CHAPTER VII A PLAYHOUSE IN THE WASTE I had arranged to stay with Father MacTurnan till Monday, and I had driven many miles along the road that straggles like a grey thread through the brown bog. On either side there were bog-holes, and great ruts in the road; the horse shied frequently, and once I was preparing to leap from the car, but the driver assured me that the old horse would not leave the road. "Only once he was near leaving the road, and the wheel of the car must have gone within an inch of the bog-hole. It was the day before Christmas Day, and I was driving the doctor; he saw something, a small white thing gliding along the road, and he was that scared that the hair rose up and went through his cap." I could not tell from the driver's face whether he was aware of his extravagant speech. He seemed to have already forgotten what he had said, and we drove on through the bog till the dismal distant mountains and the cry of a plover forced me to speak again. "All this parish, then," I said, "is Father MacTurnan's." "Every mile of it, sir," he said, "every mile of it; and we see him riding along the roads on his bicycle going to sick-calls buttoned up in his old coat." "Do you often come this way?" "Not very often, sir. No one lives here except the poor people and the priest and the doctor. It is the poorest parish in Ireland, and every third or fourth year there's a famine; and they would have died long ago if it had not been for Father James." "And how does he help them?" "Isn't he always writing letters to the Government asking for relief works. Do you see those bits of roads? They are the relief works." "Where do those roads lead to?" "Nowhere. The road stops in the middle of the bog when the money is out." "But," I said, "surely it would be better if the money were spent upon permanent improvements, on drainage, for instance." The boy did not answer; he called to his horse, and I had to press him for an answer. "There's no fall, sir." "And the bog is too big," I added, in hope of encouraging conversation. "Faith it is, sir." "But we are not very far from the sea, are we?" "About a couple of miles." "Well, then," I said, "couldn't a harbour be made?" "They were thinking about that, but there's no depth of water, and the engineer said it would be cheaper to send the people to America. Everyone is against emigration now, but the people can't live here." "So there is no hope," I said, "for home industries, weaving, lace-making." "I won't say that." "But has it been tried?" "The candle do be burning in the priest's window till one in the morning, and he sitting up thinking of plans to keep the people at home. Do you see that house, sir, fornint my whip, at the top of the hill?" I said I did. "Well, that's the playhouse that he built." "A playhouse," I said. "Yes, sir; Father James hoped that people might come from Dublin to see it. No play like it had ever been acted in Ireland before, sir."