“Oh, John, you haven’t had any.  Why didn’t you have some, too?”

“Because there is only enough for you,” he said.  “If I were to have some, and Cousin Josiah, and all the others, there would be a very little share for you; besides, when I went out the day before yesterday, I had as much as I could eat.”

“Oh, dear, that must have been nice,” one of the boys said.  “Only think, having as much as one can eat.  Oh, how much I could eat, if I had it!”

“And yet I daresay, Tom,” John said, “that sometimes, before you came here, when you had as much as you could eat, you used to grumble if it wasn’t quite what you fancied.”

“I shall never grumble again,” the boy said positively.  “I shall be quite, quite content with potatoes, if I can but get enough of them.”

“The good times will come again,” John said cheerily.  “Now we will have a story.  Which shall it be?”

As the children sat round him, John was delighted to see that even the two scanty meals they had had, had done wonders for them.  The listless, hopeless look of the last few days had disappeared, and occasionally something like a hearty laugh broke out among them, and an hour later the tanner came to the entrance.

“Come to the walls with me, John.”

“What is it?  What is the matter?” John said, as he saw the look of anger and indignation on the wasted features of his cousin.

“Come and see for yourself,” the latter said.

When they reached the walls, they found them crowded with the inhabitants.  Outside were a multitude of women, children, and old men.  These General Rosen, with a refinement of cruelty, had swept in from the country round and driven under the walls, where they were left to starve, unless the garrison would take them in, and divide their scanty supply of food with them.

“It is monstrous,” John cried, when he understood the meaning of the sight.  “What are we to do?”

“We can do nothing,” the tanner replied.  “The council have met, and have determined to keep the gates closed.  We are dying for the cause.  They must do so too; and they will not die in vain, for all Europe will cry out when they hear of this dastardly act of cruelty.”

The people outside were animated by a spirit as stern as that of the besieged, and the women cried out, to those on the walls, to keep the gates shut and to resist to the last, and not to heed them.

The ministers went out through the gates, and held services among the crowd, and the people on the walls joined in the hymns that were sung below.  So, for three days and nights, the people within and without fasted and prayed.  On the third day, a messenger arrived from King James at Dublin, ordering General Rosen at once to let the people depart.

The indignation, among the Irish gentlemen in the camp, at Rosen’s brutal order had been unbounded, and messenger after messenger had been sent to Dublin, where the news excited a burst of indignation, and James at once countermanded the order of the general.  The gates were opened now, and the people flocked out and exchanged greetings with their friends.  A few able-bodied men in the crowd entered the town, to share in its defence, while a considerable number of the women and children from within mingled with them, and moved away through the lines of the besiegers.