’A woman of Sligo had a son who was born blind, and one night she dreamed that she saw an island with a blessed well in it that could cure her son.  She told her dream in the morning, and an old man said it was of Aran she was after dreaming.

’She brought her son down by the coast of Galway, and came out in a curagh, and landed below where you see a bit of a cove.

’She walked up then to the house of my father—­God rest his soul—­and she told them what she was looking for.

’My father said that there was a well like what she had dreamed of, and that he would send a boy along with her to show her the way.

“There’s no need, at all,” said she; “haven’t I seen it all in my dream?”

’Then she went out with the child and walked up to this well, and she kneeled down and began saying her prayers.  Then she put her hand out for the water, and put it on his eyes, and the moment it touched him he called out:  “O mother, look at the pretty flowers!"’

After that Mourteen described the feats of poteen drinking and fighting that he did in his youth, and went on to talk of Diarmid, who was the strongest man after Samson, and of one of the beds of Diarmid and Grainne, which is on the east of the island.  He says that Diarmid was killed by the druids, who put a burning shirt on him,—­a fragment of mythology that may connect Diarmid with the legend of Hercules, if it is not due to the ‘learning’ in some hedge-school master’s ballad.

Then we talked about Inishmaan.

‘You’ll have an old man to talk with you over there,’ he said, ’and tell you stories of the fairies, but he’s walking about with two sticks under him this ten year.  Did ever you hear what it is goes on four legs when it is young, and on two legs after that, and on three legs when it does be old?’

I gave him the answer.

‘Ah, master,’ he said, ’you’re a cute one, and the blessing of God be on you.  Well, I’m on three legs this minute, but the old man beyond is back on four; I don’t know if I’m better than the way he is; he’s got his sight and I’m only an old dark man.’

I am settled at last on Inishmaan in a small cottage with a continual drone of Gaelic coming from the kitchen that opens into my room.

Early this morning the man of the house came over for me with a four-oared curagh—­that is, a curagh with four rowers and four oars on either side, as each man uses two—­and we set off a little before noon.

It gave me a moment of exquisite satisfaction to find myself moving away from civilisation in this rude canvas canoe of a model that has served primitive races since men first went to sea.

We had to stop for a moment at a hulk that is anchored in the bay, to make some arrangement for the fish-curing of the middle island, and my crew called out as soon as we were within earshot that they had a man with them who had been in France a month from this day.