the oat cakes. With another drop of rum in the milk and his pipe in his mouth there was nothing to disturb the old couple as Maire Bán and the Burla were asleep.
The Captain blew out a cloud of smoke and took a drink. A feeling of drowsiness came over him. His wife looked at him. "I've been thinking for a long time," said she, "that it would be well for you if there were a woman who could make nice oat cakes for you on board ship, or mix you a drink or wash your shirt—you wouldn't believe the state your clothes were in when you came home this time."
The Captain puffed out another cloud of smoke.
"Put another drop of goat's milk in the tumbler," said he, interrupting her, "I put too much rum in it."
That night it blew a gale. You would think that there was somebody hammering at the window with iron knuckles. It was, however, only the bare branches of the ash tree outside that made the uproar.
"It's a terrible night, God save us," said the woman pouring the goat's milk into the tumbler; I'm often in misery on a night like this when you are in danger of being drowned in the frozen seas or in danger of being killed on an island in some wild, outlandish place....."
