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 ourSir 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. 
Sg ee et ee eS 
