Their profits go to build the church, to pay the priests, and to fill the coffers of the nuns.

The making of the profits fills the workhouse.

A little aloof stands the Protestant church, austere to look upon, expressing in all its lines a grim reproach of the people's life.

Beyond it, among scanty, stooped trees, is the rectory, gray, as everything else is, wearing, like a decayed lady, the air of having lived through better days.
Such, save for one feature, is Ballymoy, as the traveller sees it, as Hyacinth Conneally saw it when he arrived there one gusty afternoon.
The one unusual feature is Mr.James Quinn's woollen mill.

It stands, a gaunt and indeed somewhat dilapidated building, at the bottom of the street, in the angle where the river turns sharply to flow under the bridge.