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And still once more the two women fell to bemoaning their fate of exile beside the expiring embers, while the elder Gilhooley's voice sounded bluffly outside calling the oxen, and his son was rattling their heavy yoke in the corner. They were well advanced on their journey ere yet the snowy Christmas dawn was in the sky. So slow a progress was ill-associated with the idea of flight.
"The spinnin'-wheels she brung from No'th Carliny," enumerated Medora, "the loom an' the candle-moulds." "The cheers his dad made fur his mam whenst they begun housekeeping" said Jane Gilhooley's muffled voice. "The press an' the safe," Medora continued. "The pot an' the oven," chokingly responded the apron. "The churn an' the piggins!" "The skillet an' the trivet!"
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