My beast, despite her meal, showed no signs of haste, and I was forced to lie patiently on the top of my load, waiting her pleasure to land me in Derry.
The clock was tolling ten as I came on to the Ship Quay, and tired enough I was with my long day's drive.

Yet I was a little proud to have come to my journey's end safely, albeit that story I had told about Fahan stuck in my conscience.
I had been once before with my father to Joe Callan's, who kept a store of all sorts of goods, and was one of the best-known farmers' tradesmen in the city.

It was some time before I could arouse him and bring him down to let me in.

And while I waited, rousing the echoes, I was very nearly being wrecked in port, for a watchman came up and demanded what I wanted disturbing the peace of the city at that hour.
When I explained that I had brought Mr Callan a load of turnips, he wanted to know where they came from, and why they should arrive so late.
"The roads were bad between this and Fahan," said I.
To my alarm he took up a turnip in his hand and put it to his nose.
"I'm thinking Joe Callan's no judge of a turnip," said he, "if this is what suits him.

Maybe that's why you're so anxious to get them in after dark.