CHAPTER VIII 



The ring of the trowel travelled far on 

 the wind across the heather, a voice of 

 civilization, saying pertinent, unhesitating 

 things to a country where all was loose, 

 and limitless, and inexact. Up here, by 

 the shores of Lough Turc, people had, 

 from all ages, told the time by the sun, 

 and half-an-hour either way made no 

 diflference to any one ; now — most won- 

 drous of all impossibilities — the winter 

 sunrise was daily heralded by the steely 

 shriek of an engine whirling truckloads of 

 men to their work across the dark and 

 dumb bog-lands. The trout in the lakes 

 no longer glided to safety at the recur- 

 rence of the strange tremor and clatter 



that accompanied the twilights, the wild 

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