‘Are you going to Dublin?’ she said.

I told her I was.

‘Well,’ she went on, ’here is my daughter going there too; and maybe you’d look after her, for I’m getting down at the next station.  She is going up to a hospital for some little complaint in her ear, and she has never travelled before, so that she’s lonesome in her mind.’

I told her I would do what I could, and at the next station I was left alone with my charge, and one other passenger, a returned American girl, who was on her way to Mallow, to get the train for Queenstown.  When her mother was lost sight of the young girl broke out into tears, and the returned American and myself had trouble to quiet her.

‘Look at me,’ said the American.  ’I’m going off for ten years to America, all by myself, and I don’t care a rap.’

When the girl got quiet again, the returned American talked to me about scenery and politics and the arts—­she had been seen off by her sisters in bare feet, with shawls over their heads—­and the life of women in America.

At several stations girls and boys thronged in to get places for Queenstown, leaving parties of old men and women wailing with anguish on the platform.  At one place an old woman was seized with such a passion of regret, when she saw her daughters moving away from her for ever, that she made a wild rush after the train and when I looked out for a moment I could see her writhing and struggling on the platform, with her hair over her face, and two men holding her by the arms.

Two young men had got into our compartment for a few stations only, and they looked on with the greatest satisfaction.

‘Ah,’ said one of them, ’we do have great sport every Friday and Saturday, seeing the old women howling in the stations.’

When we reached Dublin I left my charge for a moment to see after my baggage, and when I came back I found her sitting on a luggage barrow, with her package in her hand, crying with despair because several cabmen had refused to let her into their cabs, on the pretext that they dreaded infection.

I could see they were looking out for some rich tourist with his trunks, as a more lucrative fare; so I sent for the head-porter, who had charge of the platform.  When the porter arrived we chose a cab, and I saw my charge driven off to her hospital, sitting on the front seat, with her handkerchief to her eyes.

For the last few days—­I am staying in the Kerry cottage I have spoken of already—­the people have been talking of horse-races that were to be held on the sand, not far off and this morning I set out to see them with the man and woman of the house and two of their neighbours.  Our way led through a steep boreen for a quarter of a mile to the edge of the sea, and then along a pathway between the cliffs and a straight grassy hill.  When we had gone some distance the old man pointed out a slope in front of us, where, he said, Diarmuid had done