CHAPTER VII.
A SUNDAY.
Notwithstanding his weariness Donal woke early, for he had slept thoroughly.

He rose and dressed himself, drew aside the little curtain that shrouded the window, and looked out.

It was a lovely morning.
His prospect was the curious old main street of the town.

The sun that had shone into it was now shining from the other side, but not a shadow of living creature fell upon the rough stones! Yes--there was a cat shooting across them like the culprit he probably was! If there was a garden to the house, he would go and read in the fresh morning air! He stole softly through the outer room, and down the stair; found the back-door and a water-butt; then a garden consisting of two or three plots of flowers well cared for; and ended his discoveries with a seat surrounded and almost canopied with honeysuckle, where doubtless the cobbler sometimes smoked his pipe! "Why does he not work here rather than in the archway ?" thought Donal.

But, dearly as he loved flowers and light and the free air of the garden, the old cobbler loved the faces of his kind better.