“Well,” went on Anthony as if he had not noticed the remark, “this was the condition of Ireland at that date, a school behind blackthorn hedges. When it rained, we got our books wet. And then one evil day, the lookout, a boy by the name of Billie Mehan, may he never wake up, fell asleep on top of the hedge and the soldiers surrounded us. We children scurried for cover but the school master was caught and hung a month later. His name was Michael McKinley. He was sixty-eight years old and had a wife and three children. Some spy or informer had given out who he was and where he was holding his school. The spy received a five pound note for a reward for the deed. That was a bounty for either priest or school master.”
    “Never mind giving us any more Irish history, Anthony, give us your experiences in America”, one of the men interrupted. Anthony was loath to give up his favorite topic of Ireland and her many troubles and said, “My hum drum life does not sound interesting in the telling.”
    “Oh go on anyhow,“ Mr. McIntyre replied.
    “Well,” went on Anthony, “my father and mother died in Ireland, leaving three children, a sister, a brother and myself. We lived for a while with my father’s sisters until they came to America bringing us along. We settled in Boston. My aunts had some money, which they invested in town lots. After a few years, the lots became quite valuable and were sold. My aunts then bought a small farm outside Boston and put me on it to run it. I did not understand farming, so the aunts hired me out to a big farmer close to the city so that I could learn farming.
    My first day on the farm, I was ordered to hang a gate. The boss left me alone to hang it. It was altogether too big an undertaking for one man and he should have known that. The place where the gate was to be hung was on a side hill, overlooking the river. The day was squally, but I managed to prop the gate up and was about to fasten one hinge when a sudden gust of wind tore the gate out of my hands and sliding, tumbled down the hill and dove into the river. It sailed away down the stream.
    Supper was late that night because the boss was late in getting back. After we were all seated at supper, he asked me if I had hung the gate. They had company for supper and as my table manners were not very good, I was nervous and bashful. I did not know what to do or say. Finally, I blurted out, ‘no, I drowned it instead.’ There was a general laugh by all but the boss but he was a good sport and said nothing. The women made excuses for me on account of the wind.