This was exactly what we did want, and here we encamped, on the half-hearted advice of some Irish friends in the town, who knew nothing else more comfortable to recommend.
"With us, small, quiet, or out-of-the-way places are never clean; or if they are, then they are not Irish," they said.

"You had better see Ireland from the tourist's point of view for a few years yet, until we have learned the art of living; but if you are determined to know the humours of the people, cast all thought of comfort behind you." So we did, and we afterward thought that this would be a good motto for Mrs.Mullarkey to carve over the door of Knockarney House.

(My name for it is adopted more or less by the family, though Francesca persists in dating her letters to Ronald from 'The Rale Thing,' which it undoubtedly is.) We take almost all the rooms in the house, but there are a few other guests.

Mrs.Waterford, an old lady of ninety-three, from Mullinavat, is here primarily for her health, and secondarily to dispose of threepenny shares in an antique necklace, which is to be raffled for the benefit of a Roman Catholic chapel.

Then we have a fishing gentleman and his bride from Glasgow, and occasional bicyclers who come in for a dinner, a tea, or a lodging.