.

Penelope weaves a web.
'Why the shovel and tongs To each other belongs, And the kettle sings songs Full of family glee, While alone with your cup, Like a hermit you sup, Och hone, Widow Machree.' Samuel Lover.
Francesca and I were gloomy enough, as we drove along facing each other in Ballyfuchsia's one 'inside-car'-- a strange and fearsome vehicle, partaking of the nature of a broken-down omnibus, a hearse, and an overgrown black beetle.

It holds four, or at a squeeze six, the seats being placed from stem to stern lengthwise, and the balance being so delicate that the passengers, when going uphill, are shaken into a heap at the door, which is represented by a ragged leather flap.

I have often seen it strew the hard highroad with passengers, as it jolts up the steep incline that leads to Ardnagreena, and the 'fares' who succeed in staying in always sit in one another's laps a good part of the way--a method pleasing only to relatives or intimate friends.

Francesca and I agreed to tell the real reason of Salemina's absence.