"Your sympathies appear to be entirely with the people," said
Kingsnorth, looking shrewdly and suspiciously at the agent.

"No one could live here man and boy and not give it to them,"
answered Burke.

"You're frank, anyway."

"Pity there are not more like me, sir."

"I'll see what it is possible to do in the matter of improving
conditions. Mind--I promise nothing. I put my tenants on probation.
It seems hopeless. I'll start works for the really needy. If they
show a desire to take advantage of my interest in them I'll extend
my operations. If they do NOT I'll stop everything and put the
estate on the market."

Burke looked at him and smiled a dry, cracked smile.

He was a thin, active, grizzled man, well past fifty, with keen,
shrewd eyes that twinkled with humour, or sparkled with ferocity, or
melted with sorrow as the mood seized him. As he answered Kingsnorth
the eyes twinkled.

"I'm sure it's grateful the poor people 'ull be when they hear the
good news of yer honour's interest in them."

"I hope so. Although history teaches us that gratitude is not a
common quality in Ireland. 'If an Irishman is being roasted you will