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the potatoes would fail again. No, these men would pay their way and hand over the money they earned, the crops they grew, the animals they raised. They had no choice.
    George Darker, the estate manager, would write down the figures in big brown ledgers. He was barely civil to them, stubbing the page with a dirty finger to show where they were to sign their name or make their mark.
    Sometimes Lord Henry, if he was in the mood, would join them, puffing his pipe, making polite conversation with the men.
    Michael could sense a growing feeling of unease amongst these tenant farmers. He listened as they talked between themselves, behind cabin doors and in crowded public houses. Michael wondered what would come of all this talk. These men wanted change …
    ‘Michael! Are you listening to me?’
    Michael looked down.
    Felicia was gazing up at him, impatient. ‘I’ll be backdown to see Morning Boy tomorrow afternoon, after my lessons.’
    ‘That’s fine, Miss.’
    She raced across the yard, swinging on the open gate, and humming to herself as she tried to catch up with her sister and make amends.

CHAPTER 4
    The Visit

    MARY-BRIGID LOVED TO GO visiting even if it did mean having to get her hair brushed and pulled and braided back into two tight plaits. She swung her head from side to side, feeling the comforting wallop of hair against her cheek as she followed her mother along the bumpy laneway towards the Hennessys’ cottage. Eily walked briskly, carrying Jodie on her hip. The hedgerows were covered in heavy red droopy fuchsia bushes, and beneath them clumps of spiky orange flowers sprang out everywhere. It was a grand day for a walk and their friends’ cottage was only about another half-mile away. Mary-Brigid was looking forward to seeing the Hennessy boys again – it was a while since school had closed for the holidays and she missed her friends.
    The Hennessys’ cottage was a bit bigger than their own, but as they came near it Mary-Brigid couldn’t help but notice that some of the thatch needed patching and the windows needed mending. She waited patiently as her mother called at the open door. ‘Hello, Frances! God bless all here.’ They went into the turf-smelling, untidy kitchen.
    ‘Eily! I’m right glad to see you and the children,’ said Frances Hennessy. ‘And how’s Mary-Brigid, the best girl in these parts?’
    ‘Fine, thank you, Mrs Hennessy!’ Mary-Brigid replied shyly.
    ‘Sit ye down! Sit ye down!’ Frances was busy feeding Colm, her youngest boy, who, with his scattering of pale ginger curls and freckled nose, was the very image of his mother. ‘I’ll wet the tea in a few minutes.’
    Jodie disappeared off straight away to play with little Eoin, who was much the same age as himself. But Mary-Brigid’s friends, the twins, were nowhere to be seen, so she sat quiet and embarrassed as her mother and Frances chatted.
    ‘The twins will be along in a minute, pet,’ said Frances, ‘and they have something special to show you.’ She laughed, flinging back her plump neck and ignoring the dirty floor and mess of unwashed clothes in a heap in the corner. She was delighted with her visitors.
    ‘The fire’s a bit low, Mary-Brigid, will you be a goodchild and run out and fetch in a bit of turf for us?’
    At the side of the house, Mary-Brigid looked at the sorry pile of dried-out old turf which lay on the ground. Her own daddy worked up on the bog as often as he could and already had a pile of turf almost the height of the chimney stacked against their house for the winter. The Hennessys would have to get a lot more turf, as they certainly hadn’t enough here to get them through the year. She selected four pieces that weren’t too crumbly and carried them inside, where her mother and Frances were deep in conversation.
    ‘There isn’t a spare penny, Eily. Paddy won’t even organise himself to cut enough turf to keep us going when the bad weather comes.’ Frances sounded really upset now.
    ‘Maybe