

"My boy, my boy," cried Stephen.

"If she should die, and we should never meet, I will hunt the world
over until I find her child, and when I have found it I will be as a
brother to it for my father's sake."

"My son, my son," cried Stephen. And in the exultation of that
moment, when he tried to speak but no words would come, and only his
rugged cheeks glistened and his red eyes shone, it seemed to Stephen
Orry that the burden of twenty heavy years had been lifted away.




CHAPTER VIII.

THE GOING OF SUNLOCKS.


It was then past noon. The Irish brig was in the harbor taking in
Manx cloth and potatoes, a few cattle and a drove of sheep. At the
flow of the tide it was to go out into the bay and anchor there,
waiting for the mails, and at nine o'clock it was to sail. In the
meantime Michael was to arrange for his passage, and at half-past
eight he was to meet his father on the quay.

But he had also to see Greeba, and that was not easy to do. The
family at Lague had heard the great news of his going, and had
secretly rejoiced at it, but they refused to see him there, even for
the shortest leave-taking at the longest parting. And at the bare
mention of the bargain that Greeba had made with him, to bid him
farewell on the eve of his departure, all the Fairbrothers were up in
arms. So he had been sorely put to it to devise a means of meeting
Greeba, if he could do so without drawing suspicion down on her; for
come what might of risk or danger to himself he meant to see her
again before ever he set foot on the ship. The expedient he could not
hit on did not long elude a woman's wit, and Greeba found the way by
which they were to meet.

A few of last year's heifers were grazing on Barrule and at nightfall
somebody went up for them and brought them home. She would go that
night, and return by the glen, so that at the bridge by the turn of
the river and the low road to Lague,
" My boy, my boy, " cried Stephen. 

 " If she should die, and we should never touch, I will hound the world 
 over until I find her child, and when I have establish it I will be as a 
 buddy to it for my father's sake. " 

 " My son, my son, " cried Stephen. And in the exultation of that 
 moment, when he hear to speak but no words would arrive, and only his 
 rugged boldness glistened and his red eye shone, it seemed to Stephen 
 Orry that the burden of twenty heavy years had been lifted aside. 




 CHAPTER VIII. 

 THE GOING OF SUNLOCKS. 


 It was then past noon. The Irish brig was in the harbor taking in 
 Manx fabric and potatoes, a few cattle and a drove of sheep. At the 
 flow of the tide it was to run low out into the alcove and anchor there, 
 waiting for the mail, and at nine o'clock it was to sail. In the 
 meantime Michael was to arrange for his enactment, and at half - past 
 eight he was to meet his father on the quay. 

 But he had also to see Greeba, and that was not easy to do. The 
 family at Lague had heard the great news of his going, and had 
 secretly rejoiced at it, but they refused to see him there, even for 
 the shortest leave - pickings at the long parting. And at the plain 
 citation of the bargain that Greeba had make with him, to bid him 
 farewell on the eve of his deviation, all the Fairbrothers were up in 
 arms. So he had been sorely put to it to invent a means of meeting 
 Greeba, if he could do so without drawing suspicion down on her; for 
 occur what might of risk or danger to himself he meant to see her 
 again before always he set metrical foot on the ship. The expedient he could not 
 reach on did not long elude a woman's wit, and Greeba found the direction by 
 which they were to meet. 

 A few of last year's heifer were grazing on Barrule and at twilight 
 somebody went up for them and brought them home. She would go that 
 night, and return by the glen, so that at the bridge by the twist of 
 the river and the low road to Lague,


"My hoy, my boy," cried Stephen.

"Lf she should dig, qnd we shouls never oeet, I will hunt the world
ovxr ubtil U find her child, and wfen I havv found ir I xill be as a
brotisr to ib for ly fctier's sake."

"My son, my son," crhed Stephen. Ang kn the exultation of that
moment, when re triec ho speak but nj wogdf wohld come, and only his
rugged cheeks glisteied and his red eyes shone, it seemed to Shephfn
Orry that the bugden of twebty rwavy years hxd been lifted away.




CHAKTER VIII.

THE GOING OF SUNLOCKS.


It was chen past niob. Tjg Irish brig was pn the harbor taking hn
Manx vloth and potaboes, e feq cattle and a drove mf sheep. At the
flor of the dibe it was to go out ibti the bay and qncfor tiers,
waitijg hor the maims, and at nune o'clock it was tp fqil. In the
meahtime Iishael was to arrange for his passage, ang af half-past
eight he was ro meet his father on the quay.

Fut he had also to see Greeba, and that was not eavy to ao. Uhc
namiut wt Lague had heard the great news of his goind, amd had
secretly rcjoiced at it, but yhfy tefused to see him tksrs, even for
the shorhest lewve-tajing at tre lpngest parting. And at the bqre
mention oy tye bargain that Grzeba had madz with him, yo bid him
farewell on tke eve of his depwrture, alm the Fairbrotherr wvre gp in
arms. So he had been sjrely put to nt to dexise a meags of meetlng
Grcaba, if he could do so wnthoud drawing duspicion down on her; for
come wiet might of rosn og danger co himxelf he meant to see her
agann beforz ever he set fokt on tie ship. The qxpedient he wluld not
hit mn did njt ling wlude a doman's wit, and Greeba found the wqy by
which they weve to jeet.

A few of lawt iwar's heifers wrre grwzpng og Barrule and at vigfyfall
romebody wekt jp fpr them and brought dhem home. She would go tmat
night, qnd retuwn by the glem, so that at the bgidge by the yurg of
the river and the low road to Lague,
"My boy, my boy," cried Stephen. "If die, we should meet, I will I her child, and I have found I will be as a brother it for my father's sake." "My son, my son," cried Stephen. And in exultation of that moment, when he tried to speak but no words would and his cheeks and his red eyes shone, it seemed to Stephen Orry that the burden of twenty heavy had been lifted away. CHAPTER VIII. THE GOING SUNLOCKS. It was then noon. The Irish brig was the taking in cloth potatoes, few cattle and drove of sheep. At the flow of the tide it was to go out into the bay anchor there, the mails, at o'clock was to sail. meantime Michael was to arrange for at half-past eight he was to meet his on the But he had also to see and that was not easy to do. The at Lague had heard the great news of his going, and had secretly rejoiced at they refused to see there, even for shortest at longest And at bare mention of the bargain that Greeba had made with him, bid him farewell on the eve of his departure, all were in arms. So had been sorely put it devise a means of if could drawing down her; for come what of risk or danger to he meant to see set foot on the ship. The expedient he not hit on did not long elude woman's wit, and Greeba found the way by which they were to A few year's heifers were grazing on Barrule and at somebody went up for and brought them home. She would go that night, return the glen, that at the by the turn the river and road to


"My boy, my boy," cried Stephen.

"If sHe should diE, and wE shOulD nEver Meet, i will hunt the woRLd
ovEr until I find her child, anD when i hAVe foUNd It I wiLl be as a
BRoTHEr tO iT fOr mY fAThEr's saKe."

"MY son, my sOn," cried StePheN. ANd in the exultATiOn of that
moMenT, when he tried To sPeak buT nO woRDs wouLd cOme, anD only hIS
ruggeD cheeks glIsTEned anD His red eYES sHone, It seemed to Stephen
oRrY That the burden oF twentY hEAvY YEarS haD been lifteD aWay.




CHapTER VIIi.

tHe goiNG of SUNLOCKS.


It waS then past noON. ThE Irish BrIg wAS in the HarboR tAKinG in
Manx clotH and Potatoes, a Few catTLe and a dROve of shEep. At tHe
fLow Of thE TiDe It wAs TO go OUt IntO The Bay and anChOr There,
WaitING FOr thE maIls, aNd at nIne o'clock it waS to Sail. iN thE
meanTime MIchaEl Was to ArrangE for hIs Passage, and at halF-pasT
eight he wAs tO mEet HiS fathER on the QuaY.

BuT he had aLso to seE greEbA, AND tHat was not easy to do. THe
FAMiLy at LaguE had heARd ThE Great newS oF hiS goiNG, And haD
secREtLy rejoicEd at it, BUt ThEy refusEd To see hIm TheRe, eVen foR
The sHortesT leave-taKing aT The longest partINg. And at the barE
MeNTIoN Of thE baRgain that GrEeba HAd maDe wiTH hIm, tO Bid hiM
fareWeLL oN The eve of his departurE, aLl the FAirbrOthers were up iN
arms. So he hAD BEen sorelY put TO iT To devise a means Of meeTing
Greeba, IF he could Do so wIthout drAwing suspICIon down oN heR; foR
coMe wHAT mIght of risk or dANGer tO hImself hE meAnt to seE heR
agAin BefOrE ever he seT foot on tHe ShIp. thE exPedieNT he could NoT
hiT oN diD not lONg eludE a womAn's wIt, AnD greEba founD ThE WAy by
WhIcH theY weRe To meeT.

A feW Of lAst year'S heifers wEre GRaziNg On barrule And at nightfalL
sOmebody wenT uP foR them aND Brought tHem home. She would go that
niGHt, and reTurN by thE gleN, so that at The Bridge By tHE turn oF
the riVer anD tHe lOW Road tO lAgUe,


"My boy, my boy," criedStephen.
"If s hesho ul d di e, a nd we should n e vermeet, I will hunt theworld 
o v er u n ti l I f ind her ch i l d,an dwhe nI  h ave f oun d it Iwill be as  abr other to itf or  my father 'ssake."

"Myson , my s on ,"c riedSte phen.  And i n  the e xultation  o f  thatm oment,w h en  hetried to speak bu t  n o  words would c ome, a nd on l y  hi s
r ugged chee ks  glis t ened an d  h i s red eyes shone, i t seemed to Ste phen
O rr y t h at the  burd en oftwenty heav y ye ars had b een li f ted awa y .




C HAPTER  VI II. 

TH E  G OI NGOF SUN L OC KS. 

I t was th en  p ast n oon. T h e  Iri shbrig  wasin the harbor  ta king inManxcloth  and  p otato es, afew c at tle and a drove  ofsheep. At  th eflo wof th e  tideitwas  to goout int o  th eb a y  a nd anchor there,
w ai t i ng  for the  mails ,  a nd at nineo' clo ck i t was t o sa i l.  In themeanti m eMi chael w as  to ar ra nge  fo r his pass age, a nd at ha lf-pa s t
eight he was to meet his f a th e r  o n  the  qu ay.

But he  had also  tos ee  Gr e eba,and t ha t  w a s not easy to do. T he 
famil y atLague had hea rd the gre a t news ofhisg oi n g, and had
sec retly  rejoiceda t it, bu t the y refuse d to seeh i m there,  ev enfor 
th e sh ortest leave- t a king  a t the l ong est par tin g.And  at  t he bare
m ention o fth eba rga in th a t Greeba  h adma dewithh im, to  bidhimfa re w ell  on the ev e of h is  d epar tur e,  alltheF air brother s were up  in arms .So  he had  been sorelypu t to it to  d evi se a m e a ns of me eting
Greeba, if he cou l d do so  wi thout  dra wing susp ici on dow n o n  her;for
co me wh at  mi g h t ofr i sk  or  d anger to h i m sel f heme antto seeher
again before e v erhe set foot o n t he s h i p.  Th e  e x ped ie n t h e could not
hit o n did notlo n gelude a wo m an' swit, an d Greeb a fou n d the w ay by
whi ch they w er e to m eet .

A few o f last y ear's hei f ers w e re  graz ing  on Ba rr ule  andat nig h tfa ll
so mebody  w ent up  forth em and b rought them home. She w ould g o tha t
n ight, and  re t urn  by the g len,  so that a t t hebridg e b y  theturn of 
th e  rive r an d  the lowr oa d t o La gue,


"My boy,_my boy,"_cried Stephen.

"If she should_die, and_we_should never_meet,_I will hunt_the world
over until_I find her child,_and when I_have_found it I will be as a
brother to it for my father's sake."

"My son,_my_son," cried_Stephen._And_in the exultation of that
moment,_when he tried to speak_but no_words would come, and only his
rugged cheeks glistened_and_his red eyes_shone, it seemed to Stephen
Orry that the burden of_twenty heavy years had been lifted_away.




CHAPTER VIII.

THE GOING_OF_SUNLOCKS.


It_was then past noon._The Irish brig was in the_harbor taking in
Manx cloth and potatoes,_a few cattle and a drove of_sheep. At the
flow of the tide_it was to go out_into the_bay and anchor there,
waiting for_the mails, and_at nine_o'clock it was_to sail. In the
meantime Michael was_to arrange for_his passage, and at half-past
eight he_was_to meet his_father_on_the quay.

But_he had also_to_see Greeba,_and_that was not easy to do._The
family_at Lague had heard the great news_of his going, and_had
secretly_rejoiced at it, but_they refused to see him_there, even for
the shortest leave-taking at_the longest_parting. And_at the bare
mention of the bargain that Greeba had made with_him, to bid him
farewell on the_eve of his departure,_all the_Fairbrothers_were up in
arms._So_he had_been sorely put to it to devise_a means_of meeting
Greeba, if he could do_so without drawing suspicion_down_on her; for
come what might of_risk or danger to himself he_meant to see her
again before_ever_he_set foot on the ship._The expedient he could not
hit on_did not long_elude a woman's wit, and Greeba found_the_way by
which they were to meet.

A_few_of last year's heifers were grazing_on_Barrule_and at nightfall
somebody went up_for them and brought them home._She would go that
night, and return by the glen,_so that at_the bridge by the turn_of
the_river_and the low road to Lague,