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But they had gone rocking and swaying along the winding road for a long time before the day dawned. Denis Donohoe marked the spread of the light, the slow looming up of a range of hills, the sweep of brown patches of bog, then grey and green fields, broken by the glimmer of blue fakes, slopes of brown furze making for them a dull frame.
"Oh Mr. Blake? Of course I know him. I dance with him sometimes at the show balls, and all that. I have been out for a ride with him, too. I think he's nice, but Hugh and Mrs. Gordon won't ask him here because he belongs to the selectors, and his mother was a Miss Donohoe. He takes up their cases and wins them, too. But he never comes here.
Ye were a little felly when we last met. I'm Peggy Donohoe that was Peggy Grant now, since I married poor dear Grant that's dead. And, sure, rest his sowl!" here she sniffed a little "though he treated me cruel bad, so he did! Ye'll remember me brother Mick Mick with the red hair?" "Yes," said Charlie, slowly and deliberately, "I remember him well; and you too.
The signers of this petition were: Robert C. Rogers, Macondray & Co., Jno. Sime & Co., J. B. Thomas, W. W. Stow, Horace P. James, Geo. F. Bragg & Co., Flint, Peabody & Co., Wm. B. Johnston, D. O. Mills, H. M. Newhall & Co., Henry Schmildell, Murphy Grant & Co., Wm. T. Coleman & Co., DeWitt Kittle & Co., Richard M. Jessup, Graves Williams & Buckley, Donohoe, Ralston & Co., H. M. Nuzlee, Geo.
Gordon tore it open, read it, and stood spellbound. Then he silently handed it to Carew. It was several weeks old, and was from Pinnock, the solicitor. It read as follows "William Grant died suddenly yesterday. Will made years ago leaves everything to his wife. Reported that he married Margaret Donohoe, and that she is still alive. Am making all inquiries. Wire me anything you know."
On the rise of a little bridge Denis Donohoe met a red-haired woman, a family of children skirmishing about her; there was a battle light in her wolfish eyes, her idle hands were folded over her stomach. "How much, gossoon?" she asked. "Six shilling." "Six devils!"
Overhead the sky was winter clear, the stars merry, eternal, the whole heaven brilliant in its silent, stupendous song, its perpetual Magnificat; but Denis Donohoe made the rest of the journey in a black silence, gloom in the rigid figure, the stooping shoulders, the dangling legs; and the hills seemed to draw their grim shadows around his tragic ride to the lonely light in his mother's cabin on the verge of the dead brown bog.
Now the time had come to convert it into such money as it would fetch. Denis Donohoe whistled merrily that night as he piled the donkey cart, or "creel," with the sods of turf. Long before daybreak next morning he was about, his movements quick like one who had great business on hands.
"Well, if you want to do her a bad turn, come down and block her getting Mr. Grant's estate." "Yes, an' put her on to meself What next? I tell you, Mister, straight, I wouldn't have that woman tied to me for all the money in China. That English bloke said there was a big fortune for me in England. Well, if I have to take Peggy Donohoe with it, it can stay.
After some hesitation he handed back one penny for some biscuits, and these he ate as soon as he set out on the return journey. The little donkey went over the road through the hills on the way back with spirit, for donkeys are good homers. Denis Donohoe sat up on the front of the cart, his legs dangling down beside the shaft.
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