They could pay no rent." So he sat there, a Jeremiah among the potsherds, quite contented and miserable--well and hearty in a ragged frieze coat, with his hat over his eyes.
While we talked, a tall lusty young beggar-girl wandered in and out unnoticed.

Chickens pecked and fluttered about, and at intervals the inevitable small dog suddenly barked and yelped.
On our way back we met the elder daughter of Mrs.M'Donnell, a girl of sixteen, the "beauty of Gweedore." A beauty she certainly is, and of a type hardly to have been looked for here.
Her lithe graceful figure, her fine, small, chiselled features, her shapely little head rather defiantly set on her sloping shoulders, her fair complexion and clear hazel eyes, her brown golden hair gathered up behind into a kind of tress, all these were Saxon rather than Celtic.
Her trim neat ankles were bare, after the mountain fashion, but she was prettily dressed in a well-fitting dark blue gown, wore a smartly trimmed muslin apron, with lace about her throat, and carried over her arm a new woollen shawl, very tasteful and quiet in colour.

She greeted us with a self-possessed smile.
"No," she had not, been shopping with her mother.

The shawl was a present from one of her cousins.

Did we not think it very pretty?
She was only out for a walk, and had no notion where her mother might be.