Father O’Hara brought down his second cock easily, and soon afterward another bird, which Father Conroy had missed. They were drawing near to a long, low farmhouse, with its whitewashed outbuildings set solidly about a yard. Above its blunt, smoking chimney, the sky was green and the first stars were shining out. It was very still. In the solitary fir tree beyond the house, pigeons were grumbling as they settled in for the night. Tree and house had darkened till they were almost one, the last shape of the day.

“Let’s go in,” said Father Conroy. With every step he took, his strength seemed to drain out through the soles of his feet, and there was nothing in him to replace it. His gun hung in a lump across his hollow forearm. I’m beat, he told himself, but aloud he said, “I used to know the old man here.”

“He’s a long time gone now, faith. A grand-nephew of his has the place now. A fine lad he is, too. He got married lately to a girl from the town, a great little worker, though you’d never think she’d be able for it. We’ll go in, all the same. It’s a house you’d be at home in.”

A milking machine was thumping quietly in a building off the yard. The light was on in the byre, and as they passed, an elderly laborer came stooping to the doorway and peered out at them. He recognized Father O’Hara at once but had to be told who Father Conroy was.

“The Lord’s sake! Sure, is it yourself, Father Tom? Faith, but you’re the last person I’d expect to see in these parts. You never came near us for years.”

“Are they in?” Father O’Hara motioned toward the window, from which light poured out through a gay chintz curtain.

“No, Father, you’re out of luck.”

“Off gallivanting, I suppose?”

“Into town they went, to do some shopping, and I’d say, Father, they wouldn’t need persuading to stay on for the pictures or a dance. The young people nowadays! ’Tis they do have the time.”

The priests began to move off.

“But go on in, let ye. There’s a pot of tea inside that I’m just after wetting five minutes ago. The missus baked a cake of soda bread – ’tis wrapped in a cloth – and there’s shop bread in the bin if you’d sooner have that. Let ye go in and make yerselves at home.” And as they still hesitated, he added, “The boss would have my life if I let ye go without bite or sup.”