366 THE FAT OF THE LAND 



door for us, and then took up the Irish peasant's 

 wail for the last of the O'Haras. She never 

 ceased her crooning except when she spoke to 

 us, which was seldom ; but she placed us at table 

 in the state dining room, and served us with 

 stewed kid, potatoes, and goat's milk. The walls 

 of the dining room were covered with ancient 

 pictures of the O'Haras, but none so recent as 

 a hundred years. We could well believe Sir 

 Tom's words, "the sod has known us for a 

 thousand years," when we looked upon the score 

 of pictures, each of which stood for at least one 

 generation. 



The agent told us that our friend had never 

 lived at the castle, but that he had visited the 

 place as a child, and again just before leaving 

 for America. A wall-enclosed lot about two 

 hundred feet square was "the kindest sod in all 

 the world to an O'Hara," and here we placed our 

 dear friend at rest with the " lucky ones " of his 

 race. No one of the race ever deserved more 

 " luck " than did our Sir Tom. The young clergy- 

 man who read the service assured us that he had 

 found it ; and our minds gave the same evidence, 

 and our hearts said Amen, as we turned from his 

 peaceful resting-place by the green waters of Sligo 

 Bay. 



Two days later we were comfortably lodged 

 at The Hague, from which we intended to " do " 

 the little kingdom of Holland by rail, by canal, 

 or on foot, as we should elect. 



