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“What does he say?”

“He’s going over in a day or two. He was at the top of his form.”

Then I gave out what I had been given, and she listened with her eyes jumping out of her head. Her mind, and accordingly my mind, was made up half-way through. At the end she jerked upright in the armchair and cried—

“But let’s go and see for ourselves, and I’ll try and get my ‘Baby Exchange’ going. Let’s.”

“By all means.”

This was very late at night or very early in the morning.

Now it is time to ask if the world possesses one true history book. History can only be approximate, for events are without limit, and man is limited. Each observer of Irish affairs has been watching Ireland through the windows of his temperament and his opportunities, and where a man has seen this thing, his neighbour has seen another.

Humbly, then, we put down what we have to tell, endeavouring to fill these pages with the spirit of the times rather than with a tedious list of events.

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“Any firearms?” A lamp flashed on a pair of khaki legs. “Any firearms?” asked the man with the lamp again in a feeble attempt at cheerfulness.