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"Well, but it was a little hard on your father, wasn't it?" says Mona, gently. Day by day other persons disappeared from the winter camp, and more and more bones whitened on the ground outside the stone lodge on the river bank. "Mrs. Rodney would perhaps prefer to dance, mother," he says, with some irritation..
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"Oh, no! you don't look like that," says Mona, with a heavenly smile. "You do not seem like a man that could not be 'trusted.'" As for instance, in the morning his man assails him with the news that Micky Brian or Dinny Collins (he has grown quite familiar with the gentry around) "is without, an' would like to spake wid him." Need I remark that he has widely hired his own particular attendant from among the gay and festive youths of Bantry? At this Mona lifts her head, and turns upon him eyes full of the tenderest love and trust. She would have dearly liked to go to him, and place her arms round his neck, and thank him with a fond caress for this dear speech, but some innate sense of breeding restrains her. The girl put the bone on the ground and covered it with her robe and began to sing. After she had sung she took the robe away, and there under it lay her father's body, as if he had just died. Once again she covered the body with the robe and sang, and this time when she took the robe away the body was breathing. A third time she covered the body with the robe and sang, and when she again took away the robe, the body moved its arms and legs a little. A fourth time she covered it and sang, and when she took away the robe her father stood up..
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