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Out into this bogland in the summer had come from their cabins the peasantry, men and women, Denis Donohoe among them; they had dug up slices of the spongy, wet sod, cut it into pieces rather larger than bricks, licked it into shape by stamping upon it with their bare feet, stacked it about in little rows to dry in the sun, one sod leaning against the other, looking in the moonlight like a great host of wee brown fairies grouped in couples for a midnight dance on the carpet of purple heather.
There were other inquiries, but nobody purchased. They said that money was very scarce. Denis Donohoe said nothing; money was too remote a thing for him to imagine how it could be ever anything else except scarce.
And look here, Peggy Donohoe or Peggy Keogh, whichever you call yourself you and Red Mick will have the most uphill fight you ever fought before you get one sixpence of William Grant's money. Why, your real husband is here on the coach with us!" He turned and pulled Considine forward, and once more husband and wife stood face to face.
But in the camp, that night, the old man came over to Hugh holding a paper in his hand. "I've got something for you," he said. "Here's the certificate of my weddin' with Peggy Donohoe. The parson gev us each one. That ought to do you, oughtn't it? I'll come down with you, as soon as you like, and give all the evidence you want. I'll chance how I get on with Peg.
When they struck very sharp hills Denis Donohoe got to the back of the cart, put his hands to the shafts, and, lowering his head, helped to push up the load, the muscles springing taut at the back of his thick limbs as he pressed hard against the bright frosty ground.
They argued, made jokes, shouted, and finally began to bully Denis Donohoe, the woman leading, her voice half a scream, her stomach heaving, her eyes dancing with excitement, a yellow froth gathering at the corners of her angry mouth, her hand gripping a sod of the turf, for the only dissipation life now offered her was this haggling with and shouting down of turf sellers.
"Well, God prosper you, Agnes Deely," Denis Donohoe said after some time, and rose from his seat. The two women came out on the road to see him off. He did not dally, jumped on to the front of the cart and rattled away.
The only sign of life to be seen on earth or air was a thin line of wild duck high up in the sky, one group making wide circles over a vivid mountain lake. Half way on his journey to the country town Denis Donohoe pulled up his little establishment. It was outside a lonely cottage exactly like his own home.
Peggy brought in the copy of her marriage certificate, an old and faded piece of paper which ran "This is to certify that I, Thomas Nettleship, duly ordained clergyman of the Church of England, have this day solemnized a marriage between William Grant, Bachelor, and Margaret Donohoe, Spinster."
You had better go with that." "How soon does the coach start?" "In an hour or two. As soon as Pat Donohoe, the mailman, has got a horse shod. Come in and have a wash, and fix yourself up till breakfast is ready Where's your bag?" "My luggage is at the railway-station." "I'll send Dan over for it. Dan, Dan, Dan!"
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