TWO STORIES
691
he tugged the sack higher on
his
shoulder. When he had gone some
distance he ventured to look back at the priest. He began to smile
broadly. Had he not the makings of an anecdote? Already he was
rehearsing it. "What have you in the sack, son?" "A turkey hen,
Father." "Where are you taking the turkey hen?" "To the cock,
F:\ther." "H'm ... are you married, son?"
And so on.
The young man threw hack his head and laughed aloud.
The priest went down the road. His brown lips again moved to
the Latin words that his tongue had rounded with the years. From
time to time he made a noise that was half chortle and half chuckle.
Suddenly he stopped. Below him in the road he saw a boy and a
girl with hands clasped. They were swaying towards one another
and away from one another. They had not seen the priest.
As
yet
they were filled with laughter. The priest chuckled fully. Then he
looked at the brambles. Then he glanced downroad again. Just above
the young couple's head and directly on the bridge he could see a
vehement old man striding purposefully towards him, the ferule of
his stick striking the road smartly. After these there would be the
spillings of bright young men from the goaling. Ay, and behind them
again the bevy of young girls who had been watching the hurlers
from the fences.
The priest was braced with pleasure. It had the makings of an
adventurous evening! Turning, he looked to the left to where the
land was flung farthest from him. Already he knew the kind of a
sunset there would be.
It
would be a perfect ending to the day. Soon
the great air would fine down from the zenith through swaths of
apple-green and orange to where tea-time was scrawled in indigo on
the western hills.
THE FOXY LAD
It was an angry night with the sky in tatters. Now and
again a bitter shake of raindrops came sharp and sudden, like a fist–
ful of thrown grain. The moon scudded westward towards the sea
-the tall houses of the square blazed and blackened in its unpre-
