Then Island McGill sat up, and there was a tremendous wagging of tongues.  It was unnatural and ungodly.  The like had never been heard.  And when, as time passed, the truth of Sara Dack’s utterances was manifest, the island folk decided, like the bos’n of the Starry Grace, that only the devil could have had a hand in so untoward a happening.  And the infatuated woman, so Sara Dack reported, insisted that it would be a boy.  “Eleven bairns ha’ I borne,” she said; “sux o’ them lossies an’ five o’ them loddies.  An’ sunce there be balance un all thungs, so wull there be balance wuth me.  Sux o’ one an’ half a dozen o’ the other—­there uz the balance, an’ oz sure oz the sun rises un the marnun’, thot sure wull ut be a boy.”

And boy it was, and a prodigy.  Dr. Hall raved about its unblemished perfection and massive strength, and wrote a brochure on it for the Dublin Medical Society as the most interesting case of the sort in his long career.  When Sara Dack gave the babe’s unbelievable weight, Island McGill refused to believe and once again called her liar.  But when Doctor Hall attested that he had himself weighed it and seen it tip that very notch, Island McGill held its breath and accepted whatever report Sara Dack made of the infant’s progress or appetite.  And once again Margaret Henan carried a babe to Belfast and had it christened Samuel.

“Oz good oz gold ut was,” said Sara Dack to me.

Sara, at the time I met her, was a buxom, phlegmatic spinster of sixty, equipped with an experience so tragic and unusual that though her tongue ran on for decades its output would still be of imperishable interest to her cronies.

“Oz good oz good,” said Sara Dack.  “Ut never fretted.  Sut ut down un the sun by the hour an’ never a sound ut would make oz long oz ut was no hungered!  An’ thot strong!  The grup o’ uts honds was like a mon’s.  I mind me, when ut was but hours old, ut grupped me so mighty thot I fetched a scream I was thot frightened.  Ut was the punk o’ health.  Ut slept an’ ate, an’ grew.  Ut never bothered.  Never a night’s sleep ut lost tull no one, nor ever a munut’s, an’ thot wuth cuttin’ uts teeth an’ all.  An’ Margaret would dandle ut on her knee an’ ask was there ever so fine a loddie un the three Kungdoms.

“The way ut grew!  Ut was un keepun’ wuth the way ut ate.  Ot a year ut was the size o’ a bairn of two.  Ut was slow tull walk an’ talk.  Exceptun’ for gurgly noises un uts throat an’ for creepun’ on all fours, ut dudna monage much un the walkun’ an’ talkun’ line.  But thot was tull be expected from the way ut grew.  Ut all went tull growun’ strong an’ healthy.  An’ even old Tom Henan cheered up ot the might of ut an’ said was there ever the like o’ ut un the three Kungdoms.  Ut was Doctor Hall thot first suspicioned, I mind me well, though ut was luttle I dreamt what he was up tull ot the time.  I seehum holdun’ thungs’ un fronto’ luttle Sammy’s eyes, an’ a-makun’ noises, loud an’ soft, an’ far an’ near, un luttle Sammy’s ears.  An’ then I see Doctor Hall go away, wrunklun’ hus eyebrows an’ shakun’ hus head like the bairn was ailun’.  But he was no ailun’, oz I could swear tull, me a-seeun’ hum eat an’ grow.  But Doctor Hall no said a word tull Margaret an’ I was no for guessun’ the why he was sore puzzled.