During this, Pierre had finished with the button. He had drawn on his
coat and lifted his hat, and now lounged, trying the point of the needle
with his forefinger. When Shon ended, he said with a sidelong glance:
"But what did you think of all that, Shon?"

"Think! There it was! What's the use of thinkin'? There's many a trick
in the world with wind or with spirit, as I've seen often enough in ould
Ireland, and it's not to be guessed by me." Here his voice got a little
lower and a trifle solemn. "For, Pierre," spoke he, "there's what's more
than life or death, and sorra wan can we tell what it is; but we'll know
some day whin--"

"When we've taken the leap at the Almighty Ditch," said Pierre, with a
grave kind of lightness. "Yes, it is all strange. But even the Almighty
Ditch is worth the doing: nearly everything is worth the doing; being
young, growing old, fighting, loving--when youth is on--hating, eating,
drinking, working, playing big games. All is worth it except two
things."

"And what are they, bedad?"

"Thy neighbour's wife and murder. Those are horrible. They double on a
man one time or another; always."

Here, as in curiosity, Pierre pierced his finger with the needle, and
watched the blood form in a little globule. Looking at it meditatively
and sardonically, he said: "There is only one end to these. Blood for
blood is a great matter; and I used to wonder if it would not be terrible
for a man to see his death coming on him drop by drop, like that." He
let the spot of blood fall to the floor. "But now I know that there is a