, he asked him what his name was; but Thady had spoken in his usual language, and the old man, looking up, answered that he had no English. "What's your name?" asked Thady, in Irish. "Andy McEvoy." "And is this cabin your own?" "Yes." "And who's your landlord?" "The mountain belongs mostly to Sir Michael." "But don't you pay any rent?" "No." "And what is it you do all day long?" "Why then mostly nothing; I'm very old." "And what does your daughter be doing?" "Why then I don't rightly know; she's mostly out for Dan Kennedy." "And where do you be getting the pratees?" "'Deed I b'lieve Meg gets them mostly from Dan's garden." "Who does Dan pay his rent to?" "Why then I can't be saying." It was useless carrying on a conversation any longer with such a man. He neither interested himself about his house, his food, his landlord, or his family, and Thady again held his tongue. Soon after dusk Meg returned; she had in the folds of her gown a loaf of bread and a very small piece of bacon, and it was evident to Thady that whatever had become of Joe and the other, they had not forgotten him or their promise to provide him with some better food than the lumpers which sufficed for Andy McEvoy and his daughter.