[Illustration: ]

 FAIRIES AND FOLK

 OF IRELAND

 BY

 WILLIAM HENRY FROST

 ILLUSTRATED BY SYDNEY RICHMOND BURLEIGH

 NEW YORK

 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS

 1900

 COPYRIGHT, 1900, BY

 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS

 * * * * *

To

Jane Grey Allen and Elizabeth Allen

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CONTENTS

I. O'DONOGHUE

II. THE BIG POOR PEOPLE

III. THE LITTLE GOOD PEOPLE

IV. THE CLEVERNESS OF MORTALS

V. THE TIME FOR NAGGENEEN'S PLAN

VI. LITTLE KATHLEEN AND LITTLE TERENCE

VII. A CHAPTER THAT YOU CAN SKIP

VIII. THE STARS IN THE WATER

IX. A YEAR AND A DAY

X. THE IRON CRUCIFIX

XI. THE OLD KING COMES BACK

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

"'IS IT TIME?' THE WARRIOR SAID" _Frontispiece_

"THROUGH THE FLYING WATER I SAW THE OLD KING"

"'BLESSED DAYS THERE WERE. ' SHE SAID"

"THEY WERE CHANGED INTO FOUR BEAUTIFUL WHITE SWANS"

"WILL YOU HAVE A LIGHT FOR YOUR PIPE, YOUR MAJESTY?"

"I WAS SITTIN' THERE, WID A SPIGGOT OVER ME SHOULDER"

"THE HORSE WAS NOTHING BUT THE BEAM OF A PLOUGH"

"WHERE ARE YOU BOUND IN THAT SHIP?"

"HERE'S THE POPE'S BULL FOR THAT SAME"

"SHE KNEW THAT THERE WERE GOOD PEOPLE HERE"

"'PAT, ' SAYS HE, 'BRING ME A PIPE'"

"PLUMP DOWN HE FELL THROUGH THE QUILT"

"AND THEN DONALD WENT HOME"

"THERE'S A BLESSING ON THIS SAME SACK"

"THERE WAS A WOMAN LYING ON A GOLD COUCH"

"HE FORGOT THE PSALM THAT HE HAD BEEN READING"

"HOLD THE SPEAR STRAIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU"

"THE NET WAS PULLED AWAY FROM HIM"

"HE SAYS THAT I AM NEVER TO BE AFRAID OF THEM"

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"SHOULD YOU ASK ME, WHENCE THESE STORIES?"

The story which runs through and makes up the bulk of this book is myown. The intention has been, however, to make it conform to the lawsgoverning certain beings commonly regarded in this country asmythical, as those laws are revealed in the folk-lore of many peoples, and particularly of the Irish people. Almost every incident in whichthe fairies are concerned might occur, and very many of them doactually occur, in Irish folk-lore. But in a real folk-tale there areusually only two or three, or, at any rate, only a few, of thecharacteristic incidents, while this story attempts to combine many ofthem. 

The shorter stories wherewith the main story is interspersed are all, to the best of my information and belief, genuine Irish folk-tales. Ihave told them in my own way, of course. I have sometimes condensedand sometimes elaborated them, but I have seldom, if ever, I think, materially changed their substance. I have never had the opportunityto collect such stories as these for myself, and if I had, I shouldprobably find that I had not the ability. I have therefore had to turnfor the substance of these tales to collections made by others--menwhose patient and affectionate care and labor have preserved a greatmass of the beautiful Irish legends, which, without them, might havedied. 

It seems hardly right to give to any one of these collectors apreference over the others by naming him first. But when I count up myindebtedness, I find that the book to which I owe more stories than toany other is Patrick Kennedy's "Legendary Fictions of the IrishCelts. " From this book I have borrowed, as to their substance, thestory of Earl Gerald, in Chapter II. Of my own book; the story of thechildren of Lir, in the same chapter; the account of the changelingwho was tempted by the bagpipes, which Naggeneen tells of himself, inChapter V. ; the changeling story which Mrs. O'Brien tells, in ChapterVI. ; and the most of the story of Oisin, in Chapter IX. , besides partof the story of the fairies' tune, in Chapter VII. With respect toOisin I got a little help from an article on "The Neo-Latin Fay, " byHenry Charles Coote, in "The Folk-Lore Record, " Vol. II. The story ofthe fairies' tune is in part derived from T. Crofton Croker's "FairyLegends and Traditions of the South of Ireland. " This delightful bookas well deserves the first place in my list as does Kennedy's, for itgave me one of my most important stories, that of O'Donoghue, inChapter I. , and it gave me Naggeneen. Him I first saw, with Mr. Croker's help, sitting on the cask of port in the cellar of oldMacCarthy of Ballinacarthy, as he himself describes in Chapter III. Itis not enough to say that after that he came readily into my story; hesimply could not be kept out of it. The tale of the fairies who wantedto question a priest, in Chapter X. , is also from Croker. Mrs. O'Brien's method of getting rid of a changeling is founded on one ofCroker's stories, and a story almost exactly like it is told by Grimm. There is also a form of it in Brittany. Two books by W. B. Yeats havebeen of much value--"Irish Fairy and Folk Tales" and "The CelticTwilight. " Of the former Mr. Yeats is the editor, rather than, in astrict sense, the author, though it contains some of his own work, andhis introduction, notes, and other comments are of great interest. From this book I have the story of Hudden, Dudden, and Donald, inChapter VII. Mr. Yeats reproduces it from an old chap-book. A versionof it is also found in Samuel Lover's "Legends and Stories ofIreland. " Those who like to compare the stories which they find invarious places will not fail to note its likeness to Hans ChristianAndersen's "Big Claus and Little Claus. " The story of the monk and thebird, in Chapter IX. , Mr. Yeats reproduces from Croker, though notfrom the work of his which has already been mentioned. I could notresist the temptation to better the story, as I thought, by theaddition of an incident from a German version of it, and everybodywill remember the beautiful form in which it appears in Longfellow's"The Golden Legend. " From Mr. Yeats's "The Celtic Twilight" I have thelittle story of the conversation between the diver and the conger, inChapter II. It is a pleasure to refer to two such fine and scholarlyworks as Dr. Douglas Hyde's "Beside the Fire" and William Larminie's"West Irish Folk-Tales and Romances. " From the former of these I haveborrowed the substance of the story of Guleesh na Guss Dhu, in ChapterIV. , and from the latter that of the ghost and his wives, in ChapterVII. 

Having thus confessed my indebtedness, it would seem that my next dutywas to pay it. I fear that I can pay it only with thanks. I have nottaken a story from the work of any living collector without hispermission. It thus becomes my pleasure, no less than my duty, toexpress my gratitude to Mr. Yeats for permission to use the stories in"Irish Fairy and Folk Tales" and "The Celtic Twilight;" to Dr. Hydefor his permission to take what I chose from "Beside the Fire, " and toMr. Larminie and his publisher, Elliott Stock, for the same permissionwith regard to his "West Irish Folk-Tales and Romances. " My thanks areequally due to Macmillan & Co. , Limited, for permission to takestories from Kennedy's "Legendary Fictions of the Irish Celts, " therights to which they own. I wish to say also that in each of thesecases the permission asked has been given with a readiness and acordiality no less pleasing than the permission itself. 

I have learned much concerning the ways of Irish fairies from LadyWilde's "Ancient Legends, Mystic Charms, and Superstitions of Ireland"and "Ancient Cures, Charms, and Usages of Ireland, " and I have gainednot a little from the books of William Carleton, especially his"Traits and Stories of the Irish Peasantry, " but from none of thesehave I taken any considerable part of a story. Indeed I have foundhelp, greater or less, in more books than I can name here. 

It may seem by this time that I am like the lawyer who conceded thisand that to his opponent till the judge said: "Do not concede anymore; you conceded your whole case long ago. " But I have not concededmy whole case. I have used the threads which others have spun, but Ihave done my own weaving. The shorter stories have been told before, but they have never been put together in this way before, and, as Isaid at first, the main story is my own. 

W. H. F. 

NEW YORK, September 1, 1900. 

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FAIRIES AND FOLK OF IRELAND

[Illustration:]

I

O'DONOGHUE

It was in a poor little cabin somewhere in Ireland. It does not matterwhere. The walls were of rough stone, the roof was of thatch, and thefloor was the hard earth. There was very little furniture. Poor as itwas, the whole place was clean. It is right to tell this, because, unhappily, a good many cabins in Ireland are not clean. What furniturethere was had been rubbed smooth and spotless, and the few dishes thatthere were fairly shone. The floor was as carefully swept as if theQueen were expected. 

The three persons who lived in the cabin had eaten their supper ofpotatoes and milk and were sitting before the turf fire. It had been apoor supper, yet a little of it that was left--a few potatoes, alittle milk, and a dish of fresh water--had been placed on a benchoutside the door. There was no light except that of the fire. Therewas no need of any other, and there was no money to spend on candlesthat were not needed. 

The three who sat before the fire, and needed no other light, were ayoung man, a young woman, and an elderly woman. She did not like to becalled old, for she said, and quite truly, that sixty was not old foranybody who felt as young as she did. This woman was Mrs. O'Brien. Theyoung man was her son, John, and the young-woman was his wife, Kitty. 

"Kitty, " said John, "it's not well you're lookin' to-night. Are yefeelin' anyways worse than common?"

"It's only a bit tired I am, " said Kitty, "wid the work I was aftherdoin' all day. I'll be as well as ever in the morning. "

"It's a shame, that it is, " said John, "that ye have to be workin'that way, day afther day, and you not sthrong at all. It's a shamethat I can't do enough for the three of us, and the more, maybe, thatthere'll be, but you must be at it, too, all the time. "

"What nonsinse ye're talkin', John, " Kitty answered. "What would I bedoin', settin' up here like a lady, doin' nothin', and you and motherworkin' away like you was my servants? Did you think it was a duchessor the daughter of the Lord Lieutenant ye was marryin', that ye'retalkin' that way?"

"And it'll be worse a long time before it's betther, " John went on. "Wid the three of us workin' all the time, we just barely get along. And it's the end of the summer now. What we'll do at all when thewinter comes, I dunno. "

The older woman listened to the others and said nothing. Perhaps shehad heard such talk as this so many times that she did not care tojoin in it again, or perhaps she was waiting to be asked to speak. Forit was to her that these younger people always turned when they werein trouble. It was her advice and her opinion that they always askedwhen they felt that they needed a better opinion than their own. Thethree sat silent now for a time, and then John broke out, as if thetalk had been going on in his mind all the while: "What's the good ofus tryin' to live at all?" he said. "Is livin' any use to us? We donothin' but work all day, and eat a little to give us the strength towork the next day, and then we sleep all night, if we can sleep. Andit's that and nothing else all the year through. Are we any betterwhen the year ends than we were when it began? If we've paid therent, we've done well. We never do more. "

"John, " the old woman answered, "it's not for us to say why we're hereor what for we're living. It's God that put us here, and He'll keep ushere till it's our time to go. He has made it the way of all Hiscreatures to provide for themselves and for their own, and to keepthemselves alive while they can. When He's ready for us to die, wedie. That's all we know. The rest is with Him. "

"I know all that's true, mother, " said John; "but what is there for usto hope for, that we'ld wish to live? It's nothing but work to keepthe roof over us. We don't even eat for any pleasure that's init--only so that we can work. If we rested for a day, we'ld be drivenout of our house. If we rested for another day, we'ld starve. Is thereany good to be hoped for such as us? Will there ever be any good timesfor Ireland? I mean for all the people in it. "

"There will, " the old woman said. "Everything has an end, and so thesetroubles of ours will end, and all the troubles of Ireland will end, too. "

"And why should we believe that?" John asked again. "Wasn't Irelandalways the poor, unhappy country, and all the people in it, only thelandlords and the agents, and why should we think it will ever bebetter?"

"Everything has an end, " the old woman repeated. "Ireland was notalways the unhappy country. It was happy once and it will be happyagain. It's not you, John O'Brien, that ought to be forgetting thegood days of Ireland, long ago though they were. For you yourself arethe descendant of King Brian Boru, and you know well, for it's manytimes I've told you, how in his days the country was happy andpeaceful and blessed. He drove out the heathen and saved the countryfor his people. He had strict laws, and the people obeyed them. In hisdays a lovely girl, dressed all in fine silk and gold and jewels, walked alone the length of Ireland, and there was no one to rob her orto harm her, because of the good King and the love the people had forhim and for his laws. And you, that are descended from King Brian, askif Ireland wasn't always the poor, unhappy country. "

"But all that was so long ago, " said John; "near a thousand years, wasit not? Since then it's been nothing but sorrow for the country andfor the people. What good is it to us that the country was happy inKing Brian's time? Will that help us pay the rent? And how we'll paythe rent when the winter comes, I dunno, and if we don't pay it we'llbe evicted. "

"Shaun, " said his mother, calling him by the Irish name that she usedsometimes--"Shaun, we'll not be evicted; never fear that. Things arebad, and they may be worse, but take my word, whatever comes, we'llnot be evicted. "

"Mother, " said the young man, "you never spoke the word, so far as Iknow, that wasn't true, but I dunno how it'll be this time. We've beenworkin' all we can and we only just manage to pay the rent and live, and here's the summer over and the winter coming, and how will we paythe rent then?"

The mother did not answer this question directly. She began talking ina way that did not seem to have anything to do with the rent, thoughit really had something to do with it, in her own mind, and perhaps inher son's mind too. 

"It's over-tired that you are with your hard day's work, Shaun, " shesaid, "and that and seeing Kitty so tired, too, has maybe made youlook at things a little worse than they are. We've never been so badoff as many of our neighbors; you know that. And yet I know it's beenworse of late and harder for you than it might have been, and youcan't remember the better times that our family had, and that's whyyou forget that the times were ever better. No, you wasn't born then, but the time was when good luck seemed to follow your father and meeverywhere and always. Yes, and the good luck has not all left usyet, though we had the bad luck to lose your father so long ago. Wecould not hope to be rich or happy while the whole country was in suchdistress as it's been sometimes, yet there were always many that wereworse off than we, and when I think of those days of '47 and '48 itmakes the sorrows seem light that we're suffering now. And I alwaysknow that whatever comes, there'll be some good for me and mine whileI live. I've told you how I know that, but you always forget, and Imust tell you again. "

They had not forgotten. They knew the story that was coming by heart, but they knew that the old woman liked to tell it, so they let her goon and said not a word. 

For a little while, too, the old woman said not a word. She sat withher eyes closed, and smiling, as if she were in a dream. Then shebegan to speak softly, as if she were still only just waking out of adream. "Blessed days there were, " she said--"blessed days for Irelandonce--long ago--many hundreds of years. O'Donoghue--it was he was thegood King, and happy were his people. A fierce warrior he was to guardthem from their enemies, and a just ruler to those who minded hislaws. It was in the West that he ruled, by the beautiful Lakes ofKillarney. The rich and the poor among his people were alike in onething--they all had justice. He punished even his own son when he didwrong, as if he had been a poor man and a stranger. 

"He gave grand feasts to his friends, and the greatest and the bestmen of all Erin came to sit at his table and to hear the wise wordsthat he spoke. And the greatest bards of all Erin came to sing beforehim and his guests of the brave deeds of the heroes of old days and ofthe greatness and the goodness of O'Donoghue himself. At one of thesefeasts, after a bard had been singing of the noble days of Erin longago, O'Donoghue began to speak of the years that were to come forIreland. He told of much good and of much evil. He told how true andbrave and noble men would live and work and fight and die for theircountry, and how cowards would betray her. He told of glory and hetold of shame. He spoke of riches and honor, and poetry and beauty; hespoke of want and disgrace, and degradation and sorrow. 

"Those who sat at his table listened to him in wonder. Sometimes theirhearts swelled with pride at the noble lives and deeds of those whowere to come after them, sometimes they wept at the sufferings thattheir children were to feel, and sometimes they hid their faces fromeach other in shame at the tales of cowardice and of treachery. 

[Illustration: "'BLESSED DAYS THERE WERE, ' SHE SAID. "]

"As he finished speaking he rose from the table, crossed the hall, and walked out at the door and down to the shore of the lake. Theothers followed him and watched him, full of wonder. They saw him goto the edge of the lake and then walk out upon it, as if the water hadbeen firm ground under his feet. He walked far and far out on thebright lake as they stood and gazed at him. Then he turned towardthem, he waved his hand in farewell, and he was gone. They saw him nomore. "

The old woman paused for a moment and the dreaming look came back toher face. Then she went on. "They saw him no more--but others sawhim--and I have seen him. Every year, on the 1st of May, just as thesun is rising, he rides across the lake on his beautiful white horse. He is not always seen, but sometimes a few can see him. And it alwaysbrings good luck to see O'Donoghue riding across the lake on Maymorning. And I saw him. "

Again there was a pause, but she had no look of dreaming now. Her eyeswere open and she seemed to be looking at something wonderful andbeautiful that was far off. Slowly and softly she began speakingagain. "I was a girl then. My father lived by the Lakes of Killarney. On that May morning I was standing at the door as the sun was rising. I was looking out upon the lake, far away to the east. The first thatI saw was that the water, far off toward the sun, was ruffled, andthen all at once a great, white-crested wave rose, as if a strong windhad struck the water, only all the air was still, and no wind everraises such a wave as that on the lake. The wave came swiftly towardme, and I drew back, in a kind of dread, though I knew that it couldnot reach me where I stood. But still I looked--and then I saw him. 

"Through the flying water and foam and mist I saw the old King, on hiswhite horse, following the great wave across the lake. The sun madeall his armor gleam like the silver of the lake itself, and the plumeof his helmet streamed away behind him like the spray that a strongwind blows back from the crest of a breaker. After him came a train ofglowing, beautiful forms--spirits of the lake or of the air, or someof the Good People--I do not know. They wore soft, flowing garments, that were like the morning mists; they carried chains of pearls andthey scattered other pearls about them, that glistened like the dropsof a shower when the sun is shining through it. They had garlands offlowers, and they plucked the flowers out and threw them high in theair, so that they fell before the King. They looked like flecks offoam from the waves, turned rosy and violet by the rising sun, butthey were flowers. And there was a sound of sweet, soft music, likeharps and mellow horns. 

"The King and his train came nearer and I saw them plainer, and themusic sounded louder. Then they passed me and moved far away again onthe lake. The sight of them grew dim and the music grew faint, and Istrained my eyes and my ears for the last of them, and they were gone. Then I could move and speak and breathe again, for it had seemed to methat I could not do any one of these things while the King waspassing, and I knew that I had seen O'Donoghue. "

The old woman stopped, as if the story were ended, but the youngerpeople did not speak, for they knew that she had something else totell. "O'Donoghue had passed and was gone, " she said, "but he alwaysleaves good luck behind him, and he left the good luck with me. Thatsummer some rich young ladies came from Dublin to see the Lakes ofKillarney. They heard the story of O'Donoghue, and the people toldthem that I was the last who had seen him. They came to my father'shouse and asked me to tell them what I had seen. They seemed pleasedwith what I told them, or with something that they saw in me, and theyasked my father to let them take me back to the city with them, for alady's maid. He did not like to let me go, but they said that theywould pay me well and would have me taught better than I could be athome. He was poor, there were others at home who needed all that hecould earn, I wished to go, and at last he said I might. 

"So I went to Dublin and lived in a grand house, among grand people. Itried to do my duties well, and they were kind to me. They kept thepromise that they had made to my father. They gave me books andallowed me time to study them, and they helped me in things that Icould not well have learned by myself, even with the books. I wasquick at study, and in the little time that I had, I learned all thatI could. Three times they took me to London with them, and I saw stillgrander people and grander life. 

"Those were happy days, but happier came. Your father came, Shaun. Hewas a servant of the family, like myself--a coachman. But he was wiserthan I, and he talked with me and showed me that there was somethingbetter for us than to be servants always. We saved all the money thatwe could, and when we had enough we came here, where your father hadlived before, and took a little farm. The luck of O'Donoghue wasalways with us. We had a good landlord, who asked a fair rent. We bothworked hard, we saved more money and took more land, and all ourneighbors thought that we were prosperous, and so we were. 

"Then came '47. Nobody could be prosperous then. Nobody that had aheart in him at all could even keep what he had saved then. What wehad and what our neighbors had belonged to all, and little enoughthere was of it. It is well for you young people to talk of thesetimes being hard. Harder than some they may be, but good and easycompared with those days of '47 and '48. You talk of injustice andwrong to Ireland! What think you of those times, when every day greatships sailed away from Ireland loaded down with food--corn and bacon, and beef and butter--and Ireland's own people left without the bit offood to keep the life in them? All summer long was the horrible wetweather, and the potatoes rotting in the ground before they'ld beripe, and never fit to eat. To add to all that was the fever, thatkilled its thousands, and then the cold. And when the days came againthat the crops would grow, many and many of the people were so weakwith the hunger and the sickness that they could not work in thefields. Ah! and you call these hard times!

"Those were the bad days for Ireland, those days of '47. Not even theluck of O'Donoghue could make us prosper or give us comforts then. Butwe lived through the time, as many others did. The poor helped thosewho were poorer than themselves; the sick tended those who weresicker; the cold gave clothes and fire to those who were colder. Thelittle money that we had saved helped us and some of our neighbors. And we lived through it all. 

"Better times came, though never again so good as the old. We workedagain and we saved a trifle. Then you were born to us, John. We had aworse landlord now. He was of the kind that cared nothing for histenants and nothing for his land, but to get the last penny off it. The rent was raised, and we never could have paid it but for the careand the skill and the hard work of your father. And then, John, youknow that when you were hardly old enough to take his place with thework, let alone knowing how to work as well as he, he died and leftus--Heaven rest his soul!"

For a long time the old woman said no more, and neither of the othersspoke. Then she said: "John, the country is in trouble enough and thetimes are hard enough for you and for Kitty, here, and for all of us, I know. But don't be cast down. There have been worse days than these;there have been better days, too, and there will be better again. "

[Illustration: ]

II

THE BIG POOR PEOPLE

There was a knock at the door, and John opened it. "God save all hereexcept the cat!" said a voice outside. 

"God save you kindly!" John answered. 

A young man and a young woman came in. They were neighbors--PeterSullivan and his wife, Ellen. "Good avenin' to you, Pether, " saidJohn; "you're lookin' fine and hearty, and it's like a rose you'relookin', Ellen. "

"It's more like nettles than roses we're feelin', " Ellen answered, "but something with prickles anyway, wid the bother we have every dayand all day. "

"Thrue for you, it's hard times, " said John; "we was speaking aboutthem just the minute before you came in; but we all have to bear them. It's not you ought to complain, as long as you've good health; nowhere's Kitty--I dunno how--"

"It's not the hard times I'm speakin' of now, " said Ellen; "they'rebad enough, goodness knows; but it's the bother we have all the time, and we can't tell how or why. Half the time the cow gives no milk, andwhen she does, you can make no butther wid it. The pig, the crathur, won't get fat; he ates everything he can reach, and still he lookslike a basket wid a skin over it. The smoke of the fire comes down thechimney, the dishes are thrown on the floor, wid nobody near them, andsuch noises are goin' on all night long that never a wink of sleep cana body get. What we'll do at all if it goes on, I dunno. "

"By all the books that ever was opened and shut, " Peter added, "it'sall thrue what she says, and more. What wid all that and what wid thethroubles that's on the whole counthry, if I only had the money savedto do it, I'ld lave it all to-morrow and go to the States--I wouldso. "

"Leave off the things you do that make you all these troubles, " saidthe older Mrs. O'Brien, "and you'll have no more need to go to theStates than others. "

"What things are them that we do?" Ellen asked. 

"Haven't I told you before this, " said Mrs. O'Brien, "that it's theGood People that trouble you? If you'ld treat them well, as we do, they'ld never bother you. If you'ld even take good care never to harmthem, it's likely they'ld never come near you. "

"It's the fairies you're speakin' of, " said Peter. "Sure I don'tbelieve in them at all. It's old woman's nonsense that your head'sfull of, savin' your presence, Mrs. O'Brien. There's no fairies atall. Don't talk to me. "

"You'ld better be more respectful to them, Peter, " Mrs. O'Brienanswered. "Say less about not believing in them and don't call them bythat name, that they don't like. Call them 'the Good People' or 'thegentry. ' They don't like the name that you called them, any more thanthey like those who disbelieve in them or those who try to know toomuch about them. Speak well about them and treat them well, as we do, and they'll not trouble you; maybe they'll even help you. Didn't yousee, as you came in, how we left something for them to eat and drinkoutside the door there? We've not much, but they like fresh milk andclean water, and we always give them these, and they hold nothing butfriendliness for us. Look and see now if they've taken what we leftthere for them after supper. "

Peter went to the door and looked. "There's nothing in the dishesthere, " he said; "but how do we know it wasn't the pig that ate it, orsome poor dog, maybe?"

"You don't know, " said Mrs. O'Brien, "only as I tell you, and you'ldbetter be attending to them that know more than yourself. If you didchance to give a meal to some poor dog, instead of to the Good People, there'ld be no great harm done, but it's the Good People that get whatwe put there. We always leave it for them and they always come andtake it, and it's that makes them friendly, and so they would be toyou, if you did the same. But you do nothing for them, because you sayyou don't believe in them, and you do worse than nothing. Didn't I seeEllen the other evening throwing out some dirty water and never saying'Take care of the water?'"

"And what if I did?" said Ellen. "Can't I throw out wather when Iplase, widout talkin' about it?"

"You can if you like, " said the old woman, "but when you throw outwater without warning, it's as likely as not some of the Good Peoplemay be passing, and they don't like dirty water to be thrown on them;and so after that your cow gives no milk, your pig is thin, and yourdishes are thrown around the room. Do as you like with your water, orwith anything else, but if you anger the Good People, be sure they'lldo you harm. "

"It's superstitious you are. Mrs. O'Brien, " said Peter; "I dunno whatit is that's throubling us, but there's no fairies at all. "

"Superstitious, is it?" said the old woman. "And so you're notsuperstitious at all, and you don't believe in the Good People! Nowtell me, Peter Sullivan, when you came to that door just now and said'God save all here, ' like a decent man, why did you add 'except thecat?' What did you mean by those words 'except the cat?' Tell me thatnow. "

"Why, sure, Mrs. O'Brien, " Peter answered, just a bit confused, "sure, we're told that cats is avil spirits, so we mustn't put blessings onthem, and when we say 'God save all here, ' we add onto it 'except thecat, ' so as not to be calling down a blessing on an avil spirit. "

"Ah!" said Mrs. O'Brien, "it's not the likes of you that'ssuperstitious. You can't put a blessing on the poor cat, when you'reblessing everybody and everything else in the house, for fear you'ldbe putting it on an evil spirit; but you're not superstitions, and soyou throw dirty water on the Good People as they're passing, and youcall them by names that they don't like, and then you wonder what itis that's troubling you. "

"No, Mrs. O'Brien, " said Peter, again, "I dunno what it is at all. Itmay be the avil spirits themselves, for what I know, and whatever itis. I'ld go away and leave it and leave the country, if I had themoney to get to the States. I heard once of a man that was druv out ofthe counthry by a monsther that I suppose was maybe something likethe fairies--like them in making trouble for the man, anyway. It was agreat conger that lived in a hole in the Sligo River, and I suppose hewas ten yards long, and the man was a diver. He was gettin' stones outof the bottom of the river, and the conger says to him, 'What are youafther there?' says he. 'Stones, sor, ' says the diver. 'Hadn't youbetther be goin?' says the conger. 'I think so, sor, ' says the diver, and afther that he never stopped goin' till he got to the States. "

"That's you, Peter, " said the old woman; "you don't believe in theGood People or strange monsters or anything of the sort, but you wantto run away from them. "

If Peter had been quite honest about it, he could scarcely have said, even to himself, whether he believed that there were any fairies ornot; but he was really afraid of them, though he put on such a boldfront and said that he did not believe in them, to make people thinkthat he was uncommonly knowing. "Mrs. O'Brien, " he said, "do you thinkit's true, what they say, that in the States you can pick up gooldeverywhere in the streets?"

"What good would it do you if it was true?" she asked. 

"What good would it do me? Are ye askin' what good would goold do me?Sure, then, wouldn't I pick up all of it I could carry, and wouldn't Itake land wid it and pay rent and buy stock for a big farm and grow asrich as Damer? What good would goold be? Ha! Ha! What couldn't you doin a country where ye could be pickin' up goold in the street?"

"There's no gold to be picked up in the streets there, any more thanhere, " said the old woman, "and if there was, it would be no use toyou. Only suppose, now, that you had picked up all the gold you couldcarry, and that you wanted to buy a loaf of bread with it. And supposeyou went into a baker's shop and chose even the smallest loaf of breadyou could find, and threw down a whole gold sovereign for it--aye, ora hundred gold sovereigns. Would the baker sell you the bread for yourgold, do you think? Wouldn't he say to you: 'Go on out of this, forthe silly Irishman that you are! What for would I be giving you goodbread for that gold of yours, when I can pick up as much and as goodas that any minute here before my own door and keep my bread as well?'If you could find gold in the street, it would be worth no more thanthe stones that you find there. "

"I don't know how that is, Mrs. O'Brien, " said Peter, "but I can't seewhy goold wouldn't be goold, wherever you could find it. "

"It's not sensible, " said John, "to be talkin' of findin' gold in thestreets, but there's a deal in what Peter says, for all that, and it'soften I've thought, too, that I'ld go to the States and be away fromall these throubles, if only we could save up the money to take us allthere. It's not any gold or any riches I'm thinkin' about, but what Iwant to know, mother, is this: Could a man in the States, if he wasstrong and if he worked hard--and if he didn't drink a greatdeal--could he make enough to keep himself and his wife both, so thatshe needn't work too hard--not so that she would sit idle, I don'tmean, but so that she needn't be doin' hard work and doin' it all thetime--could he do that?"

"That's the sensible and the honest talk, " said his mother; "he coulddo that. Those that do nothing get nothing, in the States the same asanywhere else. But I've talked with them that know, and they tell methat in the States those that will work are paid for their work, andthose that are strong and industrious and honest can keep theirfamilies from want, and that's more than some can do here, God helpthem!"

"It would be a great thing, " said John, speaking slowly, as if he weretrying to make himself believe this dream of a land where a man's workcould make his wife and his children sure of a home and food--"a greatthing. And do you think, mother--but no, no--I suppose not--do youthink, if we was once there--do you think that I could work enough tomake it so that it would be easier for you and for Kitty both? Couldone do enough for three?"

"It would be easier than here, maybe, " was all that the old woman saidin answer to this. She had heard this talk of America many timesbefore, and she did not like it. She would rather believe, and makeothers believe, that better times were coming for Ireland. She was notso young as the others and not so ready to leave her old home, yetlately she had seen how it was growing harder and harder to stay, andthere seemed to be little left of the good luck of which she boasted. 

She was thinking of all this now, and John knew her thoughts, thoughshe did not speak them, and he said: "You always tell us that there'sbetther times comin', mother, and I've learned to know that all yousay is true. She was sayin' it just before you came in, Pether. Buthow can we believe in the betther times? They don't come. They getworse and worse. How do we know they'll ever come?"

Again Mrs. O'Brien seemed lost in deep thought, or in a dream, just aswhen, a little while before, she had told them of O'Donoghue. What shetold them now was a sort of answer to John's question, but perhapsshe told it quite as much to draw their thoughts away from America. She was silent for a little while, and they all waited for her tospeak. 

"Good times for Ireland there will be again, " she said, "when EarlGerald comes back. It was hundreds of years ago that Earl Gerald livedin his great castle of Mullaghmast. He was a strong warrior and hefought many a good fight for his people against their foes. More thanthat, he was powerful in magic. He could work mighty charms and hecould change himself into any form he liked. 

"His wife knew that he could do this, but he had never shown himselfto her in any form but his own. She often begged him to let her seewhat his magic could do, and to change himself to some other form forher. But he knew there was danger in it, and he put her off with onereason and another. But at last, she asked him so many times, he toldher that if she took any fright at all while he was in any form buthis own he could never live in the world again in his own form tillall the people of the country had passed away many times. 'I'ld not bea fit wife for you, ' she said, 'if I'ld be easily frightened. '

"'You might not be easily frightened, ' he said, 'but you might havegreat cause, and if you were only a little frightened you would neversee me like myself again. '

"Then one day, as they were sitting together, the Earl turned away hishead and muttered some words which his wife could not understand, andthat instant he was gone, and instead of him sitting beside her shesaw a little goldfinch flying around the room. The goldfinch flew outat the window into the garden; then it flew back and sat on the lady'sshoulder and on her hand and on her head, and it sang to her, and sothey played together for a time. Then it flew out into the open aironce more, but in a second it darted back through the window andstraight into the lady's bosom. The next instant she saw a wild hawk, that was chasing the little bird and was coming straight through thewindow after it. She put both her hands over her bosom, to save herhusband's life, but she was frightened and she gave one scream as thehawk darted into the room, dashed itself against a table, and waskilled. Then she looked where the little bird had been, and it wasgone. She never saw Earl Gerald again. 

"But Earl Gerald was not dead, and he is not dead, though all this washundreds of years ago. He is sleeping, down under the ground, justbeneath where his old castle used to stand. His warriors are therewith him. They are in a great hall. The Earl sits at the head of along table and the men sit down the sides. All rest their heads uponthe table and all are asleep. Against the wall there are rows ofstalls, and behind each man, in one of the stalls, is his horse. 

"Once in every seven years Earl Gerald wakes at night. He rises andmounts his horse. A door of the hall opens. He rides out into the freeair. He rides around the Curragh of Kildare and then back into thecave, to sleep again for seven years. 

"While he is out the door is open. Once, long ago, a horse-dealer wasgoing home late, and he had been drinking a little. He saw the door inthe hill open and he walked in. And there he found himself in a hall, dim and high. A row of dim lamps hung along the hall, and he saw thesmoke of them rise up to the roof, where many old banners, faded andtorn, stirred a little in the light breeze that came in by the opendoor. And the light of the lamps shone down and glistened on thebright armor of rows of men who sat with their steel helmets bowedupon the table, and behind them were rows of horses, with theirsaddles and their bridles on, ready for their riders. 

"There was no sound in the cave but the shuffle of his own foot, andthe stillness and the sight that he saw made him afraid. His handtrembled, and a bridle that he had fell upon the floor. The noiseechoed and echoed through the cave, and the warrior who sat nearest tothe poor man raised his head. 'Is it time?' the warrior said. 

"'Not yet, but soon will be, ' the man answered, and the warrior's headsank again upon the table. The man went out of the cave as quickly ashe could, and he never could find the door of it again. 

"They say that Earl Gerald's horse has silver shoes. They were half aninch thick when the Earl's sleep began. When they are worn as thin asa cat's ear it will be time. Then a miller's son, who will have sixfingers on each hand, will blow a trumpet, and Earl Gerald and all hiswarriors will come out of the cave. They will fight a great battle andwill conquer the enemies of Ireland. Then the country will be peacefuland prosperous and happy, and Gerald will be its King for fortyyears. "

Peter's mind could not be set at rest by any such stories as thisto-night. "What's the good of all thim old tales to us?" he asked, "Can we pay our rint wid the knowledge that Earl Gerald will be Kingof Ireland for forty years? They do be all the time fortellin' andprophesyin' and predictin' this thing and that thing and the otherthing in thim old tales, and nothin' ever comes o' thim. Did you everknow, now, Mrs. O'Brien--I ask you--will you tell me this--did ye everknow of any of the prophecies in any of thim old woman's tales comin'thrue?"

"It's surprised I am, " said the old woman, "to hear you, PeterSullivan, talking that way--you, that had a decent man for yourfather, and that's a decent man yourself, all but knowingnothing--you, that have heard the stories of your people. Tell me now, did you ever hear what was foretold of the children of Lir, and didyou ever hear if it came true or not?"

Perhaps Peter had never heard about the children of Lir, or perhaps hehad heard and did not like to say so, because the story would be proofthat a prophecy had come true. At any rate, he said nothing. But theold woman seemed resolved that if he had never heard about thechildren of Lir he should hear about them now. 

"Lir was a powerful man in the old days of Ireland, " she said, "He hadthree sons and one daughter, and their mother was dead. The names ofthe sons were Hugh, Fiachra, and Conn, and the name of the daughterwas Fair-shoulder, and beautiful and good children were they all. Lirwas visiting once at the castle of Bogha Derg, the King of Conacht, and he saw the daughter of the King, and he fell in love with her andmarried her. 

"For a time they were happy, and then the new wife began to be jealousof the love of her husband for his four children. It troubled her somuch that she began to lose her beauty and her health, and at last shetook to her bed and did not leave it for a year. And after that timethere came a great Druid to visit her. You know who and what theDruids were, I think. They were the priests of the old religion ofIreland, before St. Patrick came and made the people Christians. Theywere powerful in magic; they could bring storms and could drive themaway; they could foretell the future; they could work powerfulenchantments on people and beasts, and trees and stones, and theycould do many other marvellous things. 

"This Druid talked with the wife of Lir for a long time alone. He madeher tell him all that troubled her, and then he told her what shecould do to be rid of her husband's children. He gave her a magic wandand went on his way. 

"Then she rose from her bed and took the four children with her in herchariot and set out for her father's castle. On the way she orderedthe driver of the chariot to kill the children, but he refused. Thenthey passed near a lake, and the step-mother told the children to gointo the water and bathe. But Fair-shoulder believed that she meantthem some harm, and she refused to go, and begged her brothers not togo. So the step-mother called her men, and she and they forced thechildren out of the chariot and pushed them into the water. Then shetouched each of them on the head with the Druid's wand, and they werechanged into four beautiful white swans. 

"After she had done that, she went on to her father's castle. When herfather had welcomed her, he said, 'Where are your husband's children?'

"'They are at home, ' she answered, 'in their father's castle. '

"'And are they well?'

"'They are well. '

"Now the King himself was a Druid, and more powerful than the one whohad given his daughter the wand. More than that, he was a good man, and the other was a wicked one. He did not believe what his daughtertold him about the children, and so he put her into a magic sleep. When she was asleep he said to her, 'Where are your husband'schildren?'

"And she answered, 'They are in the lake which we passed by the way aswe came here. '

"'And what did you do to them?'

"'I changed them into white swans. '

"'Why did you do that?'

"'Because my husband loved them more than he loved me. '

"He woke her out of the magic sleep and called all his peopletogether. Before them all he told her that she should be punished forher wickedness, and then he changed her, by his Druidic power, into agray vulture. Then he said to the people: 'This creature that was mydaughter has laid a wicked enchantment on her husband's children. Shehas changed them into swans. They must keep that shape for manyhundreds of years; they must swim in the lakes and the seas and flyover the land, and they must travel far and must suffer much. Butthere is a hope for them. Many, many hundred years will pass away--somany that even the Druid's eye can scarcely see what is at the end ofthem. But at last there shall come strange men across the sea toErin--men with shaven heads. They shall build houses and shall set uptables in the east ends of their houses, and they shall ring bells. And when the swans that were the children of Lir shall hear the firstsound of these bells, they shall have their human shape again, andthen they shall be happy forever. But she--the gray vulture--she shallfly in the sky, where it is stormy and cold. Where there are thickclouds and where the rain is made, there shall be her home. She shallnot fly where the heaven is blue and where the sun shines warm. Thebells of the good men from over the sea shall bring her no peace. Herway shall be with the wind and the hail. If she has any rest it shallbe on the peak of some wet crag, where the snow whirls around her, orthe fog drives past her, or the sleet cuts against her, or the coldspray of the sea dashes over her. And it shall be so with her till theDay of Doom. '

"When the King had finished speaking the gray vulture flew away, andshe was never seen again. But the King and all the court rode inchariots to the lake where the white swans were, and Lir and all hispeople came there, too, when they heard what had been done. And therethey all stood and listened to the singing of the four swans. Sobeautiful was the song that those who listened could think of nothingelse while they heard it. They left their horses and their chariotsand stood on the shore of the lake and listened to the enchantingmusic, and never thought of food, or of drink, or of sleep. Even thehorses listened to the song as the people did. Day and night theystood there, and many days and nights, and no hunger came upon them, and they felt no cold and no heat, and no wind and no wet. 

"But the time came when the enchantment that was upon them compelledthe four white swans to leave the place. They rose up into the air andflew away and out of sight into the sky. Then the King and his people, and Lir and his people, went back to their castles, and they never sawthe four white swans again. 

"The four white swans flew to Loch Derg, and there for many years theyswam on the lake, and fed and slept among the rushes along the shores. In the summer the lake was pleasant and cool, the air was clear andmild, the sky was blue, and the sun was bright and beautiful. ThenFair-shoulder and her brothers forgot that they were unhappy. Theysang songs to one another and scarcely remembered that they had everbeen anything but swans, swimming on this peaceful water. But when thewinter came and the ice was all around, and the wind from the northblew the snow against them, so that it froze among their feathers andthey could scarcely move, they were so stiff and so cold--then theyremembered how happy they had been in their father's castle. Theycould not sing now--not even sad songs. They only longed to have theirhuman shape again and to be back in their old home. 

"But after many, many years more had passed they ceased to wish forhome. They had been swans so long now that it did not seem to themthat they had ever been anything else. When the winter came again andagain and again, and the days of chilling storm and the nights offreezing darkness were upon them, the poor brothers longed for nothingbut the end of it all. The thought of the old castle hall, with itsbright fires and its feasts and its music of minstrels and its dancesand its games, was only another pain to them, and they wished only todie and to leave their sorrows. 

"Then they crowded close together, to be as warm as they could, andFair-shoulder tried to spread her wings over her brothers, to keep thestorm from them. She tried to comfort them, and she told them againand again the story that she had heard from the people who stood bythe lake to hear them sing, the story that the King had told, that, after many hundreds of years, strange men should come across the seato Erin--men with shaven heads; that they should build houses and setup tables in the east ends of their houses, and that they should ringbells; and when the swans should hear the first sound of those bellsthey should have their human shape again, and then they should behappy forever. 

"For three hundred years they were at Loch Derg, and then, by thepower of their enchantment, they were compelled to leave it. They flewto the sea of Moyle, and there they stayed, through the summer's heatand the winter's cold, for three hundred years more. Still the sistertold her brothers of the strange men who were to come to Erin and ofthe bells that were to free them. But they could not be comforted. Thestrange men were too long in coming. 

"When the three hundred years were past they had to fly away again toanother sea. As they flew, they passed over the spot where theirfather's castle had stood and where they had been happy childrentogether. Not a stone of the beautiful castle could they see. It hadall crumbled down, and the grass had grown over it for many a year. They saw the fox that had its hole where their father's bright hearthfire had been, and they saw the ditch of dirty water where theirfather used to welcome kings and bards and wise men at his gate. Theykept their way through the air and saw no more; yet they had seen allthat there was to see. It gave the poor swans only a little ache atthe heart, for they were past hope now. They had suffered too much tobelieve anything or to think of anything but the suffering that waspast and the more suffering that was to come. 

"The end of their journey came and they swam in a new sea. Again thesister tried to cheer her brothers, but they could not be cheered. Thestrange men with the shaven heads would never come, they thought. Theyhad waited for them too long. 

"But the hundreds of years that had passed had done more than to bringsorrow to the poor swans. In lands far away a new faith had grown up, not like the Druids' faith. And at last across the sea to Erin camethe holy St. Patrick. He brought monks with him, and they had shavenheads. They went about the island and preached, and built chapels. Inthe east end of each chapel they set up an altar, and they said massesand rang bells. And they built a chapel on the island that has sincebeen called the Isle of Glory. 

"And so, one bright morning, Fair-shoulder and her brothers wereswimming near the Isle of Glory, when, of a sudden, there came to themfrom the shore the sweet sound of a bell. Then Fair-shoulder called toher brothers, and they all swam to the shore. And as soon as they wereon shore their form of swans was gone. Fair-shoulder was a beautifulyoung girl again, and the brothers were strong, beautiful boys. Theywalked up to the little chapel together, and there a monk baptizedthem. 

"And as soon as they were baptized they were young and strong nolonger. Fair-shoulder was an old, old woman, and her brothers wereold, old men. They were so weak with the age of a thousand years thatthey fell upon the floor of the chapel. The monks took them up andcared for them for a few days, and then they died. And so the word ofthe Druid came to pass, that when the strange men should ring theirbells the children of Lir should be swans no longer, and should behappy forever. "

They all waited for a few minutes, to be sure that there was no moreof the story, and then John said: "Mother, it's easy for you to betellin' us them tales, and they may be all thrue enough, and I'm notsayin' they're not. But what good are they to us? The word of theDruid came thrue, but how long was it in comin' thrue? A thousandyears?"

"A thousand years or more, " said his mother; "but the stories canteach us to be patient, if they can do nothing else. "

"They may do that, " said John; "the blessed Lord He knows you've beenpatient, and He knows the rest of us have tried to be. But what doesit all come to? We can't wait a thousand years for the betther times. Pether, here, is right. The States would be a betther place for all ofus. If we had the money I'ld say that we ought to go there. "

"It's not the bad times alone that's in it, " said Peter. "As I toldyou before, I could stand them. It's the bother that we're put to allthe time. It's that would make us go to the States this minute, if wehad the chance. But I suppose your mother could never be leavin'Ireland now, John; she's gettin' so old now, maybe she couldn't standthe journey. "

"Have no fear about that, " John answered; "mother's not so old asyou'ld make out, and she's likely to live longer now than some othersthat's here this minute. "

As he said this John felt Kitty's hand suddenly holding his closer, and he knew that he ought not to have said it. "Don't mind what I'msayin', " he said to her in a whisper; "I dunno what I'm talkin' about, but I didn't mean you at all, darlin', nor anybody particular. It'llall come right somehow, and we'll soon see the roses back in yourcheek, and the smile on your lips, and the light in your eyes. Don'tmind what I said. "

"But what's the use talkin' of it at all?" said Peter. "You've nomoney and we've less. We might as well be talkin' of goin' to the moonas to the States. "

The old woman did not seem to be paying any attention to what theothers were saying, and now nobody at all said anything for a littlewhile. Then Mrs. O'Brien began: "John and Kitty, I think sometimesit's true I'm getting old and foolish. I don't know what has made metalk the way I have to-night I've seen it coming--oh, I've seen itcoming all along--yes, longer than any one of you has seen it--and Iknew I couldn't stand in the way. And yet to be leaving the oldplaces--the old fields and hills and paths--the old streams and treesand rocks--the old places where your father and I walked and sat andtalked so often together, where you were born and where he lies--Icouldn't bear to think of it. It's old and weak and foolish I'mgetting, and I couldn't bear to think of it. And so I've tried to makeyou think of other things and to make you think that it would bebetter somehow, some time. Maybe I've said too much, and maybe I'vekept you from going when you ought to have gone, but you'll know thatit was because I couldn't bear to think of leaving all the dearplaces, and you'll forgive me; John and Kitty, you'll forgive me. Ican say no more. If I couldn't think of it, yet I must do it. It isright that we should go, and we will go. "

"And why should you be talkin' that way, mother?" said John. "Was itwhat you said that kept us from goin' to the States long ago? Sure, ifyou had said nothing at all, we hadn't the money to go, and so whatdifference was it what you said?"

"Listen to me, John, " said his mother; "it was all through me that youdidn't leave this land of sorrow long ago. It was because it had beena land of joy as well to me that we all stayed here; and now, sinceyou're sure that it's right and best for you to go, it's not the wantof money that shall stand in your way. It's yourself knows, John, thatyour father--Heaven be his bed!--was always the careful and the savingman, and I always tried to help him the best I could. The times got alittle better with us, as you know, after those worst ones in '47 and'48, and we saved a little again--it was not much, but it wassomething. Your father left it with me before he died, and he said:'Keep it always by you till you need it most. Don't use it till thetime comes when you can say, "I shall never need this money more thanI need it now. "' So I have always kept it, and I have it now. That waswhy I told you not to fear about the winter. It would have paid ourrent if all else had failed, and it would have taken us all throughthe winter. But it's better that it should take us to the States. Ifwe stayed here and used the money, we'ld be as bad off in anotheryear. Kitty will be getting strong again there, and it'll be betterfor all of us. The time that your father said has come; I'm sure we'llnever be needing the money that he left more than we're needing itnow. There's no more to be said; we'll go. "

For a little while no more was said. John and Kitty gazed at the oldwoman in wonder. The thing that they had thought about for so long, and wished for as a happiness that could never be, was come to them. And now it scarcely seemed a happiness; it was half a sorrow. ThenEllen spoke: "Oh, Mrs. O'Brien, it was always you was the goodneighbor to us! It was always you was with us in joy and in sorrow!What'll we ever do at all when you're gone and we're left here alone, with none to be so kind to us as you've always been?"

And Peter said: "I was thinkin' that same. The Lord go wid you andkeep you, wherever you go, but it'll be the sad day for us when you goaway. "

"Peter and Ellen, " said the old woman "how could you think that we'lddo a thing like that? You may be a fool sometimes, Peter, but you'reyour father's son. Do you know what your father did for us, Peter?When my John was dying with the fever, he sat and watched with him, and brought him the water and the whey all night, and night afternight, when I was so worn out that I could watch no longer. He mighthave taken the fever himself, and he might have died with it, and hedid take it, but the Lord spared his life for a while after that, Heaven rest his soul! And another thing that John said to me before hedied was this: 'As long as you have a bit to eat or a drop to drink ora penny to buy, never let Tom Sullivan or any of his want more thanyou want yourself. '

"And so, Peter and Ellen, when we go to the States, you'll both gotoo. There's enough of the money to take us all there. If you're everable to pay it back, you can do it, if you like; but if not, we'llnever ask you for it. If we went away from here without you, myhusband would look down from Heaven and see me doing what he told me, with his dying breath, never to do. He would come to me at night andhe would say: 'Mary, you are deserting in their sorrow the children ofthem that never deserted us in our sorrow. ' Do you think that I couldbear that? Do you think that I would do that?"

 * * * * *

Now I have told you all the talk that went on in the O'Briens' housethat night. Perhaps you think that I have been a good while in doingit. If you will forgive me, I will try to get on with the story alittle faster after this. Only one word more about this talk: you mustnot think that this was the first time that these five people had evergone over and over this subject of America, or "the States, " as theycalled it. They had talked of it many times, but Mrs. O'Brien hadnever given the word that they should go. The rest of them talked onand on of what they wished. But when she spoke, they all knew that shespoke of what was to be. They knew now that they should never talk ofgoing again, but they should go. 

[Illustration: ]

III

THE LITTLE GOOD PEOPLE

There was a good deal of commotion that night in the rath near wherethe O'Briens and the Sullivans lived. Do you know what a rath is? Isuppose not. It is hard work to tell stories to you, you are soignorant. I will tell you what a rath is. First I will tell you whatit looks like. It looks like a mound of earth, in the shape of a ring, covered with turf, and perhaps with bushes. They are found all overIreland. Some people, who have studied so much that they have lost alltrack of what they know and of what they don't know, say that theseraths were made by the people who lived in Ireland many hundreds ofyears ago, and that they were strongholds to guard themselves andtheir sheep and their cattle from their enemies or from wild beasts. But people who know as much as Mrs. O'Brien, know that they are theplaces where the fairies live, or the Good People, as she would callthem. 

On this night that I have been telling you about, the Good Peopleinside the rath were eating and drinking and dancing and making merrygenerally, as they do, you know, the most of the time. Perhaps youwould like to have me tell you how the inside of the rath looked too. I will do the best I can. In the first place, the walls were all ofsilver and the floor was all of gold. Perhaps you don't know--no, Isuppose you don't know--still you may happen to have heard of thisbefore: the fairies know just where to find pretty much all the goldand silver and precious stones that there are in the world, if theyhappen to want them. They don't want much of them, of course--onlyjust enough to make the walls and the roofs and the floors of theirhouses of, and to put all over their clothes and to make all theirfurniture and dishes of, and all their carriages and their boats, anda few other things--but they know where to find plenty of gold andsilver, if they want it. 

Now I think that I had better give you a little science. I believethat a book which children are to read, always ought to teachsomething, so I mean to teach you as much as I can. You must know, then, that gold is one of the heaviest things in the world. Now youknow that the earth is always whirling round and round, so that thethings that it is made of naturally get shaken up more or less. Besides that, it was once a good deal softer than it is now, so thatthe things that it is made of could move about more than they can now. And so the most of the gold, being, as I said, one of the heaviestthings, got sifted down toward the bottom--that is, toward the centreof the earth. Only a little of it was left near the top, compared withwhat went to the bottom. It would not be at all surprising if themiddle of the earth were a solid lump of gold, a thousand miles thick. But we poor men cannot dig down very deep into the earth. We can onlyscratch a little dirt off the top, and if we happen to grub up a fewpounds of gold we think that we are rich, and the rest of the worldthinks so too. 

But the fairies laugh at us. They know how to go as deep into theearth as they choose, and so any fairy who chooses can give away goldall his life, and still have more of it in his dust-bin all the timethan all the kings in the world have in their treasuries. And theother fairies don't call him rich. 

But now we will go back to the rath. Of course it was all under theground, so that there was no daylight. At the time we are talkingabout, there would not have been any anyway, for it was night. Theplace was lighted up with thousands of diamonds and rubies andemeralds, which were set all over the ceiling and shone like lamps. Now I won't call you ignorant just because you say that you don'tunderstand how diamonds could light up anything, for I don'tunderstand it myself. Let us talk about it together and try to decide. Suppose you try the experiment. Some night, after dark, take all thediamonds you have--every one of them--and carry them into a dark roomand spread them out, and see if they light up the room at all. I amsure that you will find that they do not. On the contrary, if you letgo of them, you will have to go and get a light to hunt for them by. But I suppose the fairies have some other kind of diamonds than ours, or else they know some other way of using the same kind. Sometimesthey use fireflies, caught in spider-web nets, but these are generallyfor out of doors. To light up their houses they almost always usediamonds. 

There were two tiny bits of turf fire in the rath. One of them was atone end of the hall, where the King sat, for the King to light hispipe by, and the other was at the other end, for the other fairy mento light their pipes by. Fairies do not like fire, as a rule, and theywould never have any more of it about than they could help. But I knowthat they must have had some, for I know that Irish fairies smokepipes, and how could they light them unless they kept a little fire onhand?

Now, I know what you will say to that. You will say: "If they couldlight a room with diamonds, why couldn't they light pipes with them?"Well, that is not very easy to answer, but I feel sure that even afairy would never think of lighting a pipe with a diamond. I haveowned up already that I don't know exactly how they light rooms withthem, but it is easier for me to imagine a diamond giving light thangiving heat. Isn't it for you? Now, be honest about it. 

At one end of the hall sat the King and the Queen, on their thrones. Near them were half a dozen fairy men who were playing on pipes andfiddles. All over the floor there were dozens and scores of fairies, men and women, dancing to the music. All around the walls stood or satmany more of them, looking at the dancers, and now and then applaudingand shouting at particular ones, or talking together, or simplysmoking their pipes. 

Suddenly two fairies rushed into the hall, with a little sound likethe noise of a humming-bird's wings when it passes close to you. Fromthe lower end of the hall, where they came in, they went straightthrough the crowd to where the King and Queen sat. They dropped ontheir knees before them for an instant, and then rose and spoke tothem. In a moment the King clapped his hands, with a sign for thepipers and the fiddlers to stop playing. The instant that theystopped, everybody in the hall was still. 

The King stood up and said to them: "Will ye be still now and listen, all of ye, to the news that's come to me this minute, and then will yehelp me to think what we're to do about it at all? Here's these twothat's just come in, and they're just afther tellin' me that they'vebeen at the O'Briens' house this evenin', and there they heard talkbetune the O'Briens and the Sullivans, and it's all decided that boththe O'Briens and the Sullivans is goin' to the States. And it's sorryI'll be to see the O'Briens lavin' the counthry. I don't care so muchfor the Sullivans. "

"It was the O'Briens, " said the Queen, "that always put the bit andsup outside the door for us, and what we'll be doin' widout the milkand the pertaties and the fresh wather, I dunno. "

"Ye needn't be throubled about that, " the King answered; "haven't wealways enough to eat and drink of our own, whatever happens?"

"Thrue for you, " said the Queen, "we have our own food and drink, butit's not the same that we get from human people. Ye know that sameyourself, and it's you as much as any that'll be missin' them thingswhen the O'Briens is gone. "

"That's the thrue word too, " said the King; "it'll be the bad day forus all out, when they go. What for are they lavin' the counthry atall?"

"If ye plase, Your Majesty, " said one of the fairies who had broughtthe news, "we heard all that too. It's the hard times that's in it. It's that makes them all want to go, and then, more than that, it'sthe bother the Sullivans are put to all the time, wid the cow givin'no milk and the pig not gettin' fat, and all that, and they're boundthat they'll go away and stand it no longer. "

"Is that it?" said the King. "It's that divil Naggeneen that's in it. I told him he could bother them a little if he liked, but not tobother them too much, and now he's drivin' them and their neighborsout of the counthry, and we all have to suffer for it. He'll make itup to us in some way, if they go, or I'll take it out of him. Comehere, Naggeneen! What are ye doin' down there by yourself? Come uphere and stand forninst me, till I give ye a piece of me mind. Now, what's all this about the O'Briens and the Sullivans lavin' thecounthry? What have ye been about wid them?"

A fairy who had not been in the hall before had just come in at thefar end from the King, who had caught sight of him. He was smoking apipe. He had his hands in the pockets of his little green breeches, hewore a red jacket, and on his head was a red cap. He came slowly upthe hall, when the King called him, and stood before the throne. "Takeoff your cap, ye worthless vagabone, " said the King, "when you speakto me. "

"I wasn't spakin' to you, " said Naggeneen; "it was you that spoke tome. You called me, and here I am to the fore, though I don't belong toyour pitiful little thribe, and I needn't come when you call, if Idon't like. "

"Oh, needn't ye?" said the King. "Take off your cap now, or it'll betaken off for ye. "

Naggeneen took off his cap. 

"Now, " said the King, "what have ye been doin' to the Sullivans, thatthey're lavin' the counthry and persuadin' the O'Briens to go widthem?"

"I've been doin' nothin', " said Naggeneen, "but what you said I mightdo. "

"Oh, haven't ye?" said the King. "And what was that?"

"Oh, " said Naggeneen, "I just took all the cream and the most of themilk from their cow, and you yourself had a share of it, as you knowwell; and I put a charm on their pig, so that it wouldn't get fat, nomatter how much it 'uld be atin'; and then I druv the smoke of theirfire down the chimney, and I threw the dishes and the pans around inthe night, just so they wouldn't get lazy wid restin' too well, and afew more little things like that. "

"Was that all ye did?" said the King. "And how long have ye been at itthat way?"

"Ever since the day that Mrs. Sullivan threw the dirthy wather on me, as I was passin' the house. But I'm not the only one that's in it. Some of your own people here have helped me, and good they are atdivilment too. "

"And those things was all you did, was they?" said the King. "Anddidn't I tell ye ye could bother them a little, but not too much? Whatwould ye have done if I had told ye to do what ye liked wid them?"

"What would I have done then? Oh, I'ld have shown ye the real funthen. What would I have done then? I'ld have pinched them and stuckpins in them all day and all night. I'ld have put charms onthemselves, so that they'ld grow thinner than the pig. I'ld have tookthe pertaties out of the creel when they were put to drain at thedoor. If they went away from home I'ld make them think that they sawtheir house burning up, and so I'ld scare them to death. What would Ido if you gave me leave? What wouldn't I do?"

"Well, you've done enough as it is, " said the King, "to get the wholeof us into throuble, and now let's hear what you're goin' to do toget us out of it. Here they are lavin' the counthry and takin' theO'Briens wid them, that was always the good neighbors to us, and theythemselves were sometimes useful in their own way, in spite ofthemselves. And now I ask ye, Naggeneen, what are ye goin' to do toget us out of the throuble ye've got us into?"

"I'm in no throuble meself, " Naggeneen answered, "and I dunno what Ihave to do wid any throuble that you may be in. "

"You're in no throuble yourself? Haven't ye been as good as livin' onthe Sullivans all this time? And now what are ye goin' to do widoutthem?"

"I'm goin' to do nothin' widout them; I'm goin' wid them. "

"Goin' wid them! Goin' wid them!"

"Them was me words; you and your silly little thribe can do what yelike; I'm goin' wid them. It's a stuffy little place, this rath ofyours, and I've a notion thravellin' would be good for me health, anyway. "

"But how can ye go wid them?"

"It's not hard at all, " said Naggeneen, "and it's been done beforethis. I was near doin' it meself once. I don't suppose ye remember meold friend MacCarthy. "

"MacCarthy of Ballinacarthy?" the King asked. 

"The same, " said Naggeneen, "and it was he was the good friend tomortal or fairy. It was he kept the good house and the good table andthe good cellar--more especially the good cellar. That was not so manyyears ago--a hundred and odd, maybe. A fine man he was; we don't seehis like now. I lived wid him the most of the time--in the cellar. Andthe strange thing about him was that, though nobody ever had a badword for him, though all his servants said that he was the kindest andthe best masther that ever stepped, he could get nobody to stay in theplace of butler. It was all well enough wid the rest--cooks, maids, hostlers, stable boys--but the first time ever a new butler went intothat beautiful wine cellar for wine, back he'ld come in a hurry andsay that he'ld lave his place the next day, and nothing on earth wouldkeep him in it. Now, wasn't that strange?"

"Did you say you lived in that cellar?" the King asked. 

"The most of the time, " said Naggeneen. 

"Then it was not strange, " said the King. 

"Any way, strange or not strange, " Naggeneen went on, "it was thetruth. Never a butler could he keep in his service. A new butler wouldcome and he'ld think he was a made man, old MacCarthy was that wellknown and that well liked all over the counthry. He'ld wait once atdinner and then down he'ld go to the cellar for wine. Sometimes he'ldcome back wid the wine and oftener he'ld come back widout it, butevery time he'ld say: 'Mr. MacCarthy, sir, it's much obliged to you Iam for all your kindness, but I'll have to be lavin' your serviceto-morrow. ' And nobody could see the why of it. 

"And at long last there was young Jack Leary, that had been all hislife in old MacCarthy's stable, and he knew how the old man was badoff for a butler, and he made bold to ask for the place. 'If I make yeme butler, ' says the old man, 'will ye go into the cellar and bringthe wine when I ask ye, and make no throuble about it?'

"'Is that all?' says Jack; 'sure, yer honor, I'ld be glad to spend allme time, day and night, in the cellar, only ye might be wantin' mesomewhere else now and then. '

"'Then look sharp, ' says old MacCarthy, 'for there's gintlemin comin'to dinner to-day. Wait on the table the best ye know how, and at theend of it, when I ring the bell three times, do ye go to the cellarand bring plenty of wine, and let's have no more nonsinse about it. '

"'Niver say it twice, ' says Jack; 'yer honor can depind on me. '

"Well, ye may belave I was listenin' to all this, for I wasn't in thecellar all the time. 'His honor may say it twice, ' says I to meself, 'or as many times as he likes, but you'll never go into that cellartwice, Jack, me fine boy. '

"So Jack went about his work, and the dinner went all well enough, till late in the evenin', when old MacCarthy rang the bell threetimes, and off started Jack for the cellar, wid a basket to bring backthe wine. 'It's the silly lot they war, ' says he to himself, 'thimbutlers, that they'ld be afraid to go to the cellar and bring back abit of a basket full of wine. The only thing I don't like about it isthat I can't bring it back in me skin instead of in the basket. '

"He was thinkin' like this in his mind as he went down the long, darkstairs wid his candle, and you may depend I was ready for him, by thetime he got to the bottom. So no sooner did he touch the key to thelock than I give him a sort of a laugh and a scream that set the emptywine bottles that stood outside the door a-dancin' together. Jack wasa good bold boy, sure enough, and he got the key into the lock andturned it. Wid that I swung the door open for him, so hard that itcrashed against the wall and near shook the house down. And then mefine boy saw all the casks and the hogsheads in the cellar a-swingin'and a-rockin' and a-whirlin' around, as if all the wine had been inhim instead of in them. 

"You may be sure he didn't wait long afther that, but he just droppedhis basket and fell all the way up the stairs and into the room wherethe gintlemin was waitin' for their wine. Well, it was then that oldMacCarthy was in the towerin' rage. Never a word could Jack say totell where he'd been or how he came back, or why. 

"'Gintlemin, ' says MacCarthy, 'ye'll get your wine, if I have to go tothe cellar for it meself. But this I tell ye: I'll live no longer inthis house, where I can't get servants to serve me. I'll be lavin' itto-morrow, and no later. The next time ye find me at home, ye'll findme in a place where I can keep a butler and have him do his work. '

"Wid that he took the lantern and started for the cellar himself. Ye'll guess that I was in the dining-room as soon as Jack and heardall this, and I was back in the cellar, too, before MacCarthy gotthere. I was sittin' on a cask of port, when he came in and saw me bethe light of the lantern. I was sittin' there, wid a spiggot over meshoulder. 'Are ye there?' says MacCarthy. 'Who are ye, anyway, andwhat are ye doin' there?'

[Illustration: "I WAS SITTIN' THERE, WID A SPIGGOT OVER ME SHOULDER. "]

"'Sure, your honor, ' says I, 'a'n't we goin' to move to-morrow, andit's not the likes of a kind man like you that would be wishin' tolave poor little Naggeneen behind. '

"'Is that the way of it?' says MacCarthy. 'Well, if you're agoin' tomove wid us, I see no use in movin' at all. If I'm to have you in mecellar, wherever it is, it may as well be at Ballinacarthy asanywhere. '

"And from that day till the day of his death me and old MacCarthy wasthe best of friends. And he always brought all his wine from thecellar himself. "

"And what has all that to do wid us?" said the King. 

"What has it to do wid ye?" said Naggeneen. "It has nothin' to do widye, unless ye want to make it, and never a care I care whether ye door not. But it has a good deal to do wid me. It shows, doesn't it, that I was ready to go wid old MacCarthy, and him runnin' away fromme; and just so I'm ready to go wid the Sullivans, now that they'rerunnin' away from me. I've given ye a good hint. Ye can do as yeplase. "

"It's glad I'ld be, " said the Queen, "if we could be rid of theSullivans and Naggeneen both at once, but I dunno what we'll do at allif the O'Briens go away. "

"I'm not over-fond of Naggeneen meself, " said the King, "but it's asharp bit of a boy he is, and I'm thinkin' he may not be far fromright this time. It might be that a new counthry would be as good forus as for the O'Briens or the Sullivans, and, anyway, we'ld still benear to them. "

"Do ye mean, " the Queen said, "that ye think we might all go to theStates along wid the O'Briens and the Sullivans and Naggeneen?"

"If Naggeneen goes, " the King replied, "he'll go along wid us; we'llnot go wid him; but it was just that same that I was thinkin'. And yetwe couldn't do a thing like that widout the lave of the King of AllIreland. "

When the King spoke of the King of All Ireland, of course he meant theKing of all the fairies in Ireland. He was himself only the King ofthis rath. Of course you know that the people of Ireland have no kingsof their own any more. 

"Naggeneen, me boy, " said the King, "just take your fut in your handand go to the King of All Ireland. Give him me compliments and ask himwould he think there was anything against the whole of us goin' to theStates. "

"Is it me that would be runnin' arrants to the King of All Ireland, "Naggeneen answered: "me, that don't belong to your thribe at all, andforty lazy spalpeens around here wearin' their legs off wid dancin' orrustin' them off wid doin' nothin' at all?"

"It's thrue you don't belong to me thribe, " said the King, "and glad Iam of that same. But while ye stay in me rath ye'll do what I bid ye. Why would I kape a dog and bark meself? Go on, now, and do what I tellye, or ye know what I'll do to ye. Be off now!"

Naggeneen was off. 

Now, while Naggeneen is gone with his message to the King of AllIreland, I will just take a minute to say something that I have feltlike saying for quite a little while. He will not be gone much morethan a minute. What I have to say is this: Nearly all the people inthis story, mortals and fairies, too, had the way of speaking thatmost Irish people have, which we call a brogue. Mrs. O'Brien had onlya little of it--just the bit of a soft brogue that comes from Dublin, where she had lived for a long time. The most of the others had a gooddeal more. But as I go on with the story from here, I see no use intrying to write the brogue. It is hard to spell and confusing to read. If you do not know what a good Irish brogue is, you would never learnfrom any attempt of mine to spell it out for you; and if you do knowwhat it is, you can put it in for yourself. I may have to try to writea little of it now and then, for there is some Irish that does notlook like Irish when it is written in English, but I shall use aslittle of it after this as I can. Naggeneen is back by this time. 

Naggeneen sauntered into the hall where the King and the Queen and allthe company were waiting for him, with his hands in his pockets, quiteas if he had been out for a quiet stroll and had come back because hewas tired of it. "Well, " said the King, "did you see the King of AllIreland?"

"I saw him with my good-looking eyes, " Naggeneen answered. 

"And what did he say?"

"He said he'ld come here and talk to you himself, and, by the look ofhim, I think it's a pleasant time he'll be giving you. "

"Then why is he not here as soon as you?" the King asked. 

"Oh, nothing would do for him, " said Naggeneen, "but that he and hismen must come on horseback. They can come no faster that way, but theythink it's due to their dignity. They had to wait for the horses to beready, and so I beat them. "

Naggeneen had scarcely said this when the door flew open at the end ofthe hall, and, with a rush and a whirl, in came a great troupe offairies on horseback--the King of All Ireland and his men. They allleaped down from their horses, and instantly every horse turned into agreen rush, such as grows beside the bogs. The King of All Irelandwalked quickly up to the King of the rath and stood before him, withan awful frown on his face. The King of the rath was plainly nervous. "Will you have a light for your pipe, Your Majesty?" he asked. 

"Never mind my pipe now, " said the King of All Ireland. "Tell me firstof all, who is this messenger that you sent to me?" The King of AllIreland had only a little bit of brogue--the Dublin kind. 

"Sure, " said the King of the rath, "that's only poor Naggeneen. "

"Only poor Naggeneen!" cried the King of All Ireland. "And what areyou doing with him? Do you see the red jacket he has on? Why doesn'the wear a green jacket, like your people? You know what his red jacketmeans as well as I. He belongs to the fairies who live by themselves, not to those who live together honestly in a rath. Why do you have himwith your honest green jackets?"

"Sure, Your Majesty, " said the King of the rath, "I thought it was noharm. He said he was tired of being by himself, and you know how handyhe is with the fiddle or the pipes. If he'd been a fir darrig, that'salways playing tricks and making trouble everywhere, why, then, ofcourse--but he was only a poor cluricaun--"

"Yes, " the King of All Ireland interrupted, "only a poor cluricaun, that does nothing but rob gentlemen's wine cellars and keep himself sodrunk that he's of no use when he's wanted for any good. And hasn't hemade you as much trouble as any fir darrig could do?"

"I was a lepracaun, too, once, Your Majesty, " Naggeneen said. 

"A lepracaun, were you? What did you do then? And when was it and howdid it happen that a lazy lump like you was ever a lepracaun?"

"It was a long time ago, " said Naggeneen, ready enough to talk aboutanything to draw the King's thoughts away from the trouble that he hadmade. "After old MacCarthy, of Ballinacarthy, died, those that cameafter him did not keep up his cellar well, and I felt lonely and sad, and I didn't care to drink any more--"

"Lonely and sad you must have been, " said the King of All Ireland;"but you did drink still, did you not, though you didn't care for it?"

"True for you, Your Majesty, " said Naggeneen, "I did a little, justfor my health. But I was so lonely and so falling to pieces withidleness--"

"Falling to pieces with idleness!" the King interrupted again. "Ifidleness could make you fall to pieces, there wouldn't have been apiece of you left big enough to make trouble in a fly's eye, theselast seven hundred years. "

"As you say, Your Majesty, " Naggeneen went on, "but, anyway, I was alepracaun, and I did what any other lepracaun does: I sat in the fieldor under a tree and made brogues. But it was sorry work and people wasalways trying to catch me, to make me show them the gold they thoughtI had. And one time a great brute of a spalpeen did catch me, and henearly broke me in two with the squeeze he gave me, so that I wouldn'tget away till I'd showed him the gold. And I nearly had to show it tohim, but I made him look away for a second, and then of course I wasoff. And after that my friend the King here let me come and live inthe rath, just for company--not that I belong to his little tribe atall. "

"And now you see, " said the King of All Ireland, turning fromNaggeneen to the King of the rath, "what trouble comes to you fromtaking those into your rath that have no right there. He's sendingpeople out of Ireland that might be of use to you and to all of us. Hewants to go with them, and that is no loss, but you want to go, tooand to take all your people. That might be a loss, though I don't knowthat it would. "

"We think it's best that we should go, Your Majesty, " the King of therath answered, meekly, "if you see no reason why not. "

"I see reasons enough why not, " said the King of All Ireland. "Youdon't know where you are going, nor what you'll find there. You don'tknow how you're to live, nor whether it'll be any fit place to live. You don't know whether the people there will help you or hinder you. "

"Wherever the O'Briens go, they'll help us, " the King of the rathanswered. "We don't like to have them leave us here. "

"You've gone contrary to the law enough already, " said the King of AllIreland, "in taking in this fellow with the red coat. Now you may takeall the consequences of it and go where you like. I don't care whereyou go and I think nobody cares, only I think it may be best for allthe Good People in Ireland to have you out of it. Mount your horses, "he shouted to his men, "and we'll be off out of this!"

He took one of the little green rushes from the floor and sat astrideit, as a little boy rides on his father's cane. "Borram, borram, borram!" he said, and instantly the rush was a beautiful white horse. Every one of his men did the same. Each one took one of the rushes andsat astride of it and said, "Borram, borram, borram!" and every one ofthe rushes grew into a horse. There was a little whirring sound, likethat of a swarm of bees, and they were all gone. 

Everybody in the rath was silent for a few minutes. The King and theQueen looked at each other and were much troubled. Naggeneen, withoutmaking a bit of noise, scuttled down to the farthest corner of thehall. The others seemed not to know where to look or what to do or tothink. Then the King turned toward them and said; "It's all over; wecouldn't stay here now. Wherever has Naggeneen got to?"

The fairies who were nearest to Naggeneen hustled him forward and hestood before the King again. "Naggeneen, " said the King, "it's troubleenough you've made for all of us, and it's ballyragging enough you andall the rest of us have got for it, and we don't know, as His Majestysaid, what more is to come. So now do the only thing you was ever goodfor and give us a tune out of the fiddle. "

It was the only thing that Naggeneen was good for, and the only thingthat was not mischief that he liked to do. He took a fiddle from oneof the fairies who had been playing for the dancing before all theconfusion began. He held the fiddle under his chin for a moment, whileeverybody waited, and then he began to play. 

He played first some old tunes that every fairy in Ireland knows well. But not every fairy in Ireland can play them as Naggeneen did. Theywere tunes which everybody listening in that rath had known forhundreds of years. There were wild and strange airs that made themremember days when Ireland was a strange country, even to them; thenthe music was full of wonder and mystery, like the spells of the oldDruids; then it was strong and free and fierce, and they thought ofFinn McCool and the Fenians, and the days when Erin had heroes toguard her from her foes. The fiddle was telling them the story oftheir own lives and of all that they had ever seen and known. Now itwas a strange music, which they could not understand--which the playercould understand as little as the rest--but it was soft and sweet, andyet deep and bold, and the fairies trembled as they remembered theholy Patrick and a mighty power in the worlds of the seen and of theunseen. This passed away and the music came with the stir and theswing of marching men, and the fairies were again in the days of KingBrian Boru, with Ireland free and brave and strong. It grew sad; itgushed out like sobs from a broken heart; then it was quieter, butstill full of a softer sorrow; now it was merry and reckless. It madethe fairies remember all that they had ever seen in the lives of thepeople whom they had known so long--the cruel hardship, war, sickness, hunger, and then, besides, the faith, the kindliness, thelight-heartedness that had saved them through it all. There were tunesthat every man and woman in Ireland knows--tunes that you know--oldairs that every Irish fiddler or piper or singer learns from the olderones, that the oldest ones of all learned, they say, from the fairies. And under all the music, whether grave or gay, there went a strain ofgrief, sometimes almost harsh and sometimes scarcely heard, and as thefairies listened to it they grew pale at the thought that now theywere to go away from all that they had known, to find something whichthey did not know. While they were thinking of this the music changedagain. It was a soft murmur, like the sound of the sea that is keptforever in a sea-shell. Then it grew loud and rough, with the rush ofwinds and the crash of waves. The fairies were filled with fright, andbefore they knew that they were afraid, the music was singing a songof hope, and then, all at once, it grew as merry as if there had neverbeen a sad thought in the world. 

For a moment the fairies listened to it and all their feet began tostir restlessly on the floor. One of the fairy men caught the hand ofa fairy girl--a fairy girl with cheeks like the tiny petals in theheart of a rose, with a white gown like a mist, and hair like finesunbeams falling on the mist; he threw his arm about her waist, andthey danced away down the hall. In an instant all the rest weredancing, too, alone, in pairs, and in rings. Naggeneen looked on andlaughed till he could scarcely play. All this time his music had movedhim less than anybody else who heard it. He did not feel what he hadmade the others feel, but he knew how to pour it all out of hisfiddle. 

The King made a sign for him to stop. All the dancers were still in aninstant. The lights in the hall went out. The next minute, if you hadbeen outside the rath and had laid your ear down on the turf whichcovered it, you would have heard nothing more than you might hearunder the turf at any other time or in any other place. 

[Illustration: ]

IV

THE CLEVERNESS OF MORTALS

If you live in the city of New York, or if you have ever been in thecity of New York for any long time, you know how disheartening, howterrible, and how altogether unreasonable the climate can be at times. But you also know how heavenly it can be on an autumn day, when thesky and the air and the water are all in a good humor. To see and tofeel the best of it, you must be down in the Narrows, or somewherenear there. The fierce heat has gone out of the air, but there is agentle warmth left in it. All the shores near you are turning fromgreen to brown and yellow, with here and there a dash of red. The sunmakes every sail in the bay a gleaming spot of white. Far up the bayyou see just an end of the city, with the tall buildings standing soclose that it looks like one great castle, built all over a hill thatslopes steeply down to the water on both sides. The Bridge looks likea spider's web, spun across to the other shore. Beyond it all thehills look purple, through the thin mist. If, instead of having seenall this often, you saw it for the first time--if you were coming froma far country, where you had always been poor--if you had toiled allyour life to pay your rent, never expecting to do more--then perhapsyou would look, more than anything else, at the giant woman standingbefore you and holding her torch high into the sky to light the world. 

It was on such a day as this that the O'Briens and the Sullivans sawNew York first. It was on the same day that the fairies who had leftthe rath and followed them saw it too. The O'Briens and the Sullivanshad left their old home and gone to Queenstown, and the fairies hadfollowed them. Cork and Queenstown had rather alarmed the fairies. They did not like the look of a city. It looked cold and stony anduncomfortable. It did not look like a good place to dance out of doorsat night. They almost wished that they had stayed at home and let theO'Briens and the Sullivans go where they liked without them. Some ofthem even wanted to go back, but Naggeneen laughed at them, andfairies can stand being laughed at even less than human beings. Butthey all hoped that when the O'Briens and the Sullivans got whereverthey were going, it would not prove to be in a city. 

Then the O'Briens and the Sullivans went on board a ship and werestowed away in a place forward, with many other people, which thefairies did not think roomy or airy or pleasant in any way. But theywere not obliged to stay in it. They found better places on the ship. Nobody could see them, so they went where they liked. They went out onthe bow, where the lookout stood, and watched with him for sails andfor tiny puffs of smoke by day and for little glimmers of light bynight. They ran about the bridge and swarmed up the rigging. They evendanced on the deck, as if they were in a field at home; and the deckwas dewy at night, just like the field. They fluttered and whirled incircles around the red light on the one side of the ship and the greenlight on the other side, and they reminded them of the rubies and theemeralds that had helped to light their own rath. 

One day they saw swimming in the water beside the ship an uglycreature, like a man, with a red nose, tangled green hair, greenteeth, and fingers with webs between them, like a duck's foot. Therewas another creature, like a woman, very beautiful, but with greenhair, like the man. These were merrows--sea fairies. 

"Where are you bound in that ship?" the merrows called to them. 

[Illustration: "WHERE ARE YOU BOUND IN THAT SHIP?"]

"Where would we be bound at all, " the King answered, "but to theStates, where the ship's bound?"

"And what are ye goin' there for?" the merrows asked again. 

"Sure, " said Naggeneen, "it's followin' the O'Briens and the Sullivanswe are, and it's the long way they're takin' us. "

"Could you tell us what the States is like at all?" asked the King. "Is it like Cork?"

"There's parts of them, " said the man merrow, "that's more like Corkthan Cork itself, and there's other parts of them that's no more likeCork than the sea here is like Cork Harbor. "

"But are there no places there, " the King asked again, "like thecountry parts of Ireland, with the fields and the bogs and all?"

"I can't tell you that, " the merrow answered. "We've never been far onthe land. Deep down under the sea it's the same way it is under thesea about Ireland. There's the land at the bottom, with the sand allfine and firm, like a floor, and there's the water above, like a greensky, and there are the shells and the sea-flowers, and there are theweeds that wave around you and over you, like red and green and purplecurtains to your house, and it's all as cool and as neat as any of thesea-places around Ireland. And if you like to go up to get the warmthof the sun or the light of the stars, there's white sand where youcan lie at your ease, and there's great rocks where you can sit andlook out over the sea and get the fresh breeze. And that's all we knowof it; we've not been away from the sea. "

And after a week of voyaging through the sea--after going on and onfor so long and so far that both fairies and mortals began to thinkthat they must soon fall over the edge of the earth--the ship suddenlystood up straight, instead of rolling and pitching about, and a littlelater they saw the giant woman before them, holding up her torch, andbeyond her they saw the city. And then it was only a bit of a whilelonger till they came close to the city. 

"Look at it!" cried the King to all the fairies, who were crowded atthe bow; "it's like the country, after all! Look at all the grass andthe trees! But it has an iron chain all around it. I don't like thelook of that. " All fairies hate iron. They more than hate it; theysimply cannot endure it. To touch any iron at all would hurt a fairymore than it would hurt you to touch it when it was red hot. 

"But it's only a small place, anyway, " said Naggeneen. "Look at thehouses beyond there! There was nothing like them in Cork! And do youmind them strings of coaches, running along up in the air?"

"I was takin' note of them, " said the King; "sure it's the strangecountry!"

The fairies all followed the O'Briens and the Sullivans. They wereresolved not to lose sight of their only friends, in a land like this. They found that the O'Briens and the Sullivans were quickly taken to abig round house, in the very bit of a place like the country that theyhad first seen. The fairies did not like the inside of the big roundhouse, so the King left a few to watch the O'Briens and the Sullivans, and to bring word if they made any important move, and the rest wentout and found pleasanter places on the grass and under the trees. Theyhad managed to get into the Battery Park without touching any of thehorrible iron chains that were around it. They would have been a verysorry-looking company, if anybody could have seen them. 

"I don't like it at all, " the King said, "and nothing would please mebetter than to be at home again. If they're going to live in that biground house, I dunno what we'll do. We want to be near to them, andyet this is no place for us. We could stand it a little while, maybe. The grass is fine and smooth for dancing, but these lights, like suns, that they have all around on the tops of the poles, are terrible. Dothey want no night at all here? And then what a noise there is! It'snothing but rattle and roar all day, and then the boats do bescreeching around all night. "

"Have no fear, " said the Queen. "The O'Briens would never live in aplace like this. They'll soon be out of it, and then we'll follow themand find a better place near where they go. "

It proved that the Queen was right. Before long there came an alarmfrom those who had been left to watch, that the O'Briens and theSullivans were coming out. In a moment more they came, and the wholetribe followed them. Old Mrs. O'Brien, who never forgot anything thatwas worth remembering, had not forgotten to write to some old friendswho had come to America years before, that she and her son and hiswife and their neighbors were coming. These old friends had foundtenements for them, and soon they were in new homes. There was enoughof Mrs. O'Brien's money to keep them for a little while, and theyhoped that before it was gone, John and Peter would find work andwould be getting more money. 

The fairies followed them, filled with more and more wonder. For milesthey followed, and then for more miles. It was not that the distancetroubled them. They could have gone a hundred times as far withoutthinking of being tired. But they could scarcely believe their eyeswhen they saw these never-ending stone roads and these never-endingrows of stone and brick houses, all built so that they touched oneanother. They could not understand how people could live so closetogether, nor why they should want to do it, if they could. Perhapsyou have never thought of it, but it is really true that the ways ofmortals are just as wonderful to fairies as the ways of fairies are tomortals. 

Indeed, the place where they found themselves at last was not apleasant one for fairies. It was two places, in fact, but they were somuch alike that there was nothing to choose between them. A tenementhad been found for the O'Briens, up many flights of stairs, in a housewith many other tenements. There was barely enough room in it for themto live, though it was better, in that respect, than their old cabinin Ireland. The stairs and the passage were far from clean, and theyled down to a street that was just as far from clean. 

It was hard all over with square stones, which had sunk, in places, and made hollows, which were filled with muddy water. Lean catsscuttled about here and there, and ran away, if anybody came nearthem, as if they expected to have stones thrown at them, and then, when the danger seemed past, they rummaged in the ash-barrels forscraps of meat or fish or bread. The people who lived in the housessat on the doorsteps and on the curb-stones, and chattered andlaughed and quarrelled and slept. The sun shone into the street, butit could not shine between the houses. A breeze blew up from the EastRiver, which was not far away, but the air was none too fresh, for allthat. The place that had been found for the Sullivans was in anotherstreet, not far away. It was much the same, as I have said, but it waseven smaller, for there were only two of the Sullivans, and they couldget on with less space. 

The fairies were fairly terrified at all this. And was it any wonder?The poor little Good People! They had been used to a beautiful, brighthall, to green, fresh grass to dance on in the quiet, misty moonlight, and to cool shade for the day. What could they do in such a place asthis? They remembered how the King of All Ireland had told them thatthey did not know whether the place where they were going was a placefit for them to live in. 

The first thing that the King did was to send some of the fairies inall directions to see if they could spy out any place where the wholetribe could live in a decent and comfortable manner. The street, hewas sure, would never do. Of course, if the Fairy King wanted a rockor a hill to open and let him into it, it would open, and he couldlive in it, if he chose, just as he used to in his own old rath. Andno mortal who might happen to be about would know that anythingunusual was happening. And just so the street would open for him, ifhe wanted it to. But before he had decided to try it he saw a placewhere some men had opened it, and that was quite enough for him. Ifyou have ever seen a New York street opened, you know what it waslike; if you have not, it is of no use to try to tell you. 

But the messengers whom the King had sent in all directions werescarcely gone when those who had started toward the west were backwith joyful news. "We have found a beautiful place, " they said. "It'sonly a bit of a way from here, and if we live there we'll not be farfrom the O'Briens. Ye never saw grass smoother in your life, thoughit's not quite so green, maybe, as it is at home. And then there'stall trees of all kinds, and there's bushes that'll have flowers onthem, belike, in the right time of the year. And there's smooth roadsand walks, and there's hills and great rocks, that we could liveinside of as easy as in a rath itself. It's a much quieter place thanhere, too, and the air is better, though it's so near. It's not widetoward the west, but off to the south it reaches as far as we can see, like a forest. "

The King left a guard to watch, lest the O'Briens should like theplace as little as himself and should leave it and be lost, and thenhe hurried with the rest to see the new country that had beendiscovered. If you know New York very well indeed, you have guessedalready that it was the north end of Central Park which the fairieshad found. But you may know New York pretty well and not know, as agood many people who live in it do not, that there is any north end toCentral Park, still less that it is far prettier than the south end. 

After all the distressing streets and houses that he had seen, theKing was delighted with it. He found a big rock, which was the base ofa hill, and at the top of it stood a queer little square stone house. Back in this hill, he declared, behind the rock and under the stonehouse, would be as pleasant a place to live as ever the rath was. Hemade the rock open, and he and all the fairies with him went in, although the policemen and the men and women in carriages and onhorses and on bicycles and on foot who were all about, did not seethat the rock looked at all different. 

"A fine place for us it will make, " said the King; "we couldn't beasking for a better. Get to work now, all of you. Hollow out theinside of the hill, only leave pillars to hold up the roof, and go andfind gold for the floor and silver for the walls, and you can haveevery other pillar gold and every other one silver, after you get therest done, and take down the rock that you left. And then finddiamonds and rubies and emeralds to light it with. "

No, I am not going to explain to you how the fairies did all this. Ishall not tell you how they got the rock out nor what they did with itafter they got it out. I will tell you all that there is any need ofyour knowing about it, and that is that in a very short time it wasall done; that the new fairy palace was as much larger and finer andbetter than any fairy palace in Ireland ever was as we Americansintend that everything here shall be larger and finer and better thananything anywhere else. And it was all done before the most of themessengers who had been sent in other directions got back to tell whatthey had found. 

These fairies went straight to where the O'Briens lived, and there thefairies who had been left on guard told them where to find the King, and asked them to say to him that they were tired of their duty andthey wished that he could send somebody else to take their places. 

The fairies were not much surprised when they found the King and allthe tribe settled in a new palace, as comfortably as if they had nevermoved. The building of a palace in a night is no more to a fairy thanit is to a New York man to come back after he has been out of town fora month and find a house twenty stories high in a place where therewas a hole in the ground when he went away. 

"What's the use at all to be tellin' Your Majesty what we've found inthe places we've been, " said one of the first who came back, "and youlivin' this minute in the finest palace that was ever dug out of ahill?"

"You may tell us all the same, " said the King. 

"Well and good, " said the fairy. "It's to the south I've been. Firstthere's all this island that we're on, down to the place with thegrass and the iron chain around it. Then there's the bay, with theships. Then there's another island, with hills and trees, and thenthere's the sea, and a long shore, all sand, and hundreds of houses, big and little, where people live. And that's all. "

Another fairy said: "I went farther to the west than this, but notmuch farther till I came to a great river. Of course I couldn't becrossin' the runnin' water, so I went round the mouth of it and thenkept on. The country was all flat for a good way, and bars of ironeverywhere, laid two and two, so many of them that I didn't dare restanywhere, and there were towns and plenty of people, and then at longlast I came to hills. "

I suppose you know, without my telling you, that fairies cannot bearto cross running water, any more than they can bear to touch iron, andthat was why this fairy had to go around the mouth of the Hudson Riverinstead of going across it. 

Then came another fairy, who had been to the north, and he said: "Itbeats everything, the lovely country I've seen. Never a better did Isee anywhere. Hills and woods and mountains, and the trees all yellowand red and green and brown. I went up the big river on this side fora long way, and then I saw great mountains on the other side. Sobeautiful they looked, I wanted to go to them, only, sure, I couldn'tcross the river. So I went round the head of it and came down back tothe mountains. And there I found that they were full of fairiesalready. But they seemed to be Dutch, and it's little English theycould talk, let alone Irish. Still we got along, and they gave me somemighty fine drink that they had. And they said that we could comethere, the whole tribe, and welcome kindly, and I'ld say it was a goodplace to go, only it's farther off than this from them we want to benear. "

"We'll stay where we are, " said the King. "It's as well that we knowwhat's all around us, but here we'll be more to ourselves, as manypeople as there are, for I'm thinkin' there's no fairies but us here. "

Then slowly out of the crowd of fairies one came forward and said:"Your Majesty, could I be saying something that's breakin' my heart?It's hard for me to say and it'll maybe be harder for you to hear; butit's on my mind and I can't get it off my mind. Will you forgive me ifI say it?"

And the King answered: "It's much that's bad and a little that's goodwe've heard since we left our own home. But it's best that we know allthere is to know, bad or good. Say what you have to say. "

"It's not far I've been, " said the fairy; "only around here in thecity that's all about us; but many things I've seen, and wonderfulthings. Ah, Your Majesty, don't blame me for what I'm saying, butwhat's to become of us all and of you yourself, I dunno. We know allabout magic; we've known all about it for years--aye, for ages. And wethought that made us better than mortals. We thought they could neverdo the things we could do; maybe they never can. But oh, Your Majesty, they're doing things as good as we can do, or better. You wouldn'tbelieve what the mortals in this country do, if you wasn't afterseein' it. They do things as wonderful as we ourselves, and it's iron, iron, iron everywhere. We can do nothing with iron--we can't touchit--and what will we do at all to be ahead of them, or even up withthem?"

"What's all this they do?" said the King. 

"You saw yourself, " the fairy said, "the coaches that went along up inthe air. They go on bridges, miles long, built of iron. And they runon bars of iron. You saw for yourself that they had no horses, and thecoach in front that pulls them is all made of iron, and men ride inthem, as if it was no harm at all to touch iron. And that's not all. There are other coaches that go in the streets without horses. Theyhave no iron coach in front to pull them. They go in different ways. Sometimes there's an iron rope, that's all the time moving and movingalong under the street, and there's a gripping iron under the coachthat takes hold on it, and so it's pulled along. And sometimes there'sonly a little string--not iron, I think, but some other metal--andsomething just reaches down from the coach and touches it, and thatmakes it go. I dunno how it is, but it makes it go. And sometimesthere's fire comes out of it. "

Then another fairy came out of the crowd and stood before the King. "Your Majesty, " he said, "I can tell you more than that. I have beenabout the city, too, and I went into some of the houses. I saw a mantalking to a little box on the wall. I came close and I heard that thebox was talking to him too. I thought there was a fairy inside it, butI looked inside, and there was nothing there but iron and strangeworks that I couldn't understand. There were little strings of coppercoming out of the box, and then a long string of iron, that led awayover the tops of the houses. "

The fairy stopped and shivered as he thought of the horrible string ofiron. Then he went on: "I followed it and it came into another house, where there was so much iron that I couldn't stay there. But thestrings of iron came out of this house and led in all directions. Ifollowed them and I listened everywhere and I found what they werefor, though how they do it all I dunno. And it's this way: Anywherethat there's a box you can talk to them that's in the house where allthe iron strings go. And if they like to help you, you can talk toanybody else where there's a box. It may be a mile off or it may be adozen miles off. Many a time those in the house where all the stringsare will not help them that wants to talk, but when they will, it'seasy. Yes, Your Majesty, one man talks to another ten miles off, as ifhe was standing by his side. "

"Your Majesty, " said another fairy, "you saw yourself the brightlights that were at the place where the grass was, that we came tofirst, and you've seen thousands more of them since. Do you know thatthey're not candles, and they're not lamps, and that there's no fireto them at all? There's strings of something, whatever it is, from oneof them to another, and the light goes through that, whatever it is. "

"There's another thing that they do with strings like that, " saidstill another fairy. "I saw men doing it not far from here. They madea hole in a rock and they put one end of a string in it. Then wherethe other end was, a man pushed a thing like a sort of handle, and therock was all burst open, and nobody had touched it. "

And another fairy said: "Your Majesty, there are boats all the timegoing across the rivers--across the running water. Of course we alwaysknew that mortals could cross running water, but these boats gowithout sails or oars, like the ship that we came here on. To be sureI couldn't go on one, because it was across running water, but I wentnear one, when it was at the shore, and it was all full of iron, and Igot the most awful pains from being near it. It was as bad, almost, asI felt coming here, when I'ld get too near the iron sides of theship. "

"And a strange thing it was that I saw too, " said another fairy. "Isaw people looking into little boxes of wood, so I looked in too. Andin one I saw a woman dancing, and in another there were horsesrunning, and in another I saw two men fighting. And it was not a realwoman or real horses or real men, but only pictures that moved and didthe things that real people and horses would do. "

The King listened to all this and then he sat and thought. "What isthere in it that I can't do?" he asked. "Do you not all know of thecoaches in Ireland that are drawn by horses without heads and drivenby coachmen without heads?"

All the fairies looked at one another and nodded and said, "Yes, yes, we know. "

But Naggeneen came forward and stood before the throne. Nobody hadnoticed that he had been listening or that he was there. "And what ifthose coaches were in Ireland?" he said. "They had horses, though thehorses had no heads. Can you make iron coaches go without any horsesat all?"

The King was trying to talk boldly, but he stammered and grew pale atthe very thought of having anything to do with an iron coach, and hedid not answer. He went on instead: "Can I not send any one of you ona message, as fast as the wind?"

"But can you talk for ten miles, " Naggeneen asked, "and will the veryvoice of you go as fast as the lightning?"

"Why would I want to be doin' that, " said the King, "when I can send amessenger as fast as I like?"

"That's not the question, " said the cruel Naggeneen; "can you do it?"

"I never tried, " said the King. "And can I not light up this palace, "he went on, "or any other palace, with diamonds? Can I not make alight so that a man who looks behind him when he is going on a journeyor at work in the fields will think his house is on fire and runback?"

"And when he has run back, " said Naggeneen, "will he find that hishouse is on fire? You know that he will not. It's only glamour, andhe'll soon be laughing at you. Oh, we can catch a few firebugs inspiders' webs and deceive a boy or a girl that's passing, and maybemake them turn aside and dance with us, but can you put real lightsall over the country for miles--lights that will burn on and on andshow real things? Our lights are lies themselves and they can no morethan lead a silly mortal astray for a time; their lights tell thetruth. What else can you do?"

The King had lost the most of his boldness. "They say, " he said, "thatmen can burst open the rock. Can I not do that as well?"

"You can open this rock for us to pass through, " said Naggeneen; "andwhat then? A man can see it open for a moment, if you choose to lethim, and the next minute it's all as one as if you had never touchedit. And the man thinks that's wonderful, for he doesn't know that youcan do it no other way. All glamour again! Can you burst the rock openand leave it open, so that it will always be so, for mortal and forfairy?"

"Why should I want to be doin' that?" said the King. 

"For the same reason makes the men want to do it, but you couldn't. And those boats that cross the river, full of iron--can you make them, and can you cross the running water in them?"

The King had no voice to answer. "And the pictures in the boxes, "Naggeneen went on; "can you make pictures dance?"

"Sure, " said the King, "I can make a man think he sees anything Ilike--a woman dancing or a horse running, or anything. "

"Glamour! Glamour! Glamour!" cried Naggeneen. "You can make him thinkhe sees! Yes, but he does not see. You can no more make a picturedance than you can cross a river!" And Naggeneen turned on his heeland walked off, as if he thought the King a poor creature that was notworth talking to. 

The King had no more courage left in him than if he had been talkingto the King of All Ireland instead of to Naggeneen. "Naggeneen, " hecried, "come back and tell us something better nor all this. It's notpleasant you are in your talk, and it's often you make me angry withyou, but after all you're cleverer than any of us. Tell us what to do. It was not like this where we lived before. There we could do allmanner of things that mortals could not, and they were afraid of us. "

"And so here too, " said Naggeneen, "you can do all manner of thingsthat mortals cannot, but they can do as many that you cannot--as manyand better. "

"But what are we to do, " the King went on, "to show them that we'retheir masters? Sure we're cleverer than them all out, and we can proveit in some way. "

"King, " said Naggeneen, speaking as boldly as if he were himself agreater king, "you can never prove that you're cleverer than men, foryou're not cleverer. It was a poor, wasted, weak, and sorrowfulcountry that we came from, and it's a rich, new, strong, and happycountry that we've come to. There's the differ. Clever you are, maybe, and your people, too, and I may be clever in my own way, and we mayplay our little tricks on mortals, as I did on the Sullivans, ifthey're as stupid as them. But mortals can be cleverer than we evercan when they are clever, and they can beat us every time if they knowhow. And do you know why? Because they have what we have not--becausethey have souls. I heard a school-master say once that the word'mortal' was made from a word that meant death. And they call mortalsthat, I'm thinkin', because they never die. But you will die, King, and all your people, and I. We live on and on for thousands of years, and men come and change and pass away, but at the last day we shall begone, as a bit of cloud up in the sky is gone when the sun shines onit. That's why men will always be greater and finer and stronger thanus, with all our magic. "

The fairies were all so terrified that they shrank away from Naggeneenand clung together and shook, in their fright, for this fear of livingfor a long time and then going out like a candle is their greatestfear. There was not a bit of color left in the King's face now. It wasalmost with a sob that he spoke again, and there was a kind ofbeseeching in his tone as he said: "Naggeneen, don't talk like that tous! We don't know it! It may be so, but we don't know it! We've triedmany a time to find out, but no one that knew would ever tell us! Wemay have souls! We don't know that we've not! We may be saved!"

"You do know it!" Naggeneen cried. "Why will you try to deceiveyourselves? You've no soul and I've no soul, and there's no way thatwe can have them. If there'd been any way, I'ld have had one long ago. But we'll never have them, and mortals will always outwit us, if theyhalf know how. Shall I tell you how one of them outwitted me--a big, lazy, stupid gommoch, with not enough brains to keep his neck safe?"

The fairies were far past caring whether they heard a story or not, but they listened as Naggeneen went on. "I'm after tellin' you, " hesaid, "that if there was any way that one of us could be gettin' asoul, I'ld have had one long ago. This was the way I tried it, and asilly mortal outwitted me. Guleesh na Guss Dhu was the name that wason him. I had heard--and I believed it--that if I could get a mortalwoman married to me--a woman with a soul--that I would get a soul, too, that way. Well, I was never over-modest in my tastes, you know, and I thought that the daughter of the King of France was about rightfor me. A beautiful girl she was, with the rose and the lily fightingin her cheeks, and she was eighteen years old. But sure I thought thatthe differ of a few thousand years in our ages would be nothing to me, and I hoped it would be nothing to her either. 

"I was living in a rath and wearing a green jacket then. All theothers in the rath promised that they'ld help me. The King's daughterwas to be married to the son of the King of another country onNovember Eve; and you know there's no better time to steal a girl thanthe night she's to be married, and November Eve is a fine time, too, so it was settled that we'ld go over to France and steal her on thatnight. But, as you know, we needed a mortal to help us. How else couldwe be bringin' her across from France? If we could put her on a horsebehind a man, she'ld have flesh and blood to take a grip of, but ifshe was put up behind one of us, she might as well try to hold to apuff of smoke. You know that. 

"We got ready, making sure that we'ld find some fool of a mortal readyfor us when the time came, and sure enough, when we'd been out for alittle look at the country before starting, and were coming back, there sat this same Guleesh na Guss Dhu, between the rath and thegable of his father's house, that was near by, staring up at the moon, like he'd never seen one before. There was no need to try to catch himor to bring him with us, or the likes of that. All we had to do was tolet him hear us as we passed and let him see the door of the rathopen, and in he came of himself to see what it was all about. Wehadn't let him see ourselves yet, but he heard us all calling: 'Myhorse and bridle and saddle! My horse and bridle and saddle!' and whatdid he do but call out after us: 'My horse and bridle and saddle!'

"There was the beam of a plough lying near, and I changed it into ahorse for him, and pleased he was when he saw it standing forninsthim, with its bridle of gold and saddle of silver and all. The minutehe saw it he jumped on it, and then we let him see all ourselves andour horses, and he nearly fell off again, with the sight of the crowdof us. 

"Then I said to him: 'Are you coming with us to-night, Guleesh?'

"'I am, ' he said. 

"And with that we set off, and we overtook the wind that was beforeus, and the wind that was behind us did not overtake us. And we neverstopped till we came to the sea. Then every one of us said: 'Hie overcap! Hie over cap!' and Guleesh said it after us, and the next secondwe was all up in the air, and we never stopped till we was in Rome. And why the whole tribe wanted to go by the way of Rome, never a knowI know, for it's not on the way from Ireland to the palace of the Kingof France at all. 

"Then I spoke up to Guleesh and says I: 'Do you know why we broughtyou here?' says I. 'The daughter of the King of France is to bemarried this night, and we mean to carry her off, and we need you sothat she can sit behind you on the horse, for you are flesh and bloodand she'll have something to hold to. Will you do that for us now?'

"'I'll do whatever you say, ' says Guleesh; 'and where are we now, ifyou please?'

"'We're in Rome, ' says I. 

"'Oh, in Rome is it?' says Guleesh. 'Sure, then, I'm glad of that. Thepriest of our parish lost his place a little while ago, only becausethey said he drank too much, as if there'ld be any harm in that, andnow is the fine time to go to the Pope and get a bull to put him backin his place. '

"'Ah, we've no time for that, Guleesh, ' says I, 'and we must begettin' to the palace of the King of France before we lose any more. '

"'Not a foot will I go, ' says Guleesh, 'till I get the bull for thepriest. You can go on and leave me here if you like, and you can stopfor me when you come back. '

"Well, we had more talk about it, and then one of the others says:'Sure, Naggeneen, we can't go without him and we can't get him to comewith us, so we'll have to try to get the Pope's bull for him. Go withhim to the Pope and help him all you can, and we'll wait for you. '

"'Come with me, then, ' says I, and I took him by the hand, and beforehe knew how I did it, I had him in the room where the Pope was. ThePope was sitting by himself, reading a book, and he had a tumbler ofhot whiskey, with a little bit of sugar, beside him on the table, allas comfortable as you please. 'Now, Guleesh, ' says I, 'ask him for thebull, and tell him that if he won't give it to you, you'll set thehouse on fire. Then leave the rest to me. '

"So Guleesh walked up to him as bold as you please, and when the Popesaw him he was near scared to death, because he thought that nobodycould get into the room where he was. Then Guleesh says to him: 'Don'tbe afraid, Your Honor; all I want of you is your bull to put ourparish priest back in his place, that lost it some time ago, becausesomebody told lies about him and said that he drank too much. And whenI have your bull I'll be leavin' you in peace again. '

"'Go on out o' this, ' says the Pope; 'where are all my servants?' andhe began calling for them, but Guleesh put his back against the door, so that nobody could open it on the other side, and then he begantelling the Pope all about the priest, and the Pope had nothing to dobut listen. 

"And when he was done the Pope refused up and down to give him anypardon for the priest. 'Then, ' says Guleesh, 'unless you give it tome at once I'll burn your house. ' And with that I began blowing fireout of my mouth all around the room. 

"'Oh, stop the fire, ' cries the Pope, 'and I'll give you the pardon oranything else you ask!'

"So then I stopped the fire, and the Pope sat down and wrote thepardon for the priest, giving him back his old place, and gave it toGuleesh. That second I caught him by the hand and we were off againthrough the keyhole to where the other fairies were. In another minutewe were all on our horses and away again. We overtook the wind thatwas before us, and the wind that was behind us did not overtake ustill we were at the palace of the King of France. And there my fineboy Guleesh saw sights that he never saw the like of before. 

"The place was almost as fine as this of yours here. There were longtables all about it, with everything on them that a body would bewanting to eat and drink, and as fast as any of it was eaten or drunk, there was more put in its place. Then there were hundreds of noblemenand ladies, all in clothes of silk and velvet and gold and silver, andall covered with jewels, till they shone in the light of the goldchandeliers, almost like they'd been chandeliers themselves. And theywere talking and laughing and singing and playing, and some of themwere dancing--not so well as we dance, of course, when we've a mind, but enough to make Guleesh think he was seeing the grandest sight thatever was in the world entirely. And up at one end of the hall was analtar and two bishops, ready to marry the Princess to the King's sonas soon as it would be the right time. 

"'And which of them all is the Princess?' says Guleesh to me. 

"'That one there near to ye, ' says I, pointing her out. "

Naggeneen stopped in his story and seemed to forget for a moment thathe was telling it. "Oh, but she was the beauty of the world!" he wenton, speaking so low that the fairies could scarcely hear him. "Therewas the lily and the rose in her cheeks, and her arms like snow, andher hair like soft gold. Not like the gold that you dig out of theground for your palace, but gold with life in it. And her eyes werelike two big violets with the dew on them. And there stood the othersall around her, all merry and happy, and she--

"'What is she crying for?' says Guleesh to me. 'Sure it's not rightthat eyes like those would have tears in them. '

"'True for you, it's not, Guleesh, ' said I, 'and it's because there'sno love in her heart for the man that she's to be married to. It'sher father that's compelling her, for he has some arrangement of thesort with the other King, that's the father of the young man. And it'sfor that, ' I said, 'that we're going to carry her off, and it's thebest thing we could be doing for her as well as ourselves. '

"Just that minute the young Prince came and offered her his hand, andaway they went in the dance, and the tears in her eyes all the time. And as soon as the dance was over, the King, her father, and theQueen, her mother, came and said that it was time they were married, and the two bishops waiting there all the time. So they led the Princeand the Princess up toward the altar, and she with the rose all goneout of her cheeks and only the lily left. But when they were not morethan four yards from the altar I put out my foot before the Princess, and she fell, and then, with a word of a charm, I made her invisibleto all but Guleesh and ourselves. Then I made a sign to Guleesh, andhe took up the Princess and ran with her out of the hall, and all therest of us after them. 'My horse and bridle and saddle!' says everyone of us, and the same says Guleesh. He lifted the Princess up behindhim on his horse and we were away again. We overtook the wind that wasbefore us, and the wind that was behind us did not overtake us tillwe came to the sea. 'Hie over cap!' cried every one of us, and 'Hieover cap!' cried Guleesh, and in a moment we were in Ireland again. 

"Another minute and we were close to our own rath, and it was thenthat all the work of the night was lost. For then what did the foolGuleesh do but take the Princess in his arms and leap down off hishorse, and he cried: 'I call you to myself, in the name of--' Oh, now, you little cowards, you've no call to shrink away like that and to tryto be hiding in the dark corners! You know I can't say the name thathe said. But he said it, and then the enchantment was all gone, and hesaw that the horse he'd been riding was nothing but the beam of aplough and that the horse that each of the others had was only an oldbroom, or maybe a rag weed, or the like of that. 

"And you know that there was no getting the Princess away from himafter the words that he said. But I came close to her and struck heron the mouth. 'Now, Guleesh, ' said I, 'you may keep her if you will, but she'll be dumb forever. ' And with that we all disappeared fromthem. 

"But you may be sure I watched them. They stood there together andGuleesh talked to her and tried to make her talk back, but it was ofno use at all, and he soon found that she was dumb completely. Thenhe stood thinking what would he do with her, and at last he took herby the hand and started toward the priest's house. It was getting nearday now, and the priest was up by the time they came to the door, andhe opened it himself. And when he saw Guleesh and the girl, sure hethought they were come to be married, and he said: 'Ah, Guleesh, isn'tit the nice boy ye are, that ye can't wait till a decent hour to bemarried, but ye must be comin' to me this early? And don't ye know Ican't marry ye lawfully anyway, and I put out of my place?'

"Then says Guleesh: 'Sure, father, you can marry me or anybody elseyou like, for you have your place back again, and here's the Pope'sbull for that same. But it's not that I come for, but to ask you togive shelter to this young lady, the daughter of the King of France. '

[Illustration: "HERE'S THE POPE'S BULL FOR THAT SAME. "]

"And with that he takes the Pope's bull out of his pocket and gives itto the priest, and the priest looked at the writing and the seal andsaw that there was no doubt but it was right. And so he made Guleeshand the Princess come in and sit down, while Guleesh told him thewhole story, and not a word of it would he have believed only therewas the Pope's bull that he couldn't deny, and so at long last he hadto believe all that Guleesh told him. And the end of it was that thePrincess stayed at the priest's house, for they didn't know how tosend her back to her father's palace, and they had no money, and shecouldn't speak to help them. And the priest gave out that she was thedaughter of his brother, that lived in another county, and that shewas making him a visit. And Guleesh went home and said how he'd beensleeping beside the rath all night. "

Naggeneen paused in his story, while all the fairies drew quietlycloser to him. "Do you see, " he said, "how I was tricked by a fool ofa mortal? Oh, she was the beauty of the world, and he took her from mewith a word, as easily as you'ld steal the butter out of a churn. Andthat was not all. 

"I said to myself that I was not done with my revenge on them yet. Shecould not speak and it was a sore punishment on the both of them. Yetshe stayed on at the priest's house. The priest wrote letters to herfather, as I heard, and gave them to merchants who were travelling, but none of them ever reached him. And Guleesh got mighty seriousabout his soul all at once, so that he had to be at the priest's houseevery day, and every day he saw the Princess. She could never talk tohim, but she learned to make signs that he could understand. And so itwent on for a year. 

"And then, when it was November Eve again, and we had been out ofthe rath and were all coming into it again in a great crowd, there satGuleesh, the same as before. He couldn't see us, but he must haveheard us, for you could see that he was listening with all his ears. And I thought now was the fine time to be having the laugh on him. Bythat time everybody was shouting: 'My horse and bridle and saddle! Myhorse and bridle and saddle!' and Guleesh shouted as before: 'My horseand bridle and saddle! My horse and bridle and saddle!'

"'Now is my chance to be even with him, ' thought I, and I said: 'Ah, Guleesh, my boy, is that yourself that's to the fore again? You'll getno horse to-night and you'll play no more tricks on us. How are yougetting on with your Princess? Does she talk to you much? Or do youjust like to sit and look at her?'

"And when I said that, he looked so pale and so sad that I almostscreamed with joy, and I couldn't keep myself from whispering to theman that was next to me: 'And isn't he the stupid omadhaun, not toknow that there's an herb growing close to his own door that wouldgive her back her speech if he'd only boil it and give it to her?'

"'It's the stupid omadhaun he is, ' said the other man. 

"Oh, and it was me that was the omadhaun, to be saying it at all. Oh, why couldn't I hold my jaw? But it was like some spell was on me, andI had to say it. I had to say it! I couldn't have kept it back if I'dtried. And he heard every word!

"It's little more there is to tell. The next morning, as soon as therewas light, there was Guleesh searching for any herb that was strangeto him around the door. And it was not long till he found it. Then heboiled it, and he drank some of it himself, to see whether it might bepoison, and it put him into a deep sleep. And when he woke he went tothe priest's house and told the whole story and gave the Princess someof the drink, and then she went to sleep and did not wake till thenext day. And when she woke she had her speech back. 

"Ah, well, by this time they was both in love with each other, and allthat I did for myself or against them had only helped them. But it wasnot long before the Princess was saying that she must be off to herfather, and nothing that the priest and Guleesh could do would makeher stay. So the priest took the jewels that she had on her whenGuleesh first brought her, and he sold them and gave her the money, and she took it and paid her way back to France. 

"And after that great grief and melancholy came over Guleesh, andnothing would do him but he must start off for France to find thePrincess again. Start off he did, and that was the last that I eversaw of him, only I heard that he found the Princess at her father'scourt and that at long last they were married. "

There was nothing strange in the last that Naggeneen had told--nothingmore strange, I mean, than that a peasant boy should marry thedaughter of the King of France--but his voice, before he had ended, was so low and so full of grief that all the other fairies kept verystill to listen, and when he had told his story none of them spoke fora little while. At last the King said: "How long was all this ago, Naggeneen?"

"Many years, " Naggeneen answered; "I couldn't be counting how many. "

"Then what is it to you now?" said the King. "Sure they're both deadlong ago, and here are you as sound as ever. "

"Yes, " Naggeneen cried, "as sound as ever and as sound as I'll everbe. They're not dead. They had souls. They're alive now, and when whatthey call 'the Last Day' comes, they'll live still, forever. And thenI shall go out, like a shadow when the light falls on it. There's nomore of me that can last than a shadow. And you will go out that way, too, and all of us. It was not her that I wanted so much. It was thesoul that I thought I'ld get, and her married to me. That was it. Anda stupid mortal had tricked me twice. It was then I left the rath. Itwas then I could bear to look at nobody, man or fairy. Then I put onthe red jacket and went by myself. After a time I was a lepracaun, anda cluricaun, and nothing at all, as it suited me, and sometimes Ilived in a rath with others, as I have in yours, and other times Iwent by myself. But I never forgot how I was tricked by a mortal, andI've never forgot how I missed getting a soul when I was near to it. 

"You've never liked me; you've always thought me sour and harsh andcruel. Do you see why now? Since that time I've always hated all men, because of the one that tricked me; and I've always hated all women, because of the one I lost; and I've always hated all fairies, becausethey are all as weak and helpless and pitiful as myself. I hate myselfand I hate all of you, because there's no good for any of us in allthe world forever. "

"Naggeneen, " said the King, "we've never been too fond of you, it'strue, but maybe we'ld have liked you better if you'd told us thisbefore. But you're cleverer than all of us. Tell us what we'll do now, so that these mortals won't be getting the better of us all out. "

"What'll you do?" Naggeneen answered; "there's nothing you can do. They'll outwit you, whatever you do. "

"But there must be some way. Tell us what to do, Naggeneen, " the Kingpleaded. 

"I'll tell you what to do, then, " said Naggeneen; "send out yourpeople and let them learn the ways of men. Let them learn to make theiron coaches that go up in the air; let them learn to make the coachesthat go on the ground, with the iron ropes; let them learn to talkmiles away through iron strings; let them learn to make the brightlights that you see; let them learn to open the rock so that it willnot close again; let them learn to cross running water in boats fullof iron; let them learn to handle iron and do what they like with it, as if it were only gold, and then, maybe, they'll be able to do allthe things that men do. "

The fairies were simply cowering away from the King and Naggeneen andshivering and squealing with fright at the talk of handling iron andcrossing running water. "Ah, Naggeneen, " said the King, "you know wecan't do all that. Tell us what we'll do at all. "

"There's nothing that you can do, " said Naggeneen. "There's only onething I know you can try, and I think that'll do no good either. "

"But what is it?" said the King. "We'll try it, anyway. "

"It's not the time to try it yet, " Naggeneen answered. "When the timecomes I'll tell you. "

"Then, Naggeneen, " said the King, "give us a tune out of the fiddle. "

And Naggeneen took the fiddle and played. But there was no merrimentin it now. It was only the breath of sorrow and loss anddisappointment that breathed from the shivering strings. The fairiesdid not dance; they only stood and listened, pale and still. In a fewmoments the King gave the sign for Naggeneen to stop, and in a minutemore the lights were out and the whole palace was as quiet as thehill, before any palace was there. 

[Illustration: ]

V

THE TIME FOR NAGGENEEN'S PLAN

Little happened that needs to be told in the next few months, eitherto the fairies or to the human people. John O'Brien and Peter Sullivanwere not long in finding work to do, and they were paid for it, andthe two families got on better than they had in Ireland. The O'Briensgot on better than the Sullivans. John was a better workman thanPeter. Peter could do the work that was set before him in the way thathe was told. But John could do better than that. He could see forhimself how the work ought to be done, and he saw that if he did itwell he might get better work to do. In Ireland, work as he would, hecould no more than live, and so he had come to care little what he didor how he did it. But it was different here. The men who employed himsaw that he was not a common workman, and soon they gave him betterthan the common work and more than the common pay. 

But Peter was a common workman. Then, too, John's mother knew how tocare for the house better than Ellen did, and because of that, too, the O'Briens did better. Every day, just as she used to do in Ireland, Mrs. O'Brien left something to eat and drink outside the house for theGood People. She said that she did not know whether there were anyGood People here, but if there were they must be well treated. Andwhen she found that what she left for them was taken, she said thatshe knew that there were Good People here. Of course she did not knowthat they were the same ones who had lived near them in Ireland. Sheput the milk and the water and the bread, or whatever she had forthem, on the fire-escape, at the back of the rooms where they lived. And first she always laid down a little piece of carpet to put thedishes on, so that the fairies could come and get the food withouttouching the iron, for she knew that they could never do that. Therewas only one thing that did not go well with the O'Briens. Kitty'shealth did not come back to her, as they had hoped that it would. Shedid not need to do any work now, though she would do some, and therest was good for her, but she was still pale and still weak. 

Though the Sullivans did not find their fortunes so much improved inthe new country as the O'Briens did, yet they felt that they hadgained, too, and in one way especially. For the King of the fairieshad forbidden Naggeneen to trouble them any more. Naggeneen asked whatfor at all he had come over all the sea, if he was not to trouble theSullivans. The King was always ready enough to have Naggeneen's help, when he thought that his cleverness would be of use; but there weretimes when he would be obeyed, and this was one of them, so Naggeneenhad to do as he was told. 

The King tried all the things that Naggeneen had told him to do, tomake his people learn all the wonderful magic that the human peopleknew so well. Naggeneen had told him at first that it would all be ofno use, and so the King found it. The fairies were sent out to watchthe men, to see all that they did, and to learn how to do it. It wasall in vain. 

The King often asked Naggeneen what was the one other way that he hadsaid they might try. Naggeneen would never tell. When the time came totry it, he said, he would tell what it was, but it would be of no moreuse than the rest that they had done. Naggeneen laughed at all theothers when they came home baffled and out of sorts. "You'll never dothe things that men do, " he said, "any more than they'll ever do thethings that you do. And their wonders are more and better than yours. "

After a time they ceased to try to learn any more. They began to livemuch as they had lived in Ireland. They had found a green place wherethey could dance, near the palace, but it was winter now, and the snowwas over everything much of the time. They went to the O'Briens everyday for the food that was left outside the window for them, and, forthe most part, they spent the rest of the time in the palace. OftenNaggeneen played the fiddle or the pipes for them. Then they forgotthat it was his fault that they had ever come here, but when hestopped playing they remembered it and hated him again. And Naggeneenlaughed at them. He had a strange laugh, without a bit of merriment orgood-humor in it. There was something sad in his laugh and somethingsour, but nothing that it was pleasant to hear. 

Then the spring began to come. The grass was looking a bit green andthe air was warmer. They could dance on the grass now, whenever theyliked. They had given up trying to learn the ways of men, and theywere beginning to feel as if they had always lived here. ThenNaggeneen came one evening and stood before the King and said: "It isthe time now to try my plan, if you want to try it, but it's nogood. "

"What's the plan, then, at all?" the King asked. 

"You know well, " said Naggeneen, "that your people can find outnothing by going out and watching what men do. Now, what you want isto get a human child here, or maybe two of them, and keep them and letthem grow up with you here, and then send them out to learn everythingthat men do, and come back and teach it to your people. Then you'lllearn all these things that men do, and you can do the like. "

"Ah, Naggeneen, " said the King, "it's yourself was always the cleverboy. We'll do that same. "

"You will so, " Naggeneen replied, "and no good will it ever do you. I've told you before and I tell you again, you'll never do the thingsthat men do. But it's crazy you are to try all ways, and I have to betelling you the ways to try. Go on and do it, if it divarts you. "

"And where'll we get the human child at all?" the Queen asked. 

"Sure then, " said Naggeneen, "and haven't you heard the news? Why, there's a baby at the Sullivans' since this morning, and one at theO'Briens' since this afternoon. The one at the Sullivans' is a boyand the one at the O'Briens' is a girl. Go and get them and leave twoof your own people in their places. You know how to do that; it'snothing new to you. "

"Take a child from the O'Briens!" the Queen cried. "From them that'salways been so good to us and always given us the bit and sup, whenthey scarcely had it themselves? I'd never do such a thing. "

"But you'ld be leaving one of your own people in the place of it, "Naggeneen answered, "and they'ld never know the differ. Or if theydid, it would be no matter. A woman makes a great hullabaloo when herchild looks sick and she thinks it's dying on her, but she doesn'tcare at all after a little. And then, it doesn't die, and she thinksit's her own child all the time, and there's no harm done. And HisMajesty here thinks it's going to do a power of good for all of you. It's not, but he thinks it is. "

"We'll never take a child from the O'Briens if I can help it, " theQueen said. "From the Sullivans I don't care, but not from theO'Briens. "

"We'll have to do it, " said the King. "I don't like to hurt theO'Briens myself, but it's for the good of us all, and it's our onlychance. These mortals are getting ahead of us that far, and they'll bedoing something next that will exterminate us entirely. We'll sendand get both the children. "

The Queen urged again that the O'Briens had always been good to theGood People and must not be harmed, but the King had his mind set onNaggeneen's plan and he would hear of nothing else. It was settled andit could not be changed. They must have both children. They shouldlive among the fairies till they were old enough to be sent out tolearn the ways of men. And they should always come back and teach thefairies the ways of men that they had learned. 

"And it's to-night we'd better be doing it, if we're to do it at all, "said the King. "Now, who'll be the ones to go and be put in the placeof the children?"

Nobody seemed to care about going to play the part of a baby with theSullivans, or even with the O'Briens. Everybody was trying to get outof the King's sight behind the others. "We'ld have to be lyin' stillall day, " one whispered, "with never a dance to rest ourselves with. "

"They might be puttin' holy water on us, " said another, and all whoheard him shivered. 

"There'll be all sorts of unpleasantness, anyway, " said a third. 

"Maybe they'ld find us out, " said a fourth, "and then they'ld beputtin' all sorts of horrible charms on us to be rid of us. "

But the King called one of the women and told her that she must go andstay in the place of the baby at the O'Briens. She whimpered a little, but she knew that what the King said must be done. Then the Kinglooked around him and said, "Where's Naggeneen got to at all now?"

"Here I am to the fore, " said Naggeneen. 

"You'll go, " said the King, "and you'll be put in the place of the boythat's at the Sullivans. "

"I go!" said Naggeneen. "Never a step. Didn't I tell you of the plan?And that's enough. Now do it for yourself. I don't belong to you andyou know it. Do your own work. "

"I'll not be disputin' with you, " said the King. "Whether you belongto me or no, you're in my palace along with my tribe, and you'll dowhat I tell you. It's tired of you I've been this great while, and nowI've a chance to be rid of you. You'll go to the Sullivans and you'llstay there and you'll grow up like their child. And mind you play yourpart well and don't let them know what you are. If you do, they'llwork some charm on you and be rid of you, and then we'll have to sendback the real child, and all your own plan will be lost. "

"And how will you carry out my plan without me?" Naggeneen asked. "Don't I always tell you what to do? You'll want me a dozen times aday. "

"We'll not want you at all. You do tell us what to do and we do itwhen we like, and it's small good ever came of it. And then, if we dowant anything of you, we know where to find you, and we'll easily cometo you. It's been done before. You was left in the place of a youngman that was taken away once before, and when the tribe that you waswith then wanted to talk to you they came to you, and we can do thesame if we like, but I don't think we shall like. "

"That's just it, " Naggeneen cried; "did you know about that time? Thistime would be just like it. Do you know how they drove me off? Icouldn't help it then and I couldn't help it again. There's times whenit seems like there's a charm on me, and so there is, belike, and Ihave to do a thing that it's bad for me to do. Do you know the wholeof it, how it was that time?

"It was a man that time, as you say, and not a child. Rickard the Rakehe was called, I remember, and a fine rake he was. Never a bit of workwould he do, but he'ld always be at every fair or wake or the like ofthat. And so little good there was in him that the fairies in the rathwhere I was then said: 'It's an easy thing it'll be stealing him away, and serve him right, too, and he'll be handy for us, he's so good adancer. '

"I was ordered to be the one to be left in his place, though I knew nogood would come of it. And so one night, when he was dancing, westruck him with a dart in the hip, and he fell down where he was. Andthen, in all the bother and the noise that there was, it was easy toget him away and to leave me in the place of him. So they took me upand put me in bed and nursed me and did all they could think of forme, and me all the time squirming and squealing, like it was dying Iwas. 

"They gave me everything I could think of to eat, and that was not sobad, for I never lived better in my life; but it was worn out I wasgetting, with lying there all the time and playing sick, and never achance to stir about or get any air or a minute to myself. And thething I was spoiling for was a tune out of the pipes or the fiddle. Then they brought a fairy-man to look at me, and he said it was afairy and not Rickard at all that was in it, and I couldn't be tellingyou all the bad names he put on me and the things he said about me. And he said: 'Leave a pair of bagpipes near him, and maybe he'll playthem. You know well Rickard never could play at all, and so if heplays them we'll know that it's not Rickard, but a fairy changeling, and then we'll know what to do. '"

Just here I must stop Naggeneen in his story for a minute, to tell youthat when people in Ireland speak of a "fairy-man" they do not mean aman fairy. They mean a man who knows all about fairies. The fairy-menknow all that the fairies can do, and they know the charms againstthem and the ways to cure a sickness that the fairies have broughtupon anyone, and the ways to keep them from stealing the cream fromthe milk and the milk from the cow. So the people have great respectfor a fairy-man or a fairy-woman, and they often send to one of themfor help, when they think that the fairies may have done them amischief. 

"They left the pipes beside me, " Naggeneen went on, "and then theywent away. Oh, it was then I had the terrible time all out. Oh, may Inever long for anything again as I longed to play them pipes! But Iknew that they'ld be listening and watching, and if they caught me atit, I'ld have to pay for it, if they could make me. So I kept my handsoff them and only groaned and took on as if the dart in my hip waskilling me entirely. 

"Then there was one hot afternoon, and everything was still about thehouse, and it was the harvest time, and they all had a right to be inthe fields at work. And sure I thought it was there they were. Andthen the wish to play the pipes came on me worse than ever before. Andit was then that it was like there was a charm on me, as I was tellingyou. I had to do what I did. I could no more help doing it than a girlcan help dancing with us, when we get her in our ring on May Eve. Butfirst I opened the door a crack and looked out into the kitchen, tosee was there anybody there, and there was nobody. But they were allin another room, as I found out after, waiting and listening. Therewas the fairy-man and a fairy-woman and all the people of the house, and some of the neighbors. 

"But if I'd seen them all I dunno if I could have done other than Idid, the power, whatever it was, was on me that strong. And I took thepipes and played. It was soft I played at first, and then the musicgot the better of me and I went on more and louder, and I played tunesand tunes. I could play as well then as I can now, and so the otherfairies, that had been without me for some time, must have heard meplaying, for soon I heard the rustle and the whisper and the patter oftheir coming, and then they gathered round me, and I had been leftthere lonely for so long that I kept on playing, to keep them with me. 

"It was then the fairy-man and the fairy-woman began talking, and Iheard every word they said, as no doubt they meant I should. 'What'llwe do with the little beast at all?' says she. 

"'We'll do something that's not too unpleasant at first, ' says he. 'We'll take him and hold his head under the water, and see will thatdrive any of the devilment out of him. '

"'Oh, the thief!' says she. 'That's not the way to treat him at all. Let's heat the shovel and put him on it and throw him out the window. '

"'Ah, why will you be that cruel?' says he. 'Just let me heat thetongs red hot in the fire and then I'll catch him by the nose withthem, and we'll find out will that make him go home and send poorRickard back to us. '

"'That's not enough, ' says she. 'I'll go and bring some of the juiceof the lussmore that I have, and we'll make him drink it, and then ifhe's a fairy he'll wish that he was a man, so that he could die, it'llmake that consternation inside him. '

"'We'll do the both of them things, ' says he, and with that they bothstarted into the kitchen, and all the rest of the people after them. But you may believe that by that time I was not there at all. I'd hadenough of their kindness and I didn't think it was right to wait forany more of it. But I looked in at the window for a last glimpse ofthem, and one of the women saw me, and she screamed, and then thefairy-man made after me with the tongs, and I had to vanishcompletely. And you know what would happen then. When they drove meoff, of course we had to send back Rickard, and there they found himthe next morning, asleep in his bed, as sound as ever he was in hislife. 

"And that was not all. The lesson that he'd had was enough for him, and he left drinking and fighting and swearing, and he helped his oldfather and his brothers on the farm, and he was another manaltogether. And so it's as I told you. You can never get the better ofmen, if they know anything, and all you do to hurt them only helpsthem. And so it will be if you send me to the Sullivans. "

"If you're done talking about it now, " said the King, "you'll go tothe Sullivans and stay in the place of the child that we're to carryoff. It's not likely they'll be leaving any pipes or any fiddle aboutfor you to play on, and you can stay there quite comfortable. 

"Off with him now!" the King cried to a dozen of his men, "and mindyou don't come back without the child. And the same to you, " he saidagain to others of his men; "take the woman and leave her in the placeof the child at the O'Briens'. "

The two parties were off, like two little swarms of bees, the one withNaggeneen and the other with the woman. The rest of the fairieswaited. The Queen sat on her throne, with her face turned away fromthe rest and hidden in her hands. The King, with a troubled face, satlooking straight before him, not moving an eye or a hand. The othersstood as far off as they could go. Nobody played; nobody danced;nobody laughed or whispered. They waited and watched and listened. Then there was a little murmur and buzz of one of the parties comingback. It was the one that had been to the Sullivans. 

The King looked up and seemed to look through the fairies withoutseeing them. "Have you the child with you?" he asked. 

"We have, " said the leader. 

"And where's Naggeneen?" the King asked. 

"Lying in the bed beside Mrs. Sullivan, " the leader answered, "andsquealing like a pig under a gate. "

"Give the child something to eat and make him comfortable, " said theKing. 

The Queen turned suddenly around. "Don't give him anything to eatyet, " she said. "We've nothing here but our own food. You couldn'tgive him that. What did you bring him here for? Was it not so that youcould send him out again, as he grows up, to learn to do the thingsthat men do? And if he touched a bit of our food or our drink, youknow he could never leave us. "

"That's the true word, " said the King. "Here! Some of you go to theO'Briens' and see is there any milk left out of the window. And bringback enough so there'll be some for the other child, when we get her. "

As the fairies set off on this errand there came a sound like thewhistling of the wind through the door, and those who had gone tobring the O'Briens' child were back. They were back in a whirl and arush and a scramble and a rout. They were all screaming and crying andwhimpering and gabbling and gibbering together, and they all fell andsprawled together in a heap before the King. In the midst of them wasthe woman who had been sent to take the place of the O'Briens' child. 

"What for are you here without the child?" the King cried. "And whatare you all doing there on the floor, like fish tumbled out of abasket? Get up and tell me what's wrong with you! Where is thechild?"

The fairies all choked and gasped and groaned and tried to speak. Thenthe leader of the party staggered up to his feet and stammered out:"The child is where it was before we went for it. We could not bringit; we could not take it; we could not touch it. You might as well beasking us to bring a lily from the fields of heaven. "

"And why could you not take it?" the King asked. "Was the motherholding it so fast in her arms? Could you not make her look the otherway while you'ld be taking it? Could you not put some charm on her sothat she'ld let it go? Or was she praying all the time, so that youcould do nothing with her? Or was she making those signs over it thatnone of us can stand?"

"No, no, " said the leader, so low that they could scarcely hear him;"no, it wasn't that; the mother was doing none of them things. Themother was dead!"

For a minute everybody was still. The Queen started and looked at theleader of the party and leaned toward him. All the others gazed at himtoo. Then the King said, "And why did you not bring the child?"

"I'm after telling you we couldn't touch the child, " the leaderanswered. "I went to take it, and all at once I felt burning hot, andlike I was all dried up into a cinder, and I think they must havedrawn a circle of fire round the child. And then I had that fearfulfeeling that you have when you're near a horseshoe nail. There musthave been one somewhere about. You couldn't mistake that feeling--asif needles of ice were going all through and through you. And so I wasdriven back and could get no nearer to the child. "

The woman who had been sent to take the place of the child wasstanding near the King now, though she could scarcely stand at all, and her face was all wet with tears. "But they made me go nearer tothe child than that, " she cried. "These others pushed me close to her, so that I'ld take her place and give the child to them. And I feltburned up like a cinder, too, and then I felt the icy needles, andthen worse than that. I felt as if I was all cut across and across andthrough and through with flaming swords, and torn with red-hot saws. Not the way it is when you divide yourself, so that you can be in twoplaces at once. Anybody can do that, and it hurts no more than cuttinga lock of hair, but this was--oh! there's only one thing could dothis. There was a pair of open scissors lying close to the child, andI almost touched them!"

She could say no more, and there was no more to be said. "Youcouldn't get the child, then, " said the King, "and there's the end ofit. Nobody could, if they did all them things. I dunno how it is, " theKing went on, half to himself, "a child lies there with a pair ofscissors open near by, and a horseshoe nail close to it--maybe hungaround its neck--and a circle drawn around it with a coal of fire, andit never minds it at all. It sleeps and wakes and lies there aspeaceful and happy and quiet as if there was nothing at all out of thecommon about it. I dunno how they can do it. They're queer people, these mortals. We can't get the girl. They was too clever for us. Butwe've got the boy, and we'll do the best we can with him. "

[Illustration: ]

VI

LITTLE KATHLEEN AND LITTLE TERENCE

The next morning John O'Brien was sitting alone, when there was aknock at the door. Then Peter Sullivan opened it, said "God save allhere!" and came in. 

"God save you kindly!" John answered. 

"It's distressed we are, " said Peter, "to hear of the death of poorKitty. Ellen would be here with me to tell you so, only bein' in bedherself and not able to stir, and what'll come to all of us I dunno. I'm that disturbed about her I dunno what I'll do at all. I left herwith one of the neighbors and came to see your mother about her. Butsure it's you has the great grief on you already, whatever comes tous. It's not only you I'm thinkin' of, but it's the child, left withno mother. Oh, it's a terrible thing. "

"My own mother can bring up any child, " John answered. "Have no fearof that. It's us that knew Kitty that'll feel the loss of her. "

"And how is the child doing, anyway?" Peter asked. 

"She looks fine and healthy, glory be to God!" said John. 

"It's a girl, they tell me. "

"It is. "

"Do you know yet what you'll call her?"

"We'll name her Kathleen, after her mother, " said John. 

"Then you'll be calling her Kitty, like her mother, I suppose. "

"No--no, " John answered, slowly; "I don't think I'll call her that. The child will be always Kathleen. I dunno if I can tell you how Ifeel about that. It was a name for a child, more than awoman--Kitty--and yet, now that she's gone from me, I've a feelinglike it was something more than the name of a woman--like it wassomething holy, like the name of the blessed Mother of God. When Ithink of that name now, I want to think only of her, and I wouldn'tlike to be calling even her own child by it. It's Kathleen I'll callher--nothing else. "

"You're right about all that, no doubt, " said Peter; "but I can't bestaying here, and Ellen and the child at home the way they are. Youhave your child left, and you say it's healthy--thank God for thatsame!--but it looks like I might have neither wife nor child. "

"Don't say that, man alive, " said John; "what's the matter at allthen?"

"I can't stop discoursin' here, " Peter answered. "I came to ask wouldyour mother, being a knowledgable woman, step over for a bit and seecan she tell at all what's the matter with Ellen and the child. Therewas a doctor there, but he seemed to do no good, and Ellen said yourmother would know more than all the doctors, so I came to ask wouldshe come. And if you care to come yourself, I'll be telling you howthey are as we go along, but I can't stay here; it's too long to beaway from them. "

"Mother is with the child, " said John; "I'll speak to her. "

He went into another room, where the baby was sleeping and his motherwas sitting beside her. He told her why Peter had come. "Stepdownstairs, " said Mrs. O'Brien, "and ask Mrs. Mulvey will she sit bythe baby till I'm back. Then I'll go with him. And you'd better come, too, John; the air will do you good. "

John went down to another of the tenements in the house and came backwith their neighbor, Mrs. Mulvey. "If you'll be so kind, " Mrs. O'Briensaid, "sit here by the baby till I'm back, and I'll not be long. Andmind you keep everything as it is, unless she wakes, and then you'llknow what to do as well as I, for you've children of your own. Butdon't disturb the pair of scissors that's there beside her, and don'ttake off the horseshoe nail that's hung round her neck. "

"And what's them things for?" Mrs. Mulvey asked, with wonder in hereyes. 

"Why, to keep the Good People from stealing the child, " Mrs. O'Brienanswered. "Did you never hear of those things? Don't you know the GoodPeople can't stand the touch of iron, or even to be near it? Andespecially a horseshoe nail they can't stand. And the scissors, too, they couldn't come near, and then leaving them open they make a cross, and that keeps the child all the more from the Good People. "

John and his mother left Mrs. Mulvey with little Kathleen and wentwith Peter. "And what's wrong with Ellen, then?" Mrs. O'Brien asked. 

"I dunno that there's so much wrong with herself, as you might say, "Peter answered. "I think it's more than anything else that she'sworried about the child. "

"And what's wrong with the child, then?"

"There's everything wrong with the child, " said Peter. "It's not like thesame child at all. Last night he was as healthy a boy as you'ld wish tosee--quiet and peaceable and good-tempered and strong-looking, for hisage. And now this morning he's thin and sick-looking, and there's blackhair all over his arms, and his face is wrinkled, like he was a littleold man, and he does nothing but cry and scream till you can't bear it, and twist and squirm till you can't hold him. It's like he wasfairy-struck, only I don't believe in them things at all. "

"Did you watch him close last night?" Mrs. O'Brien asked. 

"Part of the time, " Peter answered, "but I dare say we was both asleepother times. "

"Was Ellen careful about her prayers last night, and were you so, too?"

"I can't say about that, " Peter said. "We might be letting some ofthem go, such a time as that, you know, and make it up after. "

"Yes, " said Mrs. O'Brien, "make it up after by losing your child! Wasthere any iron anywhere about him?"

"I don't know that there was. "

"And did you make a circle of fire about the place where he waslying?"

"I did not. "

"The child's not been struck, " said Mrs. O'Brien; "not the way youmean. It's not your child at all, but one of the Good Peoplethemselves, that's in it. They've stolen your child and left achangeling in the place of it. "

"It's the same way you always talked, Mrs. O'Brien, " said Peter. "Idon't believe them things. "

They had come to Peter's door by this time. They found Ellen lying inbed, looking frightened half to death, and beside her was the baby, orthe fairy, or whatever it was. It was not crying loudly now, but itwas keeping up a little whining and whimpering noise that was quite asunpleasant to listen to as a good, honest cry. Its face looked thinand pinched and old; it had a little thin, wispy hair on its headwhere no baby of the age that this one was supposed to be has a rightto have any. Its arms and hands were thin and bony. It looked weak andsick, but it was rolling and wriggling about in the liveliest way. Itwould give a spring as if it were going straight off the bed upon thefloor, and when poor Ellen caught at it to save it, it would roll backtoward her, stop its crying for a second, and seem to be laughing ather, and then it would do the same thing again. 

"It's plain enough, " Mrs. O'Brien said, as soon as she saw it. "It'sone of the Good People. But it's quick enough we'll be rid of it andhave back your own child. Bring me some eggs. "

"I'll have nothing of the sort now, " said Ellen. "It's bad the poorchild is with some sickness or other, but it's my own child, and I'llhave nothing done to it that's not to do it good. If you know anythingthat'll help it, Mrs. O'Brien, tell me that, but don't be sayin' it'snot my child. "

"I'll not hurt the child, whatever it is, " said Mrs. O'Brien, "butthere are ways to tell whether it's your own child at all or one ofthe Good People. If you find it's one of them, then it's easy to domore, but in the meantime it's not harmed. "

"I'll not have you trying any of them things, " said Ellen. "I'll nothave you saying it's not my child, and I'll not be thinking of such athing myself. You see how poor and sick it's looking. If there'sanything you can do for the child, do it, but don't be talking thatway any more. "

"Ellen, " said Mrs. O'Brien, "you don't know what you're talking aboutat all. Wait now till I tell you what was told to me when I lived inDublin, and I think that it was not far from there that it happened. It's about a woman that talked as you do. A sailor's wife she was, andthere was a child born to her while her husband was away at sea. Shethought he'ld be home soon, and so she wanted to put off thechristening of the child till he'ld be back. So she waited and waitedfor a long time, and her husband did not come. The neighbors told hershe was doing wrong to wait so long and she ought to have the childchristened before anything would happen to it. But she wouldn't listento them. 

"So it went on for a year and a half, and still the father didn't comehome. But the boy was healthy and happy, and the mother never had anytrouble with him. But the trouble came. One day she'd been working inthe field, and she came home, and as soon as she was in the house sheheard crying from the bed where the child used to sleep. She ran tolook at him, and he lay there, looking sick and thin and weak, the wayyour boy does, and crying that he was hungry. He was like her childand he was not like him. He'd grown so pale and bad-looking that shethought he'd had a stroke from the Good People. But she went to gethim some bread and milk, and she asked her other boy, that was aboutseven years old, when it was and how it was that he began to be sick. 

"'I left him playing near the fire, ' the boy said, 'and I was in theother room. And I heard a rushing noise, like a great flock of birdsflying down the chimney, and then I heard a cry from my brother andthen again the noise, like the birds were flying out at the chimneyagain. And then I ran in and found him there the way you see himnow. '

"Well, if the poor woman had never had trouble with the child before, she had nothing but trouble now. Crying and squalling it was all thetime, and it nearly ate her out of house and home, and yet it seemedalways sick and weak and thin. The neighbors came and they told her itwas not her child at all, but one of the Good People that had been putin the place of it, and it was all her own fault for not having itchristened in the right time. But not a word of it all would shelisten to, and she said all the time that, whatever was wrong with it, it was her own child and she'ld hear nothing to the contrary. 

"It was an out-of-the-way place where they lived, and there was nopriest near, or she never could have kept it from being christened aslong as she did. But at last the neighbors themselves said that if shedidn't see to it, they would. And they said to her: 'It's not yourchild at all that's in it, and if you'll have it christened you'llsee. And if you won't take the child to the priest with us now, we'llgo to him ourselves and tell him all about it. It's not right to keepit from him longer. '

"So with that she thought it was no use and she'ld have to do as theysaid, and she took the child and tried to dress him, ready to take himto the priest to be christened. But the roars and the screams that helet out of him were more than anybody could bear, and at the last shesaid: 'Oh, I can't do it; it's too terrible a thing for him; he won'tbear it, and how can I make him?'

"The next day when she came in from her work the other boy said toher: 'Mother, it was uncommon quiet he was while you was away to-day. And by and by I went in to see what was ailing him. And there he sat, looking so like an old man that I was near afraid of him. And helooked at me and he spoke as plain as an old man, and he says: "Pat, "says he, "bring me a pipe, till I have a bit of a smoke. It's tired oflife I am, lying here without it. "'

"'"Ah, " says I, "wait till my mother gets home and I'll tell her ofthis. "'

"'"Tell her, " says he, "and she'll not believe a word from you. "'

"'And no more do I believe a word from you, ' says the woman. 

"Well, soon after that there came a letter from the father, sayingthat he'ld be at home now in a few days. With that the woman set offto town to buy things to eat and drink to welcome her husband home, and she said: 'Now we'll have the christening, as soon as ever hecomes. '

"Then as soon as she was off, the neighbors said: 'Now is the timethat we'll be done with that imp. We'll take him and have himchristened while she's away, and we'll not give her the chance to putit off again because he cries. '

"So they went to the house and one of the women came up to the bed andclapped a quilt over him and had him wrapped up in it before he knewwhat was happening to him, and away they all went down toward thebrook, on the way to the priest. Well, he kicked and he struggled toget free, but the woman held him so tight it was no use. But when theycame to the running water, it was then he began bellowing like a herdof bulls, and kicking and pulling so that it was all she could do tohold him. 

"She got her foot on the first of the stepping-stones, and it was thenhe began to get heavy, as if it was a stone that she was carrying. Butshe held hard and reached the second stone, and it seemed to her thathe was nothing but a lump of lead, only still roaring and struggling;and, what with that and the rushing of the water below her, she beganto get dizzy, but still she held on, and she had her foot on the stonein the middle of the stream when plump down he fell through the quiltthat he was wrapped in, as if it had been nothing but a muslinhandkerchief. 

[Illustration: "PLUMP DOWN HE FELL THROUGH THE QUILT. "]

"And there he went floating down the stream, and shouting and laughingat them. For, you know, it's not being in running water that canhurt one of the Good People, but only crossing it, and if they triedto cross it they'ld be in awful pain till they got to the middle, andthen nothing could keep them from falling in. 

"So they were rid of him, and you know when you're rid of a changelingthe Good People must send your own child back. And so the neighborshad not got back to the house when they met the mother running to meetthem and bringing her own child, that she had found in its bed, whenshe got back from the town, sleeping, as well and as sound as ever itwas. 

"And now, Ellen, " said Mrs. O'Brien, "will you let me try, in waysthat I know, that can do no harm, whether this is your own child ornot? And if it's not, you'll have your own back, as well as it waslast night. "

"This is my own child, " Ellen answered, "and it's not by any sillytales like that that you can make me believe it isn't. I'll not haveyou doing anything of the sort. If you know anything that can help ababy when it's sick, you may do that, but nothing else. "

"I do know one thing that can help a sick baby, " Mrs. O'Brien answered"and that I'll do, if you like it or not. If that thing there is oneof the Good People, as I think, it's not sick, and it will live forthousands of years after we are dead. We can neither help it nor muchhurt it. But if that is your child, it doesn't look to me as if itwould live an hour. I'll not try whether it's yours or not, but ifit's yours I'll not stand by and see its soul die, that ought to bethe soul of a Christian. Ellen Sullivan, that child will be christenedbefore I leave this house. "

"Christened!" poor Ellen cried in amazement. "And who's to christenhim? We couldn't get a priest here in an hour--maybe not to-day. "

"There's no need of a priest, " Mrs. O'Brien said; "I'll christen himmyself. Bring me some water there, Peter. "

"But sure you can't do that, " Peter protested. "Nobody but a priestcould christen a child. "

"I can christen the child as well as a priest, " said Mrs. O'Brien;"you take a child to the priest to be christened, when it's easy andconvenient, but when there's no priest near, and the child is sick andseems likely to die before one can come, anybody can christen it; andthat christening stands, and it never has to be christened after. That's the law of the Church. Bring me the water. I never saw a childthat seemed more likely to die than this one, if it's a child at all. "

And Peter brought the water. 

"What do you call the child?" Mrs. O'Brien asked. 

"I think we'll call him Terence, " Peter answered. "That was mygrandfather's name, on my mother's side, and a decent man he was, anduncommon fond of myself when I was a bit of a gossoon, till he died, Heaven rest his soul! and I think I'd like to name the boy after him. "

Now all that the child had been doing and all the noise that he hadbeen making before were simply nothing to what he had been doing eversince Mrs. O'Brien first said the word "christen. " He was screaming sothat all this talk could scarcely be heard, and it was almost morethan Mrs. O'Brien could do to hold him, when she took him in her arms. But she did hold him for a moment with one arm, while she dipped upsome water with her hand and sprinkled it over him. Then the creaturegave one great jump and was away from her and fell on the floor. 

Before anybody else could move, Mrs. O'Brien herself picked him up andlaid him on the bed. There was no sign that he was hurt. No child thatwas hurt could have screamed as he did. "Come, John, " said Mrs. O'Brien, "we've done all that we can. "

"May I walk back with you a piece?" said Peter. "There was somethingmore that I was thinking I would say. "

"Come back with us, of course, and welcome, " said John. 

They left the house and walked along the street. 

"I think it was right, what you done, Mrs. O'Brien, " said Peter. "Ican't think about the child the way you think, but it was right whatyou done. "

Mrs. O'Brien made no answer. "John, " said Peter, "there's somethingthat I was thinking of last night and this morning, and it was this:You have a girl and I have a boy, that was both born on the one day. It's good friends we've always been, and your father and your motherand my father and my mother before us. And I was just thinking whenyour girl and my boy grows up, supposing that they like each otherwell enough, it might be pleasant to all of us that they'ld be marriedsome time. 

"There's no man's son that I'd rather see a daughter of mine marriedto than yours, Peter, " said John, "if she herself was pleased. I'ldnot ask her to take anybody she didn't like, but if she came to lovehim, and he came to love her, I'ld be as pleased as yourself. "

"It was that I wanted to say, " said Peter, "and I'd better go back toEllen now. "

John and his mother said no more till they were at home. They bothwent into the room where little Kathleen was. Mrs. Mulvey sat watchingthe baby. She went out and left them. The child was sleeping aspeacefully as if there were no such thing in the world as sorrow orloss or doubt, or a fairy to help or harm. 

"John, " said Mrs. O'Brien, "I'd think I might have done harm to thatchild in trying to christen it, only I'm as sure as ever I was ofanything that it's not a child at all, but one of the Good People, soI think there's no harm done. I don't know what would happen any ofthe Good People if he was to be rightly christened. I think he'ld notbe able to stand it and would be driven out, so that they'ld have tosend back the real child. Now, if a priest ever sees that creaturethat we've just seen, and asks: 'Has this child been christened?'they'll have to answer 'Yes, ' and he cannot be christened again. Andyet, with the jump that he gave out of my arms when I sprinkled thewater, it's not sure I am that a drop of it touched him. "

[Illustration: ]

VII

A CHAPTER THAT YOU CAN SKIP

This is a chapter that you can skip, if you want to. And really Ishould advise you to. Nothing of importance happened in the nexteighteen years. Of course I am obliged to write a little something tofill in all that time, but you are not obliged to read it. That iswhere you have such an advantage. I think it is much better for a bookto have some parts that can be skipped just as well as not, you getthrough it so much faster. I have often thought what a good thing itwould be if somebody would write a book that we could skip the wholeof. I think a good many people would like to have such a book as that. I know I should. 

Then there is another reason why it will be well for you to skip alittle about here. When you get farther on, if you happen to come tosomething that you don't understand, you can say: "Oh, this isprobably all explained by something in that part that I skipped, " andyou can go right on. But if you had not skipped anything and then cameto something that you did not understand, you would have to say:"There, now, I must have been reading carelessly and missedsomething, " and you would have to go back and read the book allthrough again. 

In these eighteen years Kathleen O'Brien and Terence Sullivan weregrowing up. I don't suppose there ever was another such child asKathleen. And I should hope there never was another such child asTerence. Kathleen's grandmother had the most of the care of her, ofcourse, but it was really no care at all. It would have been apleasure for anybody to have the care of Kathleen. Even when she was ababy she was a perfect delight, and you know what babies aresometimes. At any rate, you would know, if you had known Terence. Andwhen she got to be a few years older, say seven or eight--

Well, it is perfectly impossible for me to tell you how good andlovely Kathleen was. It is all very well to try to describesnow-capped mountains at sunrise, or a storm at sea, or moonlight atNiagara, or a prairie on fire, or anything of that sort, but nobodycould tell you how good and lovely Kathleen was, so that you couldunderstand it. I suppose she was a good deal the sort of child thatyou would be if you didn't put your elbows on the table, or your spoonin your mouth, or slam the doors, or cry when your hair is combed, ortease for things that you ought not to have, or whisper in company, ortalk out loud when there are older persons present, or leave yourplaythings about when you are done with them, or get your clothessoiled when you play out of doors, or want to play at all when youought to study your lessons, or ask to be allowed to sit up afterbed-time, or bite your nails, or cut your bread, or leave your spoonin your cup instead of in your saucer, or take the biggest apple. 

I don't say that Kathleen never did any of these things. I only saythat she was so good that you would have to leave off every one ofthem or you would never catch up with her. If Kathleen had a fault, itwas that she was too good. If I were going to have anything to do withher I would rather she should be a little bit worse than a single bitbetter. I am so glad you are skipping this part, because I shouldn'twant you to try to be a bit worse than you are just for the sake ofpleasing me. And I don't mean by all this that Kathleen was one ofthose children who are a bother all the time because they are sogood. She may have done things that she ought not to do sometimes. Idare say she did. I know she did once. I will tell you all about thatin the next chapter. She was just a dear, sweet little girl, as brightand merry and healthy as any little girl in the world ever was. Andyou would think so yourself, if you had known her and were not sojealous. If I should tell you that she was as pretty as she was good, I don't suppose you would believe me. But she was, just as surely as Iam writing this book and you are reading it. I mean just as surely asI am writing it. I am not sure yet whether you are reading it or not. 

But Terence! Well, the less said about him the better. Still, Isuppose, I shall have to say something. He did every one of the thingsthat I have just mentioned. And it wasn't because he didn't know anybetter; he seemed to like to do them, just because he knew that theywere wrong. When he was a baby he was more trouble than twins, and badtwins at that. He cried all the time, except when he was eating orsleeping, and he slept only a little of the time and ate a great dealof it. He always seemed to be just about so sick, but it never hurthis appetite and he never got any sicker. After a while Ellen got usedto his being sick, and she always said that he was delicate, poorchild, and that was why he was so cross and so much trouble. 

"And is that why he eats so much?" Mrs. O'Brien would ask. 

"I dunno about that, " Ellen would answer; "I think it's the kind ofsickness that's on him that makes him eat so much. "

"More likely it's eating so much that gives him the kind of sicknessthat's on him, " Mrs. O'Brien would say. "But I tell you again, it's nosickness at all he has. He's just one of the Good People, and youcould be rid of him and have your own child back any time you would doany of the things I would tell you. "

But not a word of this would Ellen ever heed. Terence was her ownchild, and he might be a bit troublesome, as any child might, but hewas not really bad at all, and it was Kathleen, that was always sogood, the Lord knew why, that made Mrs. O'Brien think that every childought to be that way. But there was one strange thing about Terence, and Ellen herself had to admit it. After that very hour, when he wasone day old, when Mrs. O'Brien came to see him and christened him, ortried to--she never felt sure till long afterward whether she had doneit or not--he was always quiet when she was near. He would drive poorEllen nearly crazy, in spite of all her excuses for him, when he wasalone with her, but the moment that Mrs. O'Brien came into the househe would get as far away from her as he could, and then lie perfectlystill and watch her, for all the world, as John said once, like a ratin a trap watching a cat. Ellen said that it was because he alwaysremembered that it was Mrs. O'Brien who had dropped him once. To thisJohn replied: "Then maybe he'ld be making you less trouble, Ellen, ifyou was to drop him yourself once or twice. " But Mrs. O'Brien saidthat it was just because he knew what she would do to him if she hadthe chance. 

And there was another strange thing about Terence. As he grew a littleolder, he never could be got inside a church. Father Duffy had nevereven seen him, except when he came to the house while he was still ababy, and then Terence would scream and kick so, when the good priestcame near him, that he never dared touch him. The first time that hecame, Ellen told him about Mrs. O'Brien's christening the child, andasked him if it was right for her to do it. 

"Was the child looking sick, and as if he was likely to die?" FatherDuffy asked. 

"He was, father, " Ellen answered; "I couldn't deny that. "

"Then it was right for her to christen him, " the priest answered, "and he'll not need to be christened again. In fact, he can't bechristened again. "

But long after that, when they tried to take him to church, he wouldnever go. If Peter and Ellen started for church with him he would runaway from them. They could not even hold him. He would get away fromthem, and sometimes they could not tell how he did it, only he wouldbe gone. And then the only way that they could find him was to go homeagain, and there he was sure to be, as safe as ever, only he had notbeen at church. And so, after a while, they stopped trying to make himgo. 

When the two children were old enough to play together, Terence neverseemed to be happy except when he was with Kathleen. He did not carein the least to play with other boys. He did not seem to care in theleast to play at all. All he wanted was to be with Kathleen. Kathleennever liked him, and she did not like to have him with her so much ofthe time. But she was too kind-hearted to hurt anybody in any way, even a boy whom she did not like, so she tried to treat him as nicelyas she could, and she told nobody but her grandmother, to whom shetold everything, that she was not as pleased to be with him as he wasto be with her. 

Terence, in his turn, did not always treat Kathleen well, any morethan he did anybody else. He was ill-natured with her and he playedtricks on her that were not pleasant at all, and yet he wanted to bealways with her. Perhaps it was partly because she was more kind tohim than anybody else, except Ellen. For nobody else liked him. And ifhe was bad-tempered and unkind to other people, it made other peopleunkind and bad-tempered to him, but nothing could make Kathleen unkindto anybody. 

"It's not fair you all are to Terence, " Ellen said once to Mrs. O'Brien, "to think bad of him the way you do. There's things about himthat don't seem right, I know, but those things don't show the way hereally is. I dunno if I'm making you understand me. I'm his mother andI know him better nor anybody else, and I know he's different from theway he seems to you, and even the way he seems to me sometimes. AndI'll tell you how I know that. When I'm asleep I often dream abouthim. And when I dream about him, he looks a little the way he doesother times, but he's taller and he's better-looking in the face, andhe looks stronger and brighter and healthier like. And he speaks tome, and his voice is lower and pleasanter in the sound of it. Andthat's the way he'ld be, I know, if he had his health, poor child, andif everything was right with him. And you'ld all know that and you'ldfeel more for him, if you knew him the way I do. "

This was when Terence was six or seven years old. And Ellen oftenspoke in this way afterward. She saw Terence in her dreams, and he wasa very different Terence from the one who made her so much troublewhen she was awake, and yet he was partly the same. 

And there was one thing that Terence did that almost everybody liked. I might as well say everybody except Kathleen. He played the fiddle. Nobody knew how he learned. There was a neighbor of the Sullivans whocame from the same county in Ireland that they did, and he played afiddle in an orchestra at a cheap theatre. One day Peter had gone tosee this man and had taken little Terence with him. The fiddle waslying on the table. The two men went into another room and leftTerence by himself. They were talking busily and they forgot abouthim. Then they heard a soft little tune played on the fiddle. "Who'sthat playing my fiddle?" said the owner of it. 

"Sure, " said Peter, "we left nobody there but Terence. "

They went quickly back into the room and found Terence hastily layingthe fiddle down where he had found it. "Ah, can't I leave you alone aminute, " said Peter, "but you must be meddling with things that don'tbelong to you? What'll I do now if you've gone and hurt the fiddle?"

"Don't be talking that way to the child, " said the musician; "sure hedid it no harm. But where at all did he learn to play that way? That'swhat I'm thinking. Have you been letting him learn all this time andnever told me?"

"He never learned at all that I know of, " Peter answered. "I never sawhim have a fiddle in his hand till this minute. "

"It's a strange thing, then, " the musician said. "Anybody that canplay a tune like he did that one has a right to play more and better. Where did you learn it, my boy?"

"I never learned it at all, " Terence answered; "I just saw the fiddlethere and I thought I'ld see could I play it. But it's little I couldbe doing with it, I'm thinking. "

Peter was surprised enough to find that Terence could play a tune on afiddle, and so was Ellen, when she heard about it. But they did notwonder at it so much as they would have done if they had known moreabout such things. They had a sort of notion that one person couldplay the fiddle and another could not, much as one person can move hisears and another cannot. So they thought little about it. But whenTerence begged them to buy him a fiddle of his own, they saved upmoney a little at a time, and at last they bought him one. 

Then for days Terence did nothing but play. He played simple littletunes at first, but soon he began to play harder ones. Then he gotimpatient with himself, as it seemed, and he began to play such musicas nobody who heard him had ever heard before. Often he would not playwhen he was asked, but he would play for hours by himself, when hethought that no one was listening. His father brought his friend themusician to hear him, and he said that it was wonderful. He had neverheard the fiddle played so well. Nobody had ever heard the fiddleplayed so well. 

And Kathleen never cared to hear Terence play. She did hear him play, many times, of course, and she listened politely, but she told hergrandmother that she did not care about it at all. She would muchrather hear the poor fiddler of the little orchestra, who had comefrom their county in Ireland. Their neighbor the fiddler himself wasas much shocked as anyone to hear Kathleen talk like this. "Did youever hear anybody play the fiddle like Terence plays it?" he askedher, when she said something of the sort to him. 

"No, " Kathleen answered. "I never heard anybody play it like Terence, but I have heard some play it better than Terence. You play itbetter. "

"Oh, child, " he said, "I'ld give all the money I'll be earning in thenext ten years if I could play like he does. Don't you see I can't dohalf the things he does with it?"

"I know that, " Kathleen said; "it isn't the way he plays a bit thatmakes everybody talk so about him; it's just the things he does. Whenhe plays a tune it just doesn't mean anything, and when you play atune it does. "

And that was as near as Kathleen could ever come to telling why shedid not care about Terence's playing. Everybody else said that it waswonderful, but she said that it didn't mean anything. And whenKathleen talked in this way they said that she was too critical. Thatis what people will always tell you when you can see through a fraudand they cannot. 

You will suppose, without my telling you, that as soon as Kathleen wasold enough to listen to them, her grandmother began telling her theold stories of Ireland. Often Terence would come and listen to them, too, for he seemed to be less afraid of Mrs. O'Brien as he grew alittle older. But it never seemed to be because of the stories that hecame; he only wanted to be near Kathleen. 

Mrs. O'Brien told the children stories about the Good People, andabout the old heroes and kings of Ireland who had fought to save thecountry from its enemies. Terence never liked the stories about theGood People. "Don't be telling us about them fairies all the time, " hewould say. "Tell us about men; that's what I like better. "

"Don't call them by that name, " Mrs. O'Brien would answer. "They don'tlike it, and if you call them by it they may do you harm. "

"I'll call them what I like, " Terence would say, "and they'll do me noharm. It's a worthless lot they are, and you know that same yourself, Mrs. O'Brien, if you'ld only think so. They can do no harm to you, orto any woman or man that knows how to deal with them. Why will youbother with them all the time?"

And all this made Mrs. O'Brien think the more that Terence was one ofthem. 

One day Mrs. O'Brien happened to tell the children a ghost story. Idon't know whether your mother allows you to read ghost stories. Idon't see any harm in them myself, any more than Mrs. O'Brien did, butsome people do, and if your mother does, then it is lucky that you areskipping this part. I think that your mother will be very glad thatyou skipped this part with the ghost story in it. That is, of course, she won't really be glad, because, since you are skipping it, youwon't know that there is any ghost story here, and so you won't tellyour mother that you skipped a ghost story, and so she won't reallycare whether you skipped it or not. What I mean is that if you hadread it instead of skipping it, so that you could tell your motherthat there was a ghost story, she would be glad that you hadskipped--well, what is the use of my trying to tell you what I mean, as long as you are skipping it, anyway? I had better go on with thestory. 

"Once a man was coming home from a funeral, " said Mrs. O'Brien. "As hewas walking along the road, near a churchyard, he found the head of aman. He took it up and left it in the churchyard. Then he went on hisway, and soon he met a man who looked like a gentleman. 

"'Where have you been?' said the gentleman. 

"'I was at a funeral, ' said the man, 'and as I came back I found thehead of a man, and I left it in the churchyard. '

"'It was well for you that you did that, ' said the gentleman. 'Thatwas my head, and if you had done any wrong by it, it would be theworse for you. '

"'And how did you lose your head, then?' the man asked. 

"'I did not lose it, ' the gentleman answered; 'I left it on the road, where you found it, to see what you would do with it. '

"'Then you must be one of the Good People, ' said the man, 'and it'ssorry I am that I met you. '

"'Don't be afraid, ' said the gentleman. 'I'll do you no harm, and Imay do you good. '

"'I'm obliged to you, ' said the man; 'will you come home with me todinner?'

"They went to the man's house, and the man told his wife to get dinnerready for them. When they had eaten dinner they played cards, and thenthey went to bed and slept till morning. In the morning they hadbreakfast, and after a while the gentleman said: 'Come with me. '

"'Where am I to come with you?' the man asked. 

"'I want you to see the place where I live, ' the gentleman said. 

"They went together till they came to the churchyard. The gentlemanpointed to a tombstone and said: 'Lift it up. '

"The man lifted it up, and there was a stairway underneath. They wentdown the stairs together till they came to a door, and it led into akitchen. Two women were sitting by the fire. Said the gentleman to oneof the women: 'Get up and get dinner ready for us. '

"The woman got up and brought some small potatoes. 'Are those all youhave for us?' the gentleman asked. 

"'Those are all I have, ' the woman answered. 

"'As those are all you have, ' said the gentleman, 'keep them. '

"Then he said to the other woman: 'Get up and get dinner ready forus. '

"The woman got up and brought some meal and husks. 'Are those all youhave?' the gentleman asked. 

"'Those are all I have, ' the woman answered. 

"'As those are all you have, ' said the gentleman, 'keep them. '

"He led the man up the stairs and knocked at a door. A beautiful womanopened it. She was dressed in a gown of silk, and it was all trimmedwith gold and jewels. He asked her if she could give him and thestranger a dinner. Then she placed before them the finest dinner thatwas ever seen. And when they had eaten and drunk as much as theyliked, the gentleman said: 'Do you know why this woman was able togive us such a dinner?'

"'I do not know, ' said the man, 'but I should like to know, if youcare to tell me. '

"'When I was alive, ' said the gentleman, 'I had three wives. And thefirst wife I had would never give anything to any poor man but littlepotatoes. And now she has nothing but little potatoes herself, andshe can give nothing else to anyone, till the Day of Judgment. And mysecond wife would never give anything to the poor but meal and husks, and now she has nothing but meal and husks herself, and she can givenothing else to anyone, till the Day of Judgment. But my third wifealways gave to the poor the best that she had, and so she will alwayshave the best that there is in the world, and she can always give thebest in the world to anyone, till the Day of Judgment. '

"Then the gentleman took the man about and showed him his house, andit was a palace, more beautiful than anything that he had ever seen. And while he was walking about it he heard music. And he thought thathe had never heard music so beautiful. And while he was listening tothe music he felt like sleeping, so he lay down and slept. And when hewoke he was in his own home. He never saw the gentleman again and hecould never find the place where he had been. "

"It's all the time fairies and ghosts with you, Mrs. O'Brien, " Terencesaid. "Who cares what they do? It's what men do that counts. I'll tellyou a story now. "

So Mrs. O'Brien and Kathleen listened to Terence's story. 

"There was three men, " Terence began, "that lived near together, andtheir names was Hudden and Dudden and Donald. Each one of them had anox that he'ld be ploughing with. Donald was a cleverer man than theothers and he got on better. So the other two put their heads togetherto think what would they do to hurt Donald and to ruin him entirely, so that he'ld have to give up his farm and they could get it cheap. Well, after a while they thought that if they could kill his ox hecouldn't plough his land, and then he'ld lose the use of it and he'ldhave to give it up. So one night they went and killed Donald's ox. 

"And to be sure, when Donald found his ox killed, he thought it wasall over with him. But he wasn't the man to be thinking that way long. So he thought he'd better make the best he could of it, and he tookthe skin off the ox and started with it to the town to sell it. And ashe was going along a magpie perched on the skin and began pecking atit, and all the time chattering, for it had been taught to talk. Withthat Donald put round his hand and caught the magpie and held it underhis coat. 

"He went on to the town and sold the skin, and then he went to an innfor a drink. He followed the landlady down into the cellar, and whileshe was drawing the liquor he pinched the magpie and it beganchattering again. 'By the powers, ' says the landlady, 'who's thattalking and what's he saying at all?'

"'It's a bird, ' says Donald, 'that I carry around with me, and itknows a great deal and tells me many a thing that it's good for me toknow. And it's after telling me just now that the liquor you're givingme is not the best you have. '

"'It's the wonderful bird all out, ' says the landlady, and with thatshe went to another cask for the liquor. Then said she: 'Will you sellthat bird?'

"'I wouldn't like to do that, ' says Donald. 'It's a valuable bird, andthen it's been my friend a long time, and I dunno what it would bethinking of me if I'd sell it. '

"'Maybe I'ld make it worth your while. ' said the landlady. 

"'I'm a poor man, ' says Donald. 

"'I'll fill your hat with silver, ' says the landlady, 'if you'll leaveme the bird. '

"'I couldn't refuse that, ' says Donald; 'you may have the bird. '

"So she filled his hat with silver, and he left her the bird and wenton his way home. 

"It wasn't long after he got home till he met Hudden and Dudden. 'Aha!' says he to them, 'you thought it was the bad turn you was doingme, but you couldn't have done me a better. Look what I got for thehide of my ox, that you killed on me. ' And he showed them the hatfulof silver. 'You never saw such a demand for hides in your life, ' sayshe, 'as there is in the town this present time. '

"No sooner had he said that than Hudden and Dudden went home andkilled their own oxen and set off for the town to sell the hides. Butwhen they got there they could get no more for them than the commonprice of hides, and they came home again vowing vengeance on Donald. 

"This time they were bound there would be no mistake about it, so theywent to his house and they seized him and put him into a sack and tiedup the top of it. 'Now, ' says one of them, 'you'll not be doing us anydirty turn this time, I'm thinking. We're going to take you to theriver and throw you in and drown you; that's what we're going to doand I'm telling you of it now, so that you'll have the pleasure ofthinking that all your sorrows are nearly over, as you go along. '

"Well, Donald said never a word, but he kept thinking, and those words'all your sorrows are nearly over' gave him something particular tothink about, and it wasn't long till he began to see his way, if hecould only get a chance to do what he was thinking of. 

"They took up the sack and they carried it by turns for a time, butboth of them soon began to get mighty tired and thirsty. Then theycame to a tavern, and they left the sack outside, and Donald in it, and went in to get a drink. Donald knew that if they once begandrinking they would stay inside for some time. Then presently he hearda great trampling sound, and he knew it must be a herd of cattlecoming, and he knew there must be somebody driving them. With that hebegan singing, like he was the happiest man in the world. 

"The man that was driving the cattle came up to him and he says:'Who's inside the sack there, and what are you singing like that for?'

"'I'm singing because I'm the happiest man alive, ' says Donald. 'I hadplenty of troubles in my life, but I'm going to heaven now, andthey're all over. There's a blessing on this same sack, you must know, and whoever's in it goes straight to heaven, and isn't it myselfthat's a right to be singing?'

"'Surely you have, ' says the man, 'and it's glad I'ld be to take yourplace. What would you take from me now to let me get in that sack inyour place?'

"'There's not money enough in the world to make me do it, ' saysDonald, and he began singing again. 

[Illustration: "THERE'S A BLESSING ON THIS SAME SACK. "]

"'Ah, be reasonable!' says the man. 'I'll pay you well. '

"'I tell you the whole world couldn't do it, ' says Donald. 'It's notevery day a man gets a chance to go to heaven. Think of being overwith all the sorrows and the troubles of this world, and nothing buthappiness any more forever. Sure I'ld be a fool if I'ld give it up. '

"'Oh, but think of me, ' says the man. 'It's me that has the sorrows onme so that I can't bear them. There's my wife died three months ago, and all the children was dead before her, and it was she always helpedme with the farm and knew how to manage better nor myself, so that nowshe's gone I can do nothing with it. And I've lost money on it till Ican't pay the rent, and now I'll lose the farm itself, and here I amdriving these cattle to town to sell them to get money to take anotherpiece of land and keep the life in me, and yet I don't want to live atall. Oh, give me your place in that sack and you'll go to heaven inyour own time, if it was only for that one good deed. Give me yourplace and I'll give you these twenty fine cattle, and you'll havebetter luck nor me and you'll surely do well with them. '

"'I can't resist you, ' says Donald; 'sure it's you needs to go toheaven more nor me. It's the truth I hate to do it, but I'll give youmy place. '

"So with that the man untied the sack and Donald got out of it and hegot into it, and Donald tied it up again. Then Donald went away home, driving the cattle before him. 

"It was not long then till Hudden and Dudden came out of the inn, andthey took up the sack, thinking that Donald was still inside it, andthey took it to the river and threw it into a deep place. Then theywent home, and there they found Donald before them, and a herd of thefinest cattle they ever saw. 'How is this, Donald?' they said. 'Wedrowned you in the river, and here you are back home before us. Andwhere are you after getting all these cattle?'

"'Oh, sure, ' says Donald, 'it's myself has the bad luck all out. HereI've only twenty of these cattle, and if I'd only had help I couldhave had a hundred--aye, or five hundred. Sure in the place where youthrew me in, down at the bottom of the river, there was hundreds ofthe finest cattle you ever saw, and plenty of gold besides. Oh, it'sthe misfortunate creature that I am, not to have any help while I wasdown there. Just these poor twenty was all I could manage to driveaway with me, and these not the best that was there. '

"Then they both swore that they would be his friends if he would onlyshow them the place in the river where they could get cattle likehis. So he said he'ld show them the place and they could drive homeas many of them as they liked. Well, Hudden and Dudden was in such ahurry they couldn't get to the river soon enough, and when they werethere Donald picked up a stone, and said he: 'Watch where I throw thisstone, and that's where you'll find the most of the cattle. '

"Then he threw the stone into a deep part of the river, and he said:'One of you jump in there now, and if you find more of the cattle thanyou can manage, just come to the top and call for help, and the othertwo of us will come in and help you. '

"So Hudden jumped in first and he went straight to the bottom. In aminute he came up to the top and shouted: 'Help! help!'

"'He's calling for help, ' says Donald; 'wait now till I go in and helphim. '

"'Stay where you are, ' says Dudden; 'haven't you cattle enoughalready? It's my turn to have some of them now. ' And in he jumped, andHudden and Dudden was both drowned. And then Donald went home andlooked after his cattle and his farm, and soon he made money enough totake the two farms that Hudden and Dudden had left, besides his own. 

"And that's the way, " said Terence, "to get on in this world or anyworld. Get the better of them that's trying to get the better of you, and don't hope for any help from fairies or ghosts. "

"Terence, " said Mrs. O'Brien, "there's a little that's right in whatyou say, and there's more that's wrong. Depend on yourself and don'tlook for help from Good People or ghosts. So much of what you say isright. But Donald was not honest and he got on by tricks, and I don'twant you or Kathleen to be that way. You'll not get on that way;you'll only come to grief. But I want you to be kind and helpful tomortals and Good People because it's right to be so, not to get anyreward. The reward you may get or you may not in this world, but it'snot that I want you to work for. And I'll tell you a story now to showyou what I mean. 

"There was a poor little bit of a boy once, and he had a hump on hisback. He made his living by plaiting rushes and straw into hats andbaskets and beehives, and he could do it better than anybody else formiles around. I don't know what his right name was, but the peoplecalled him Lusmore, after the flower of that name. The flower, youknow, is the one that some call fairy-cap--the Lord between us andharm!--and others call it foxglove. And they called him after it, because he would always be wearing a sprig of it in his cap. And inspite of having a crooked back, which often makes a body sulky, hewas a good-natured little fellow, and never had a bad word or a badthought for anybody. 

"One day he had been at a fair to sell some of the things that he madeout of straw and rushes, and as he was coming home he felt tired withthe long walk. So he sat down to rest for a little, and he leaned hisback on a bank of earth, not thinking that it was a place that wassaid to be a rath of the Good People. He sat there for a long time, and at last he began to hear music. It was very soft at first, and hehad to listen hard to catch it at all. Then it sounded clearer, andafter a little he could tell that there were fiddlers and pipers. Thenhe thought that he could hear the feet of dancers, and finallysingers, and he could hear the words of the song that they sang. Andthese were the words:

 Da Luan, da Mort, Da Luan, da Mort, Da Luan, da Mort. 

"And there were no other words but these, and these the singers sangover and over and over again. And all they mean is, 'Monday, Tuesday, Monday, Tuesday, Monday, Tuesday. ' After the singers had sung thesewords they would make a little pause and then they would go on withthem. Lusmore knew now that the music came from inside the rath, andhe knew well enough that it was the Good People he was listening to. He kept very quiet and listened, and it seemed a wonderfully sweetsong to him, only after a while he got tired of hearing no otherwords. And he thought: 'Maybe they'd like the song better themselvesif there was more of it, and I wonder couldn't I help them with it. '

"But he knew he must not disturb the Good People, so he waited tillone of the little pauses, and then he sang very softly: 'Augus daCadine. '

"Then he kept on singing all the words, along with the singers insidethe rath, adding on his own new line every time:

 Da Luan, da Mort, Da Luan, da Mort, Da Luan, da Mort, Augus da Cadine. 

"And that means: 'Monday, Tuesday, Monday, Tuesday, Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday too. '

"As he went on he sang a little louder and a little louder, till byand by the Good People in the rath began to listen to hear who or whatit was that was singing their song with them, and then they caught theline that Lusmore had added. Then they were so pleased that theyscarcely knew what to do, for they were more tired of the song than hewas, only they did not know what to do to make it any better. And whenthey found it was somebody outside the rath that was singing it andwas making more out of it than they ever did, they wanted to have himinside as soon as possible. 

"So all at once Lusmore saw a door open in the rath, close beside him, and a great light streaming out, and then there was the sound of wingsall around him, and next he saw the forms of the Good People pouringout and flying and whirling around him like a swarm of butterflies. They caught him up and carried him inside the rath, so lightly that hecould not tell what was holding him, and he felt as if he was floatingin the air. He was a little frightened at first, but when they had himinside the rath they set him up above all the musicians and thankedhim for mending their song, and did him all sorts of honor. 

"Then he saw some of the Good People talking together in a littlegroup, and presently they came up to him, and one of them said:'Lusmore, we've been thinking what will we do for you as a reward formending our song, and we've decided to ask yourself what it is thatyou'ld rather we'ld give you. Think, now, what it is that you'ldrather have than anything else in the world. '

"'It's obliged to you I am for your kindness, gentlemen, ' saidLusmore, 'but if you'ld do what would please me most in all the world, it's not giving me anything you'ld be, but taking something from me, and that's this hump that I have on my back. '

"'That's easy done, ' said the one of them that had spoken before;'come on now and dance with us. '

"Well, Lusmore, being crooked the way he was, and always weak, hadnever danced before in his life, and he never thought he could; butwhen they took hold of him on both sides and led him out, he foundthat he was dancing with the best of them, and he felt so light and hemoved so easily that it seemed to him as if he was no more than afeather that the wind was blowing about. Then one of the Good Peoplesaid to him, 'Lusmore, where is your hump now?'

"And he felt behind him for it, and it was not on his back at all. 'Look down on the floor, ' said the one that had spoken to him, again. And he looked down, and there was his hump, lying on the floor beforehim. 

"Then they all began dancing again and Lusmore with them, till he felttired and then dizzy, and then he fell to the ground, and he knewnothing more till he awoke in the morning and found himself lying onthe ground outside the rath, where he had sat down to rest the nightbefore. The first thing he thought was that it was a dream that he hadhad, but he never had felt so well and so strong in his life as he didthat minute. So he put his hand behind him, and there was no humpthere. And, what was more, he had on a new suit of clothes that theGood People had given him. Then he went home and told his neighborswhat had happened to him, and they could scarcely believe it. Buteveryone knew that there were Good People in that rath, and there washimself, too, the same boy as before, only without the hump, and so, at long last, they had to believe the whole story. 

"Well, the news of Lusmore's wonderful cure was told all through thecountry, and at last it came to a place a long way off, where therewas another boy lived that had a hump on his back. And a differentsort of boy he was from Lusmore. His temper was as bad as his body. Hewas ill-natured and spiteful and lazy, and he would always rather bemaking trouble than saving it. So when his mother heard the wayLusmore had had the hump taken off him, she thought maybe her boycould get rid of his own in the same way. 

"With that she set off with the boy and a neighbor of hers, and theycame to where Lusmore lived, and asked him would he tell them allabout how it was that he had the hump taken off him. And he went overit all with them and told them everything that he did and everythingthat happened to him. And in the end he went with them to show themthe very spot where he had sat down beside the rath, and there theyleft the little hunchback, and told him to do everything just asLusmore had done it. 

"He sat there listening for a long time and heard nothing, and so atlast he went to sleep, and then all at once he was awakened by hearingthe Good People singing in the rath. And they were singing much betternow than when Lusmore heard them first, for they had the song now ashe had improved it for them, and they were singing:

 Da Luan, da Mort, Da Luan, da Mort, Da Luan, da Mort, Augus da Cadine. 

"And as soon as he heard it the little fellow, not waiting for time ortune, shouted out: 'Augus da Hena. ' And if it was all put togetherright that would make it mean: 'Monday, Tuesday, Monday, Tuesday, Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday too, and Thursday too. ' Only he didn'ttrouble to put it together right, but just bawled it out any way. 

"Then the music stopped all at once, and he heard the people insidethe rath shouting: 'Who is spoiling our tune? Who is spoiling ourtune?' and out they all came and caught him up and hurried him insidethe rath so that the breath nearly went out of his body. And one ofthem shouted: 'What shall we do to him for spoiling our tune?' andanother said: 'Ask him what he wants us to do for him!' and anothersaid: 'What do you want from us, anyway?'

"And he just found breath enough to say: 'I want the same that Lusmorehad, ' meaning by that he wanted them to reward him the same way theydid Lusmore. 

"But one of the Good People shouted: 'You'll get what Lusmore had, then; it was a hump on the back that Lusmore had, and we took it offhim, but we don't want it and it's easy to give it to you. Be livelythere now, some of you, and hand that hump down here. '

"And then some of the Good People got Lusmore's hump, that was hangingup under the roof, and they clapped it on his back, on the top of hisown, and then they threw him out of the rath. And there his motherfound him in the morning, more dead than alive and with a hump twiceas big as before. "

"A fine story that is, Mrs. O'Brien, " Terence said, when the old womanhad finished. "And why didn't the one of them get the same reward asthe other? Sure he did the same as the other in lengthening the songfor the fairies, didn't he?"

"He did the same in a way, " Mrs. O'Brien answered, "but not for thesame reason. Lusmore helped them with the song because he thought theymight be the better for his help, and that was all the reason. And hedid it in a way that wouldn't disturb them. But the other did it onlyto help himself, because he thought that he'ld get a great reward forit, and he had no real wish to do them any kindness. Don't you see thedifference between the two of them?"

"Stuff!" said Terence. 

[Illustration: ]

VIII

THE STARS IN THE WATER

This is to be another sort of chapter altogether. I am going to tellyou now what happened. The eighteen years are gone now and we havecome to the time when there is something to tell. 

When those eighteen years began, you know, Kathleen and Terence werenot much more than born. So, if you have got as far as addition andcan add eighteen to nothing and find that it makes eighteen, you willsee that by this time they were about eighteen years old. John O'Brienand his mother and Kathleen did not live on the east side of CentralPark any more. John had got on better and better with the work that hewas doing. After a while, instead of having to do work of common kindsany more, he had been put in charge of other men who were doing it. After another while he learned so much about the work and how it wasdone and how it ought to be done, that he was made one of the partnersin the company that did it. So he got a good deal more money and hewas able to take his mother and Kathleen out of the little tenementwhere she was born, and to live in a better place. Then he had a houseof his own, over on the west side of the Park, and it was there thatKathleen lived when she was eighteen years old. 

Peter had not got along so well. John himself employed him, but Peterknew enough to go only just so far, and there he stuck. He lived in alittle better place than he did at first, but he could never make hisway like John. And then Terence, as he grew up, made a good deal oftrouble. He never would learn anything useful and he never would doanything useful. He never helped his father at all, and always hisfather had to help him. If there was any fight or any accident oranything troublesome or wrong within a mile, Terence was always in themidst of it. He was constantly getting his head and his ribs broken, and Peter was always having to pay for other people's things that hehad broken, from their heads to their windows. 

Ellen's excuse for him, that he was never well and had never beenquite himself since he was born, was pretty well worn out. For, people said, he had always been exactly the same ever since he wasborn, and if that same was not himself, who was it? But Ellen keptsaying it none the less. Many a time Mrs. O'Brien tried to make herbelieve that the boy was a changeling, and not her child at all, andmany a time she begged Ellen to let her only try a charm to see if hewas, but Ellen never would hear of it. She always said what she hadsaid at first, that nobody knew him but her. She saw him better whenshe dreamed about him, for then she saw him as he really was, withoutall the harm that had been done to him by all the sickness that hadbeen on him one time and another. 

You might suppose that anybody who could play the fiddle as well asTerence need not have any trouble in making his own living. He mighthave found a place in a theatre, like the man whose fiddle he hadplayed on first. He might have taught others to play. Or he might haveplayed all by himself, and hundreds of people would have paid to hearhim. But he would play only when he chose, and he would never doanything useful with his fiddle. And everybody said he played sowonderfully--everybody except Kathleen. 

And this brings us back to Kathleen. Terence heard before he was manyyears old something about the plan that Peter and John had made, thathe and Kathleen should be married when they grew up, if they bothliked the plan. He seemed to forget all about this last part, "if theyboth liked the plan. " He liked the plan himself and he seemed to thinkthat that was enough. He had talked about it to Kathleen many times, before they were both eighteen years old, and it troubled Kathleen sothat she tried never to see Terence when she could possibly help it. She had always disliked him, though she had always tried not to showit; but as they got a little older and she found that there was noother way to keep away from him at all, she had to tell him so. 

But do you suppose that made any difference with Terence? Well, it didmake a difference with him, but he did not let anybody see that itdid. When Kathleen told him for the first time that she did not likehim at all, he went away by himself. He went straight to the hill thatis in the north end of the Park, and there he threw himself down onhis face on the grass. For hours he lay there, trembling and crying, and beating the ground with his feet and his fists. And it would takeanother book as large as this to tell all that he was saying tohimself or to the grass, or to something under the grass--how can Itell? And you would not want to read the book. It is not likely thatyou will ever see anybody in such a rage as he was in. But at the endof it he stood up and looked just as he usually did, and went straightto the O'Briens' and stayed all the evening and kept as near Kathleenas he could, and stared at her all the time. And he talked to her thenand afterward, just as if she had told him that she liked him betterthan anybody else that she knew. 

So Kathleen had to go to her grandmother, as she always did when shewas in any trouble, and tell her all about it. And her grandmothertold her that she and Terence were both a good deal too young to thinkof anything of the sort, and that she would do all that she could tohelp her. But she could not do much. She told John about it, and hesaid that he should be sorry if the plan that he and Peter had madecould not be carried out, but he would forbid it himself, as long asTerence was so lazy and so worthless and so bad as he was now. When hegot a little older, he hoped that everything would be better, andthere was no hurry about anything. 

And though Terence made her so much trouble, Kathleen had many otherthings to think about. She went to school and learned a great deal, and her grandmother taught her a great deal more. Her grandmother toldher stories still, and, though she was nearly eighteen and felt thatshe was getting so dreadfully old, she still liked stories. Then shehad a good many friends, and she spent much of her time with them. Shevisited Ellen often, too, going to see her at times when she thoughtthat Terence would not be at home. Ellen and Peter still lived on theeast side of the Park, and some of her friends lived there, too, sothat Kathleen often walked through the north end of the Park, nearthat hill that I have told you about so many times before. 

Kathleen was fond of this part of the Park, as everybody is who knowsit. But especially she was fond of one little spot that nobody elseseemed to notice much. So Kathleen got a feeling that this one placebelonged to her, and she was all the more fond of it because of that. It was a tiny little basin of water, near the path, but up a grassybank. On the side toward the path it was all open, but on the otherside there were rocks, and out of a little cleft in the rocks ran abit of a stream of water that fed the little basin. Then, around therocks and over them there was more grass, and the hill rose at bothsides and above. On the edge of the hill, right over the basin, was apine-tree, and around it were other trees. Their branches cametogether over the water and almost shut out the sky from it, but notquite. 

Every time that Kathleen passed it, she went up the bank and lookedinto the still water. She had a feeling that if she ever went by anddid not do this the water would miss her and would feel hurt. When shedid this by daylight and in summer, if she stood up and looked intothe water, she could see a patch of branches and green leaves and bluesky through them, about as big as the basin itself, and that wasscarcely larger than a fair-sized tub. But if she stooped down closeto the water and looked into it, she saw that there was a great dealof sky under it, below the trees, which grew upside down. There wasalmost as much sky under the water as she could see above it, and shebelieved that there would prove to be quite as much if she could onlyget her head where she could see it. 

She used to look in at night sometimes, too, and try to see if therewere any stars in that sky; but in the summer she never could see any, because the leaves on the trees were so thick that they almost hid thesky, and they seemed to be thicker and to hide the sky more by nightthan they did by day. In the winter it was different. Then there wereno leaves, but only branches and twigs, which covered the sky likelace work, and through these Kathleen sometimes thought that she couldsee a star or two in the water, but she was seldom quite sure. Yet shenever passed the place without looking in it, to see the green leavesand the blue sky or the black leaves and the almost black sky, or thestars, if she could find any. 

 * * * * *

On a certain day--the last day of April it was--there was a good dealof excitement in the fairy palace under the hill. The reason of it wasthat a new fairy had come to live there. Perhaps you never heard of ababy fairy. I have read a good many stories about fairies that saidnothing about any such thing. Now, you needn't try to be so brightabout it and say that of course there must be baby fairies, or therecould not be any grown-up fairies. That isn't so at all. Fairies arenot like men about growing old and dying and other fairies takingtheir places. I have heard of a fairy funeral, but I can't imagine howit happened, and I think that the story about it must have been amistake. If you have read this book as far as here, you know that mostfairies are thousands of years old, and you know, too--for Naggeneenhas told you--what is likely to become of them in the end. Still, there is no sort of doubt that now and then a new fairy is born, andthere was one born on this day. He was the son of the King and theQueen, and you can guess well enough that a fairy prince is a personof some consequence. 

"What will we do at all for a nurse for the baby?" said the Queen. 

"What will we do at all?" said the King. 

"It never would do for me to have the care of him at the first, " saidthe Queen. 

"Never a bit, " said the King; "it would ruin him. "

"How would it ruin him?" said the Queen. 

"Never a know I know, no more nor you, " said the King, "but you knowas well as I it would ruin him. "

"Why can't I care for my own child?" said the Queen, "the same as ahuman mother does?"

"I dunno, " said the King, "only we know you can't. We've never daredtry, to see what would happen. He must have a human nurse. Maybe it'ssomething to do with them things Naggeneen was always talking aboutour having no souls--"

"Don't be talking about Naggeneen, " said the Queen, "and me not wellat all. " Then she was silent for a little while and then she went ontalking about Naggeneen herself. "Are you sorry he left us?"

"Who?" said the King. 

"Naggeneen, " said the Queen. 

"I'm not sorry, " said the King. "We've more peace without him. Thoughhe was clever and he often told us the right thing to do and he mighttell us the right thing to do now. "

"Did he tell us the right thing to do when he told us to bring Terencehere to learn the ways of men and to teach them to us?"

"Sure Terence is a good boy, " said the King, "and he plays the fiddleas well as Naggeneen himself, so we don't miss Naggeneen for the onlything that he was good for. And Terence is easier to have about otherways. "

"But has he ever learned the ways of men and taught them to us?" theQueen asked. 

The King was getting annoyed. "He has learned them, I think, " he said, "but he has never taught them to us. And you know Naggeneen himselfsaid the plan would be no use. "

"He did, " said the Queen; "only you would try it. And just so all thistalk is no use. What will we do for a nurse for the baby?"

"We'll find one some way, " the King answered. "Was you thinking ofanyone in particular?"

"I was not thinking of anyone in particular. "

"How would Kathleen O'Brien do, do you think?" the King asked. 

"I don't want to be troubling the O'Briens, " the Queen said, "and theyalways so kind to us. "

"It would not be troubling them much; we'ld only keep her a littlewhile and they'ld hardly miss her. "

"If she was once here, " said the Queen, "some one of your men wouldwant to keep her, and it would break the heart of her grandmother. Soit would her father's, too, but I'm not thinking so much of him. "

"We'll not keep her, " said the King, "only as long as the child needsher. "

"You say that now, " said the Queen; "it would be different if she wasonce here--I'ld like to have her as well as anyone I know. "

"We could find no one else so good, " said the King. "It's May Eve, youmind. There's no time when we have more power, and few when we have somuch. We'll all be dancing to-night, and Kathleen often passes alongjust about dark. It's likely we could get her to dance with us, andthen we'ld be sure enough of her. If that fails, there's other ways. Our power lasts till sunrise. "

"And you think we'ld not be keeping her long?" said the Queen. 

"We'ld have her home almost before she was missed, " the King answered. 

"I wouldn't mind if you tried, " said the Queen. 

Kathleen had been to visit Ellen. She was on her way home through thePark, and she had meant to get there before dark, but it was a littlelater than she had thought, and she saw the red in the sky before hergetting darker and duller every minute. As she walked along she sawtwo other girls of about her own age, whom she knew, in front of her. She overtook them and the three walked on together, though the otherscould scarcely keep up, Kathleen hurried so. 

When they were nearly through the Park they came to the little basinwhere the water ran down out of the rock. Though she wanted to gethome so quickly, she could not pass this place without going up thebank and looking into the water, because she felt so sure that if shedid not the water would miss her and feel hurt. She ran up the bankand looked into the still little pool. The other girls went on, andshe heard one of them call after her: "Thought you were in a hurry!"

Kathleen did not mind them, but only looked into the water, which wasalmost black, it was getting so dark all around. She had not seen thewater look so dark in a long time. She looked up over her head and shesaw that it was because the little new leaves had begun to come out onthe trees and were beginning to hide the sky. She saw one or two ofthe brightest stars, that had already come out in the sky, and shelooked back into the water and tried to see them there, but she couldnot find them. There was nothing but the little, still, black pool. 

She went back to the path and ran on after the other girls. She sawthem walking on slowly, only a little way ahead of her. Just as shehad nearly come up with them she stood still to look at a wonderfulsight. She just thought dimly that it was strange that the other girlswere not watching it, too, but the sight itself excited her so thatshe had not much time to think of that. On the grass, close beside thepath, there were ever so many boys and girls--at least she thought atfirst that they were boys and girls--dancing. The grass in that placesloped upward from the path, and the ground was a little hollowed, ina sort of shell shape. All around the place, except where the pathwas, trees and bushes hung over the grass. The buds were just openinghere, too, and the air was full of the smell of the new spring grassand leaves, which always grows stronger in the evening. 

Kathleen stood gazing at the boys and girls dancing. There were somany of them that she could not count them. She thought that theyseemed to be a little younger and smaller than herself. The boys allwore green jackets and red caps. When she looked at them more closelyshe could not tell whether they were boys at all or not. They lookedmore like old men. And she could scarcely believe that either, becausethey danced so fast and seemed so lively. Her father could not dancelike that, she was sure, and he was not an old man. 

But she had no doubt that the girls were girls. Usually she could nottell a pretty girl from an ugly one, any more than any other girl can, but she knew that these were pretty. Anybody would. They had long, golden hair that hung all loose and free and came down to their knees, when the little wind did not blow it away in some other direction. They had deep, soft eyes. They were dressed in long, white gowns, sowhite that they shone, now like a sheet of pale light and now with ahundred little sparkles, as the water of the sea does sometimes, whenit is broken into foam by the prow of a ship. All the men carriedlanterns and all the girls had something that looked like longflower-stems, only there were tiny lights on the ends of them, insteadof flowers. These and the lanterns did not seem to trouble them at allin dancing, and if Kathleen had seen the lights and had not seen thedancers, she would have thought that they were a swarm of fireflies. 

She had scarcely stood there for a minute before one of the men cameup to her and asked her to dance with him. Kathleen's first thoughtwas that she ought to be afraid, and her second thought was that shewas not afraid a bit. She liked dancing and she had just been wishingthat she could dance with these boys and girls. Then she wondered ifit was quite right. Then she could not see what there could be wrongabout it. Then she let the little man take her hand and she steppedoff the path upon the grass and began to dance. She heard the othergirls calling to her again, farther up the path. She called back tothem: "I am coming in a minute! Wait for me!" And then she went ondancing. 

When she had been only looking on, the dancing had seemed to Kathleento be quite wonderful, but now she found that she could do it allnearly as well as the little boys and girls. She thought that it mightbe because the little old man was a better partner for dancing thanshe had ever had before. They danced around by themselves, moving inand out among the others, no matter how close together they were, andalways finding their way, now in the midst of the whole company andnow out beyond the very edge of it, and then suddenly all the dancerswould join hands and whirl about in a great circle, so fast thatKathleen could not tell whether her feet were touching the ground atall. 

It seemed to her that she had never done anything so delightfulbefore. She did not think of going on with the other girls any more. She did not think of getting home early, or of anything but thedancing. She could not tell at all how long she had been dancing, butit was all dark, except for the little lanterns and the little lightson the flower-stems, and the stars were all out in the sky. And thensomebody said: "It is time to go. "

The man who had been dancing with Kathleen whispered to her: "You areto go with us. "

And Kathleen thought of nothing but of going with the queer little oldmen and the beautiful little girls. They all left the shell-shapedgrass-plot and moved along together--Kathleen could scarcely tell evennow whether her feet were on the ground or not--over the grass, tillthey came to a little pool of water--Kathleen's own little pool. 

She looked down into it, and there was no doubt about the stars now. There were hundreds of them down under the water, shining up throughit from as far below, it seemed, as the stars in the sky were upabove. The dancers who came to it first stepped on the surface of thepool, and it bore them up as if it had been a floor of glass. ThenKathleen saw that the rocks behind the pool were not as she had everseen them before. There was an opening straight into the hill, andwhen she came nearer still she saw that the water was no longer alittle pool. It was more like a long, narrow lake, and it covered thebottom of the opening that led into the hill. All the people weregoing in, walking along the path of water as easily as if it had beena path of ice. 

Again it seemed to Kathleen that she ought to be afraid, and again itseemed to her, still more clearly, that she was not afraid. When shecame to the water she put her foot upon it and walked along it aseasily as the others were doing. She thought that she would rememberthat this water could be walked on, and would try it the next day. Shehad never thought of trying it before. 

But now she and the others were moving along the path into the hill. It was still dark, except for the lights that they carried and thestars that shone up through the water. And these were not thereflection of any stars in the sky, for there was no sky to be seenover them now--only rocks. Then there was a pale violet light shiningon the walls of the passage ahead of them. Then, as Kathleen lookeddown at the water again, to see if she were really walking on it, shesaw that there were no more stars, but the water was of a faint, shining yellow, and in a moment she was not walking on water any more, but on a floor, that seemed to her to be all of gold. 

She could do nothing now but stand still and look around at thewonderful sight. All around her were walls of silver, so bright thatthey reflected everything in the great hall, and she could not tell atall how large it was. But she made out that in the middle was a greatdome, held up by the most wonderful gleaming columns of gold andsilver, first a column of gold and then a column of silver, and theseshe saw again and again in the walls all about. She could not see thetop of the dome from where she stood, it was so high, but all aroundthe sides of it she saw great diamonds and rubies and emeralds, someof them as big as her head, that poured down soft white and red andgreen lights, and these she saw, too, shining up, a little dimmer, from the gold of the floor, which was almost as good a mirror as thewalls. 

The sides of the dome, in which the jewels were set, were all of bandsand lines and ribbons of gold and silver, wonderfully woven togetherinto shapes and patterns which she could not follow or trace out withher eyes, because they seemed to be always slowly moving--turning andtwisting and winding and wreathing about, never for a moment the same, but always new and always beautiful. And when this was reflected inthe golden floor it was like the wavering shapes in water that isalmost still, but yet has little waves that dance and break up everyreflection that is seen in it. 

And still, although she saw no lamps except the great white and redand green gems, there came from somewhere--perhaps from the top of thedome, she thought--that violet light that she had seen first on thewalls of the passage, and it filled the whole hall, like the glow of aglorious sunset that never faded. And all this was inside a hill thatKathleen had known all the years of her life, and she had never seenanything wonderful about it. 

 * * * * *

While Kathleen is wondering at the fairy palace I will explain to youthe subject which you have been wondering about. If you only knew morewe could get on with the story so much faster. It is most annoying. And you have been brought up so well too! I don't see that it isanybody's fault but your own. You have been wondering all along how itwas that the fairies seemed to Kathleen to be, as I said, only alittle smaller than herself, when you have always heard that fairieswere so very little. 

Well, to think of your not understanding that! I am bound to say thatwhen I was of your age I was just as ignorant about it as you are now, but then, children now have a good many more advantages than they hadin my day. Considering how few advantages we had, it is a great creditto people of my age that we know anything at all, and, considering howmany of them you have, it is a disgrace to you that you do not knoweverything. 

When I was a child I used to read about fairies, and the book wouldsay that they were six inches tall, or that they were about as big asa man's thumb, or it would tell about their sitting in flowers. Andthen I would look at the pictures and they would appear to be as highas a man's knees, or even higher. And I could not understand it. But Imade up my mind to find out about it. That is what you must do, whenthere is anything that you don't understand. There are very few thingsthat you can't do, if you make up your mind to them, except thingsthat are too hard for you. I hate to have morals getting into a storyas much as you do, but that is such a good one that it might as wellgo in. 

Now I will tell you. Fairies can be of any size they like, and younever can tell what size they are going to be, from one minute toanother. They can be giants, if they like. And as soon as they hadKathleen with them they could make her of any size they liked too. Soas long as she was among them they could keep her and themselves justthe same size, or as near to it as they liked. 

But when fairies are not taking the trouble to be of any particularsize--when they are letting themselves alone, as you might say--thenthey are about six inches tall. And I think that is a very good sizeto be. It would be better if you were of that size. You wouldn't eatso much and you wouldn't be so much in the way, and you would be muchbetter-looking. Just think: if your face were only three-quarters ofan inch long, all those features of it that are so disagreeablewouldn't show so plainly. You might even look rather pretty. Youwouldn't need to be so, but you might look so. 

And it would be so much easier to know where you were, if you were ofthat size, that it would save your mother a good deal of trouble. Allshe would have to do would be to put you on the mantelpiece, and thenyou could not get off without breaking your necks--and that would besuch an advantage. I don't mean that it would be an advantage to breakyour necks, because then who would read this book, and why should Itake all this trouble to write it? I mean, it would be an advantagethat you could not get off. Well, now you see how much better off youwould be if you were only six inches tall, and now you understandabout the fairies. 

 * * * * *

While Kathleen was still wondering at the place that she was in, a manwhom she had not seen before came up to her. He wore a crown, and sheguessed at once that he was some sort of king. It did not surprise herto see a man with a crown. A man with a church steeple on his headwould not have surprised her, by this time. "Come with me, " he said;"you're wanted at once. "

Kathleen followed him to the opposite side of the hall and through adoor, into another room. It was much smaller than the hall, but it wasjust as beautiful, in its own way. There was a woman in thisroom--another of the beautiful girls, Kathleen would have said--lyingon a gold couch. Her hair was hanging down over the pillow on whichher head lay, so that Kathleen could scarcely tell which was the hairand which was the gold of the couch. There was a crown lying on alittle table beside her, and so Kathleen guessed that she was theQueen. "Kathleen, " said the Queen, "do you know why they have broughtyou here?"

"No, Your Majesty, " said Kathleen. She was not a bit frightened, anymore than she had been all along, and she knew that that was the wayto speak to a queen, just as well as if she had never spoken toanybody else in her life. 

"They brought you here, then, " said the Queen, "to take care of mybaby; but he'll not need you long, and then you can be going backhome. "

"I'm afraid, " Kathleen said, "that I don't know how to take care of ababy very well. I might do something wrong with it. You see my motherdied when I was born, and so I was the only baby that there ever wasat our house, and I have hardly ever had anything to do with a reallive baby. "

"You've had something to do with them that was not alive, haven'tyou?" the Queen asked. 

Kathleen smiled a little at that. "There were fifteen of them, Ithink, " she said. 

"Well, you'll be having no more trouble with this one, " the Queensaid, "than with any of those fifteen. Only do as you're told. I can'ttake care of it myself, because it's the law that it must have a nursethat's a mort--I mean it must have a nurse from outside this place. There's the baby in the cradle there. Try can you make him go tosleep. "

Kathleen went to the cradle and looked at the baby. It was wide awakeand it stared at her like a little owl. Except for that, it lookedlike any other baby. The way that the baby stared at her came nearerto making Kathleen afraid than anything that she had seen yet. But shetook him out of the cradle, sat down on a low seat that she found, began to rock him gently, and sang an old song that her grandmotherused to sing to her and that she had sung to her own fifteen babiesmany a time. 

It was scarcely an instant before the baby was asleep. She put himback into the cradle and then turned to the Queen and said: "Shall Ido anything more?"

"Not now, " said the King; "come now and have something to eat anddrink with us. "

The Queen started at this and cried: "No, no!" but Kathleen did notknow what she meant. She knew that she was very hungry, and shefollowed the King out of the room, back into the hall. Tables had beenbrought into the hall now, and they were all covered with things toeat that looked very good, and the men and women were sitting at thetables, eating and drinking and talking and laughing. They all stoodup as the King came in, and waited till he had taken his place at thehead of the table, and then they all sat down again, and the eatingand drinking and talking and laughing went on. 

One of the men led Kathleen to a seat and put something to eat anddrink before her. She did not know what it was, but it looked good. She was just going to taste it, when somebody touched her on theshoulder and somebody said: "Don't eat that; don't taste a bit of it. "

She looked around and saw a boy--perhaps she would have said a youngman--standing behind her. He was very different from all the othermen. He did not look old, as they did. She thought that he was ofabout her own age, and he was taller than she, while all the otherswere shorter. "Don't eat anything or drink anything that they giveyou, " he said again. "I will give you something to eat. "

He sat down beside her and put a little package on the table beforethem. He opened it and took out some bread and meat, somestrawberries, a little flask full of cream, and a larger one full ofwater. He gave Kathleen a part of all these and kept a part forhimself. "I am not sure, " Kathleen said, "that I ought to let you talkto me, because, you see, I don't know who you are. "

She had let several people talk to her that evening, without knowingwho they were, but this boy seemed to be somehow altogether different. 

"My name is Terence, " he said. "Now I know you are going to ask'Terence what?' It's Terence nothing; I have no name at all exceptTerence. "

"I know a boy named Terence, " Kathleen said, "and I don't like him abit. "

"I hope that won't make any difference about your liking me, " said theboy. 

"Oh, not at all, " said Kathleen. "It isn't his name that I don't like;it's himself. He is only just as old as I am, and he looks--" Kathleenstopped, surprised at herself, for she had not thought of it before. "He looks a little like these men here, who all seem to be so old;and, besides, he isn't nice at all. "

"Then let's not talk about him, " said the boy. "Will you tell me whatyour name is?"

"Oh, yes; didn't I tell you? My name is Kathleen O'Brien. "

"And must I call you Kathleen or Miss O'Brien? You see you will haveto call me by my first name, because it is the only one I have, and soI think you ought to let me call you by your first name. "

"But if you have only one name, " Kathleen said, "it is your last namejust as much as it is your first, so perhaps you ought to call me bymy last one. "

"Oh, no, " Terence answered; "you see my name ought to be a first name, only I haven't any last one, so I think I ought to call you by yourfirst one. "

Kathleen did not say that he might, but he afterward did. She thoughtthat it would be better to change the subject. "It's just as if wewere at a picnic and had brought our own luncheon, isn't it?" shesaid. "And all these other people are eating just as if they were athome. Why don't we do the same way they do?"

"Because, " Terence said, "we are not like them. We mustn't talk aboutit aloud. You see they are the Good People, and we are not. I don'tknow what I am at all, but you are like the people outside. I knewthat as soon as I saw you, and I saw that they were going to let youeat their food. I almost wish I had let you do it now--no, I don'twish so, either. It would be mean to let you, and I don't want you to, anyway. You did come from outside, didn't you? Well, then, you mustnot eat or drink the least bit of anything while you are here, exceptwhat I bring you. All that I bring you is from outside. If you eat acrumb or drink a drop of anything that they have here, you can neverget out again. "

"But they all get out, " said Kathleen. "They were all outside when Isaw them first. "

"Oh, yes, " Terence answered, "they are different. They can go out andcome in whenever they like; but if anybody from outside eats anythinghere, he can never go out again. It is that way with me, too, for I amdifferent from the Good People, though I don't know whether I camefrom outside or not. "

"You don't know whether you came from outside or not?"

"No. I came here when I was a little baby. I have often asked them howI came here, but they never would tell me. I have lived here eversince I can remember. Have you a father and a mother?"

"My mother is dead, " Kathleen answered; "I have a father. "

"Yes, " said Terence, as if he were trying to work out a puzzle. "Nearly all the people outside seem to have fathers and mothers. Inever had either. I have always lived here, but nobody here is myfather or my mother, and I don't know how I came here. I have beenhere so long, and yet it seems so strange to me. This is my only home, and yet I never feel at home in it. I always feel as if I belongedsomewhere else. I see the people outside and I feel as if I belongedwith them more than here, yet I have never been outside this place onesingle night. "

"You go out often in the daytime, then?" Kathleen asked. 

"Oh, yes; I go out every day, almost, and I go to school. Have youbeen to school?"

"Why, of course, " Kathleen answered; "doesn't everybody have to go toschool?"

"These people here never go to school, " Terence said. "I am the onlyone who goes, and then I have to try to teach them what I havelearned. Do you go home from school and try to teach your father whatyou have learned?"

"Why, no, indeed, " said Kathleen; "what a funny idea!"

"Sometimes it seems funny to me too, " Terence said, "but you see Ican't tell whether it is funny or not, because I know so little aboutthe people outside. I don't like to ask them, because they would thinkit was so strange that I didn't know; but it is different with you. You have come in here, and I can ask you things that I wouldn't ask ofpeople outside. "

"If they want to know things, " said Kathleen, "why don't they go toschool themselves?"

"I don't know that, either, " said Terence, "but they seem to expect meto go to school for all of them. I think that is what I am here for. Before I was old enough to go to school at all they used to bring methings to eat from outside, because, you know, if I ate anything oftheirs I never could go out. Then as soon as I was old enough to go toschool, they sent me, and I came back every night, and they gave memoney to buy all my own food outside, and I have done that ever since, and I have never eaten a bit of the Good People's food. "

"And don't you like to stay here?" Kathleen asked. "It seems to me avery beautiful place. "

"No, " said Terence; "they are very kind to me, but I think that Ishould like to live outside better, and I hope that I shall some time. And then, you see, if I ate anything here I could not go out to go toschool, and so I could not teach them. And it is all so strange. Italmost makes me cry, it is such a bother sometimes, and then they areso sorry about it themselves and I am so sorry for them, and it almostmakes me laugh sometimes, because they can never learn anything. Youwill see. I think it is time now. "

Some of the men were taking away the tables. "It is time for thelesson, " the King called out. Some of the other men brought in a bigblackboard and set it up. Everybody stopped talking and laughing andstood near the blackboard. Terence made some lines and some letters onthe board, with a piece of chalk. 

"I shall have to try again, " said Terence, "to prove to you the samething that I tried to prove to you last night. But I'll try adifferent way, and maybe you'll see it better. Now mind, what I am toprove is this: if any triangle has two sides equal, the anglesopposite those sides are also equal. "

"And what difference does it make if they're equal or not?" said oneof the men who stood near Kathleen. 

"Be still there, " the King said; "do we want to make telephones or dowe not? And sure we can't make telephones without geometry. Hasn'tTerence told you that?"

Terence went on: "Let ABC be any triangle in which the sides AB and ACare equal. "

"How can it be any triangle, when it's only one triangle?" saidanother of the men. 

"Keep your silly head shut, " said the King. "Terence didn't say it wasany triangle; he said let it be. Now will you let that triangle be, orwill I come over there and make you let it be?"

The man said nothing more and Terence went on: "Now, consider thistriangle as two triangles, BAC and CAB. "

"How can it be two triangles, " another of the men said, "when it'sonly one triangle?"

"Will you be still there?" the King said. "Terence doesn't say it'stwo triangles; he says you're to consider it. Will you consider thattriangle two triangles, or will I come over there and make youconsider it two triangles?"

"I'll consider it seven triangles, if you like, Your Majesty, " theman answered, "but I dunno what good it'll do me. "

"Then consider it, " said the King, "and don't talk about it. Go on, Terence. "

"Now, you see that since the sides AB and AC in each triangle areequal, AB and AC in the first are respectively equal to AC and AB inthe second, and the angles between these sides are equal. So the twotriangles are equal, by previous proposition. And so the angles of oneare equal to the angles of the other, where they are opposite theequal sides; that is, the angle ABC is equal to the angle ACB, beingopposite the equal sides AC and AB, by the same previous proposition, and that is what I was to prove. "

The King looked at the men with triumph in his eye. "There, youblackguards, " he said, "do you understand it at all, now that Terencehas made it clear to you?"

One by one the men and women began slowly to shake their heads. Notone of them understood it. "Well, Terence, " said the King, shaking hisown head, "I dunno how it is; nobody could be asking you to make itany clearer than you have, and yet I'm obliged to say there's never abit of it I understand myself. Maybe to-morrow night you'll be able tomake us see it clearer. "

Terence had come back to where Kathleen was. "Isn't it funny, " hesaid, "and yet isn't it a pity? I try to teach them as well as I can, but they never can understand at all. "

"And do you mean to say, " said Kathleen, "that you haven't got anyfarther in geometry than that? Why, that's only the fifth propositionof the first book. "

"Of course I've got farther than that, " Terence answered, "but theyhaven't, and they never will. I have been trying to teach them thatproposition--oh, I don't know how long--and they never will learn itin the world. They want to learn to build railways and bridges and allsorts of things, but how can anybody even get ready to build a railwayor a bridge till he's got over this bridge and the rest of thegeometry? I don't know whether I can ever learn it all myself, but I'mgoing to the School of Engineering up at the University, next spring, to learn chemistry, and qualitative analysis, and calculus, andanalytical mechanics, and graphical statics, and metallurgy, andthermodynamics, and hydraulics, and a lot of other things. But thesepeople here will still be at work on this same triangle years after Iam dead, if they have anybody to teach them. "

"Now, Terence, my boy, " said the King, "there's one thing you can dofor us we can understand. Give us a tune out of the fiddle. "

Kathleen was startled to hear this boy named Terence asked to play onthe fiddle, just as if he had been the other Terence whom she knew. She wondered if he played like the other Terence. She scarcely daredwait to hear, and she felt as if she should like to run away, only shedid not know where to run. 

But she did not think any more about running after Terence began toplay. This was different. And yet in one way it was the same. For themusic that Terence was playing was just the music that the otherTerence often played and just what most people liked to hear him playbest, though Kathleen had always liked it as little as anything elsethat he did. She had never heard anyone else play it till now. And nowit was so different. She could scarcely tell the difference, and yetshe could feel it in every clear note that Terence drew out with hisbow. 

When she was a little girl, almost as long ago as she could remember, she used to say, when the other Terence played this very music, thatit did not mean anything. But now it meant something. Meant something!It meant--everything, Kathleen thought, and yet she could not tell atall what it meant. It was not happiness that it meant, and it was notsorrow; it was not merry, and it was not grave. Sometimes it was lightand gentle and sweet, and flowed along as if it were a littlefountain of music, bubbling and bubbling out of a hidden place; thenit would be slower, but fine and firm, and full and free and true. Itseemed to Kathleen to mean so much, and yet she could not tell what, except that there was something like a deep longing that went allthrough it. 

And that made her think of the other Terence's music again, for sheremembered now, though she had never thought of it before, that therewas a longing in his music too. Perhaps she had done wrong, shethought, to say that it did not mean anything. Still, this was sodifferent. If the other Terence's fiddle had ever seemed to be longingfor anything, it had seemed to be hopeless, and the fiddle alwaysseemed to be bitterly laughing at those who were listening to it andthinking that it was so fine. She had never thought of anything likethis before, but it seemed clear to her now, listening to the samemusic played so differently. For now, below all the longing andsounding through it, there were strength and hope and life and faithin something good. 

I do not say that Kathleen thought all this out while she waslistening. She only felt the most of it. But she felt it so much thatshe scarcely knew what she was doing, and she moved by little andlittle toward Terence, till she was nearer to him than anybody else, and looked at him as if he were something more wonderful than she hadever seen before, till she found that she could not look at him, because her eyes were wet. And then the music stopped. 

Then said the King: "I said that was something that we couldunderstand, Terence, but I dunno if it is. It's the wonderful playeryou are all out, but I never heard you play like that before, and Ithink there's something in it that's more than I can find out. That'senough of it for to-night. "

Terence had already come back to Kathleen. She could scarcely speak tohim even yet. "Who taught you to play like that?" she said. 

"I don't quite know, " he answered, "whether anybody taught me. Theytaught me to play here, and the music that I just played is theirmusic, but I don't play it the way they do. I don't know why that is. Just as soon as they had taught me so that I could play at all, Ibegan to play in my own way. Their music is sweet and bright and merryand sparkling, and sometimes it seems to be sad, but it never meansanything. "

Kathleen was startled again to hear Terence say the very words thatshe had said so many times about the other Terence's music. "But Inever played before in my life, " Terence went on, "the way I havebeen playing just now. I think it was because you were here. Youunderstood, and so I thought of nothing but you all the time that Iwas playing, and I think it made me play better. They neverunderstand. They love music and they hate geometry, but theyunderstand one just as well as the other. "

The King came up to Kathleen and said: "It is time for you to come andbe looking after the child again. "

Kathleen went with him and he led her back into the room where theQueen was. "Where is the box of ointment?" the King said to the Queen. 

"I have it here under my pillow, " the Queen answered; "come here andget it, Kathleen. "

The Queen took something from under her pillow and held it so thatKathleen had to come close to her to get it. "Did you eat anything?"the Queen asked, as Kathleen bent over her. 

Kathleen did not quite know whether she ought to answer or not, butthe Queen looked at her so kindly that she thought that there could beno harm, and she said: "Only what Terence gave me. "

"That was right, " said the Queen, and then she went on, speakinglouder, so that the King could hear: "Take this box of ointment. Inthe morning, as soon as the baby is awake, take him out of the cradleand wash him, and then just touch his eyes with this ointment; but becareful that you do not touch your own eyes with it. "

Kathleen took the box, which seemed to be of solid gold, and looked atit. What was in it looked like a soft, green salve. She slipped itinto the pocket of her gown. "How shall I know when it is morning?"she asked. It seemed to her that here under the hill there would notbe much difference between night and day. 

"You'll know it's morning when the child wakes up, " the Queen said;"or when you wake up yourself, for that matter. You can go to bed now. There's your bed, next to the cradle. "

The King left them, and Kathleen, who was really very tired, lay downon another gold couch, almost like the Queen's, that had been placednear the cradle, and in a minute she was asleep. 

It seemed scarcely another minute before she was awake again. Sheremembered that the Queen had said that when she awoke it would bemorning, and she looked to see if the baby was awake too. He was, andshe took him out of the cradle. Then she saw a large gold basin fullof water. She washed the baby in it, and he stared at her all thetime, with big, owlish eyes. Then she took the box of ointment out ofher pocket. She touched it with her finger and then touched each ofthe baby's eyes with it. Instantly his eyes looked brighter anddeeper, and instead of staring at her stupidly, as they had donebefore, they seemed to look straight through her. Nothing hadfrightened her at all, and now she was getting so that nothingstartled her. So she only laid the baby back in his cradle and put thebox of ointment into her pocket. 

In a moment the King came in and said it was time for breakfast. Heand the Queen went out into the hall together and Kathleen followedthem. As soon as she was in the hall she saw Terence. He was lookingfor her and they sat down and ate breakfast together. Then Terencewent away. 

All day, except when it was time for meals, Kathleen sat with theQueen or looked after the baby, though there was really nothing to dofor him. Whenever it was time for a meal they went out into the hall, and there Kathleen always found Terence, and she always ate with him, and ate only what he brought her. 

In the evening the King came to her and said, "Kathleen, it is timefor us to go and dance again; come with us. "

Then Terence took her by both hands and said, "Don't go with them;don't go; if you do, I am afraid that you will never come back. "

"Of course I shall come back, " she said; "you have been very kind tome, and I would come back to see you again, if it was for nothingelse. And then I don't know whether I must do anything more for thebaby. And then--" Kathleen stopped short as she thought. "I ought notto come back--not to-night! I ought to go home! Oh, how anxious myfather and my grandmother must be about me! I have been here all nightand all day, and they must think that I am dead. And I have notthought of them the whole time. I am wicked to have stayed here solong. "

"Then you will not come back, " Terence said. "You know why I broughtyou all that you have had to eat and to drink. It was so that youmight leave this place. I might have let you eat their food, and thenyou could never leave it, unless to go out with them and dance ontheir green and then come back again. I made it so that you could go, and now you will go and you will not come back. "

"I will come back, " Kathleen answered, "but I must see my father andmy grandmother and tell them that I am safe. Perhaps I will come backto-morrow, if I can, but I will come back. I would come back justbecause you wanted to see me, you have been so good to me. It was verygood of you, if you wanted me to stay, to bring me the things to eatand drink, so that I could go if I liked. "

"No, it was not good of me at all, " Terence answered; "I had no rightto let them keep you here always, even if I wanted you to be here. ButI hoped and I always hope that I shall leave this place some timemyself, and I did not want to have to leave you here. I would not haveleft you here. Promise that you will come back. "

"I will come back, " Kathleen answered. 

"Come along now, " said the King, hurrying up to Kathleen again. "It'stime we were dancing this minute. "

All the little men and women were moving out of the hall and Kathleenwent with them. In an instant they were again in the passage thatKathleen remembered. The floor was of gold, like the floor of thehall, and then she saw that she was walking on the water once more. The yellow glow was under it still, but fainter than in the hall. Theviolet light on the walls of the passage grew dimmer; she saw thelights that the men and women carried, shining ahead of her and allaround her. Then she looked down at the water and saw the starsshining up through it, as if there were another sky far down under herfeet. And then--she felt the cool, fresh breath of the outside air, and it was delicious to her, and she was standing on her own littlepool, and deep down under it there were thousands of stars. She andall the others walked--or drifted, as it seemed to Kathleen--up thebank of sweet-smelling new grass, to the little hollowed place, withthe trees and the bushes growing around it and hanging over it, whereKathleen had first seen the Good People. And then they began thedance. 

[Illustration: ]

IX

A YEAR AND A DAY

When Kathleen did not come home at the time she was expected, herfather and her grandmother were not much surprised at first. She wasin the habit of going where she pleased and of coming back when shepleased. If she chose to be an hour or two late her father or hergrandmother might ask her why, or they might not think of it. So, onthat May Eve when she danced with the Good People, as it began to getlate and still she did not come, they had no doubt that she haddecided to make her visit at the Sullivans' a little longer than shehad intended. When it got later and still she did not come, her fathersaid that he would walk over to the Sullivans' and come back with her. He never thought of not finding her there. Even when he got there andEllen told him that Kathleen had gone away hours ago and had said thatshe was going home, he did not think that any harm could have come toher. 

"She met some of the girls that she knew and went with them, maybe, "he said, "and she'll be home before me. "

But when he got home again and found that she was not there, and whenhe told his mother that she was not at the Sullivans', they both beganto be a little worried. They told each other over and over thatKathleen knew how to take care of herself and that no harm was likelyto come to her, but they both doubted their own words. Late at nightJohn went to the Sullivans' again, taking the way that he thoughtKathleen would be likely to take, and looking everywhere for her, though he knew that to search for her in such a way as that wasnonsense. 

The Sullivans had all gone to bed when he got there, but Peter got upand walked back with him, by another way. They went to a policestation and asked if there had been any accident--if any girl had beenhurt and taken to a hospital. There had been no accident that night. They went home and waited again. At last John could wait no longer. Heand Peter started out again and went different ways. They went toother police stations and asked if there had been accidents. There hadbeen one or two, but nobody at all like Kathleen had had anything todo with them. They went to hospitals and asked about all the newpatients. There was not one of them that was at all like Kathleen. 

It does not belong to the story to tell how they went on searching. All the next day they searched. They tried every way that they knew, and every way that the police knew, and every way that anybody couldthink of, to find her, and there was no trace. Late that day one ofthe girls who had walked through the Park with Kathleen came to seeher, not knowing that she was lost. Then she told where she had seenKathleen last. She told how Kathleen had dropped behind the others, though she had said that she wanted to get home early, how they hadcalled to her, how she had answered, and how they had gone on, thinking that she would soon follow. 

Then Mrs. O'Brien said to John: "You do not need to search for her anylonger. She is with the Good People. I have seen that place often, andit always looked to me like a place where the Good People might be. Last night was May Eve. There is no time in the whole year when theGood People have more power, and especially to carry off young girls. They have taken her with them. Some time she may come back, or sometime we may get her back, but it is of no use for you to search forher any more. "

But John went on searching still. The next day and for many days helooked for her and tried every means to find her, but she could not befound. Again and again his mother told him that it was of no use, butstill he said: "It might be some use, and I wouldn't be easy if Ididn't try. "

By and by there came a time when even John did not think that therewas any use in trying longer. He read many papers, from many differentcities, hoping always to find something about some unknown girl whohad been found, sick or hurt or helpless, somewhere, but he saidlittle about her. He went on with his old work, and he and his motherwere alone and lonely in the house. Then John came to believe thatKathleen was dead. He told his mother this and she answered: "Kathleenis not dead. "

"And how do you know that, mother?" John said. "You always say thatthe Good People took her away, but that might be true, and still shemight be dead by now. And the Good People might not have taken her atall. How do you know?"

"I don't know that the Good People took her, " she answered, "though Ithink they did; but I am sure she is not dead. "

"And how are you sure, mother?"

"Kathleen could never die, " Mrs. O'Brien said, "without I'ld hear thebanshee. "

"The banshee?" said John. "There's no banshee here. There's bansheesonly in Ireland. "

"Our banshee is here, " his mother answered. "I know she is here. You've heard me tell of her. She's the sad, mourning woman of the GoodPeople that weeps and wails about the house when anybody of the familyis to die, anywhere in the world. It's true, as you say, that thebanshees mostly stay in Ireland, though they are heard to cry and moanfor those of the family who are to die in any part of the world. Butsometimes the banshee leaves Ireland with the family that she belongsto, and so did ours. Wouldn't I know her voice? Didn't I hear her wailand scream before your father died, so many, many years ago? Oh, I'ldnever forget it. I'ld know her voice. "

"Then why didn't you hear her, " John asked "before Kitty died, and whydidn't you know before that she was to die?"

"I did hear the banshee that time, " his mother answered, "but Icouldn't tell that it was Kitty that was to die. It was the nightbefore she died. I heard a little moan, that was more like the windthan anything else, and then it grew louder, and it was a sob and asoft wail. It did not grow very loud. Then I could hear that it waslike the keen that the women cry over the dead at home. I knew that itwas the banshee. No, I could not be wrong about her; I had heard herbefore. But I never thought of Kitty then. I thought: 'I'm an oldwoman--an old woman--though I would never let them say so; and now mytime has come. I shall soon be with him again. If I could only see achild of John's and Kitty's before I go, I'ld go gladly. If I couldonly say to him: "Before I came to you I held John's and Kitty's childin my arms, " then I'ld go gladly. ' That was what I said to myself thattime. But it was Kitty that the banshee meant. And now, though I feltthen the first time that I was an old woman, here I am still, andKitty is gone and the child is grown up to be a woman and she is lost. But she is not dead, John; she is not dead. Kathleen couldn't diewithout I'ld hear the banshee. "

It was not once only that John and his mother talked together in somesuch way as this. It was a dozen times at least, perhaps two dozentimes, that she told him that, whatever had come to Kathleen, she wasnot dead--that she could not be dead, because the banshee had notmoaned and cried about the house, as she was sure to do before any oneof the O'Briens could die. And so John, seeing his mother carewornand anxious, but never so full of sorrow as himself, came to thinkthat he ought to bear it better, and not let her see him always sotroubled and so sad. Yet he could not believe all that his mother saidquite as she believed it, and she had to tell him all of it again andagain, and she told him, too, that when the time came she meant to tryto get Kathleen back from the Good People. And after a while John didnot think every time that he heard anybody at the door that it wasKathleen at last, and all in the house went on as it had gone before, only that Kathleen was not there. But that "only" was enough, and itwas a different house. 

The dreadful spring was past; the horrible, dull, anxious summer wasgone; the cruel, chilly autumn went by; the cold, dead, heartlesswinter dragged through; another spring came, cheerless, hopeless, helpless, like the last. 

"Shaun, " said Mrs. O'Brien, "do you know when it was that Kathleenwent away?"

"Could I ever forget?" said John. 

"When was it?"

"It was May Eve. "

"And what is to-day, John?"

"It's the last day of April, " John answered; "it's a year this nightshe's been away. Could I forget it? Don't I think of it all thetime?"

"There's no time in the year, " Mrs. O'Brien said, "when the GoodPeople have more power than on May Eve. "

"Oh, mother, " said John, "don't talk to me of the Good People; I'veheard too much of them. I don't care if there are any Good People ornot. I only know that Kathleen has been from us a year. When hermother died I could bear it, because I had Kathleen left, but nowshe's gone, and how can I bear it?"

"Listen to me, John, " his mother went on. "It's on May Eve, as I toldyou, that the Good People have great power. It's then that they dance, and then they make young girls or young men that they want come anddance with them, and then they carry them off. But it's on May Eve, too, sometimes, that they can be got back by those who know what todo. And so it's to-night that we must try to get Kathleen back. Iwouldn't tell you till the time came, for fear you might hope toomuch. We may not find her, and then we may, and you must come with us, for we don't know how much help we'll need. "

"Who is it that I must come with?" John asked. 

"With me and with the girls that were with Kathleen that night and sawher last. "

"How do we know that they can come?" said John. "It's late in the daynow and they may be away from home. "

"I've taken care of all that, " Mrs. O'Brien said; "they'll be here ina little while to go with us. "

In a little while the girls came. Then they and Mrs. O'Brien and Johnwent together to the place where Kathleen had met the girls, on herway home from the Sullivans', a year ago. "Was it about this time ofthe day, " Mrs. O'Brien asked, "that you met Kathleen here a year agoto-night?"

"It was, " one of the girls said, "about this time. "

"Then you must take us, " Mrs. O'Brien went on, "just the way that youwent, and show us the very place where Kathleen stood, the lastinstant that you saw her. "

They all walked along through the Park, the girls leading the way. "How can they find the very place again?" said John. "It's been a yearsince then. It's likely they have forgot the spot. How could theyremember it so long?"

"John, " said his mother, "will you never trust me? Do you think thatI've been waiting for them to forget all this time? The very eveningafter Kathleen was lost they brought me here and then took me to thevery spot where they saw her last. They talked of it betweenthemselves and decided just where it was, and many a time sincethey've been with me here, so that they could not forget it. "

In a few minutes the girls stopped. "This is the place where we sawher last, " they said; "just here. She stood here and seemed to belooking at something there on the grass. "

Mrs. O'Brien whispered: "Stand still here, all of you, and do notspeak or stir unless I call to you; then do whatever I tell you, anddo it quickly. "

Mrs. O'Brien drew out something which was hung about her neck, by achain, under her gown. She held it before her in her hand. She steppedupon the grass and looked all around her. She went a few steps forwardand looked around again. She went a little to the left, then a littlemore to the right. And then, to those who were watching, it seemed asif she saw something, though they could see nothing but her. For shemade a few hurried steps and then put out her left hand, as if to takehold of something. Then they saw her raise her right hand, as if totouch the something that she had taken hold of, with what she held init. Still they could see nothing except her, but now she hurriedtoward them, and suddenly they saw that she was leading Kathleen, withher left arm around her and holding her right hand against herforehead. 

"Take her and go home with her, " she said to John, "as quickly as youcan. The rest of us will follow. "

"Oh, father, " said Kathleen, "I am so glad that you came to meet me!Have you and grandmother been worried about me all day? I was afraidyou would be, but the baby needed me, and I couldn't send any word toyou. And I promised Terence that I would come back--not TerenceSullivan, but the Terence that lives in there. Please ask some of theGood People to tell him that I will come back to-morrow. Then I willgo home with you. "

"Take her home! Take her home!" her grandmother cried. And John ledher away as fast as he could, while the rest followed. 

No one said anything more till they were at home, for it was only alittle way. Kathleen scarcely looked at her father till they came intothe house, where it was light. "Why, father, " she said, "what makesyou look so queer? You look so much older than you did yesterday, andyou--oh, I am afraid you were dreadfully worried about me. I didn'tthink you would be--such a little while. I forgot that you would beworried. There was so much to see there, and then I had to take careof the baby--and so I forgot. It was very wrong for me to forget, andI am so sorry you were anxious about me. But I thought of you andgrandmother just as we were coming out to dance to-night, and as soonas we were done dancing I was coming home. And why were you all therewhere we were dancing? Did you think that I would be there? You oughtnot to have been afraid, father. It was just such a little while. "

John did not seem to think anything about its being wrong for Kathleento forget. He did not seem to think of anything but that she had comeback. "Just a little while, do you call it?" he said. "Do you call ayear a little while for you to be away from me, Kathleen? And fromyour grandmother? Don't you see how she has worried about you, too, all this long year? And what could I think but that you was dead? Yourgrandmother never thought so, but I could think nothing else. "

"A year!" Kathleen cried. "What do you mean, father? What do you mean?Oh, grandmother, is there anything wrong? Has he been sick? What isit?"

"Be quiet, John, " said Mrs. O'Brien, "and let me talk with Kathleen. Come here, Kathleen. No, there is nothing wrong, dear. Now listen, andanswer what I ask you. When did you see your father and me last beforeto-night?"

"Why, you know that, grandmother, " Kathleen answered. "I saw fatheryesterday morning, and I saw you yesterday afternoon, when I left youto go to the Sullivans'. "

"And where have you been since then?" Mrs. O'Brien asked. 

Kathleen closed her eyes and clasped her hands, as she thought of it. "Oh, it was so wonderful!" she said. "I was inside the hill in thePark. I walked right in there on the water with the Good People. Andit was so beautiful there--all gold and silver and jewels--and themusic--the music that Terence played! And I must go back. I promisedhim I would. "

"And how long were you there?" Mrs. O'Brien asked. 

"All the time, " Kathleen said; "all night and all day; I didn't goanywhere else. And when it was time for them all to come out to danceto-night--they were dancing, you know, when I first saw them, and theyasked me to dance with them, and then I went into the hill with them. And to-night we came out to dance again, and it was only a littlewhile when you came, and then I saw father, and he brought me home. But I was coming home myself as soon as the dancing was over. "

"Kathleen, " said Mrs. O'Brien, "listen to me now. Don't be frightened, but listen. You've been away from us for a whole year. It was a yearago this night that you danced with the Good People that first time. All this year you have been with them there in the hill. If we had notgone after you to-night, and if I had not known how to bring you back, they would have taken you into the hill for another year, and youmight have stayed there, perhaps, as long as you lived. "

"But, grandmother! A year! Why, you know it was yesterday!"

"Yesterday was a year ago, " her grandmother said. "You can'tunderstand it now. Don't try. You must eat something now, and then youmust go to bed. To-morrow I can tell you about it better, and thenperhaps you can understand. "

But Kathleen could not eat. Her going away had been so strange, hercoming back had been so wonderful, and what her grandmother had toldher had been so marvelous, that she could think of nothing else. Byand by she went to her room. While she was undressing she feltsomething hard in her pocket. She took it out, and it was the littlebox of ointment that the Queen had given her to put on the baby'seyes. Now that she was at home again she felt as if she had dreamedall that she had seen and heard while she was away. But she had notdreamed it. Here was this little gold box to prove it. Yet she couldnot believe it. And they told her that she had been away for a year!What they said must be a dream too. But here was the little gold box, just as the Queen had given it to her. It was a green salve that wasin it. She would open it and see if there really was a green salve. Ifthere was, then it was not a dream. 

She opened it. There was the green salve. Yes, it was exactly as sheremembered it. And she could remember it all so well. She rememberedhow the Queen had given it to her, and surely that was last night. Sheremembered how she had touched the baby's eyes with the salve, and howmuch brighter they had looked after she had done it. Surely it wasonly this morning that she did that. It seemed to her all so plain. And they said that it had been a year. She could not understand it atall. She laid the little gold box on her bureau, under her glass, andwent to bed. 

The next morning Kathleen could think about things a little moreclearly. She could not remember what she had seen and heard in thehill quite so distinctly. She had not forgotten anything, but it allseemed dimmer in her mind than it had been, as if it were long ago. And still it seemed as if it had all happened yesterday. Everybodywhom she knew had heard that she was at home again, and everybody cameto see her. And they all told her that she had been away for a year. She could not doubt it any longer, and yet she could not understandit. What had she been doing all that time? She could remember justenough to fill up one night and one day, and that was all. Could it bethat she had slept for three hundred and sixty-four days and beenawake for only one? No, she could not believe that. And so, at last, she came to her grandmother to ask if she could explain it to her. 

"No, " the old woman said, "I can't do that. It's too wonderful for anyof us to understand. But it's no more wonderful than many things thatare true, and I've heard tales of it before. Often one stays in theland of the Good People, and in other places, too, and thinks that thetime has been short, when it has been long. Shall I tell you whathappened once to a monk--a holy man--much more wonderful than whathappened to you?

"One day this monk was in the garden of the monastery where he lived, reading in his book. He was reading in the Psalms, where it says, 'Fora thousand years in thy sight are as yesterday, which is past. And asa watch in the night, things that are counted nothing, shall theiryears be. '

"And he found it hard to believe that even to God Himself a thousandyears could seem no more than a day. As he was thinking of this, abird in a tree near him began to sing, and the song was so beautifulthat he forgot the psalm that he had been reading and his thoughtsabout it, and only listened to the bird. It seemed to him that in allhis life he had never heard any music so beautiful. 

"But soon the bird flew to another tree, farther from the monastery, and the monk followed, to listen to its song again. Then the bird flewto a tree farther off, and still the monk followed. Once more the birdflew to another tree, and once more the monk followed it, for itseemed to him that as long as that bird sang he could listen tonothing else and could think of nothing else. But he saw that the sunhad gone down and he knew that it was time for him to go back to themonastery. As he went back he looked at the colors that the sun hadleft behind it in the sky, and he thought that they were as beautifulto see as the voice of the bird was to hear. 

"They were all faded and the darkness had come on when he reached themonastery and went in. And if he had wondered at the song of the birdand at the colors in the sky, he wondered yet more when he foundhimself again in the place where he had lived for many years. Formany things about the place were changed, and the men in it were allchanged. There was not one face among them that he knew. One of thebrothers saw him and came toward him, and he said: 'Brother, why haveall these changes been made here since this morning? And who are allthese whom I do not know? I scarcely know my own monastery. '

"And the other answered: 'Who are you that ask this, and why do youcome here? For you wear the dress of our order, but you are astranger. You speak as if you knew the place, yet I myself have livedhere for fifty years and I have never seen you before. '

"Then the monk told his name and told how he had been at mass in thechapel in the morning and had then gone into the garden to read. Andhe told how he had read in the Psalms, 'A thousand years in thy sightare as yesterday, which is past, ' and how, while he was thinking ofthese words, he had heard the bird singing. He told how he hadfollowed the bird, till he saw that night was coming, and then hadcome back to the monastery. 

"And the other said: 'I remember now that when I first came into thisplace they told me of a legend that a monk of your name had gone outof this monastery a hundred and fifty years before, and had never comeback and had never been heard of again. And now, counting my ownfifty years here, that must have been two hundred years ago. '

"Then the monk said: 'God has given me such happiness as He gives tofew until they are with Him in Heaven, for these two hundred yearshave seemed to me to be only a part of a day. Now hear my confession, for I know that I soon shall die. '

"So the other monk heard his confession, and before midnight he died. And this was the way that God had chosen to show him the meaning ofHis word. "

It was a pretty story, but Kathleen understood no more than before. "No, " said her grandmother, "you cannot understand, and I cannot. Welive here such a little while and we are so shut in by time, that wecannot understand how it is with those who live always. But we shallunderstand when the right time comes, and then we shall wonder how wecould ever wonder. And I will tell you another story about it, not tomake you understand, but to show you how it is. 

"Long ago Finn McCool was the great champion of Ireland. He had manywarriors, who were called Fenians. He had a son, Oisin, who was agreat warrior, too, and besides that a poet and a minstrel. Some ofhis poems are left to us yet. One day the Fenians were hunting, whenthey met a beautiful girl riding on a white horse. She called toOisin, and he went apart from the others to speak with her. 

"She told him that she was the Princess of Tir-na-n-Oge, and that shehad come to take him there, where she was to be married to him. 'Tir-na-n-Oge' means 'Land of the Young, ' and they say that nobodyever grows old there. The Princess was as beautiful as moonlight, andher voice was as sweet as the wind blowing on a harp, and Oisin was inlove with her and eager to go before she had done speaking. 

"He went back to his father and his companions and bade them farewell. It was with tears that Finn said good-by to Oisin, for I think he knewthat he should never see him again. But Oisin did not know. Then Oisinmounted the white horse and set the Princess in front of him, and thehorse galloped away toward the west. In a little while they came tothe sea, and the horse kept straight on, galloping over the water asif it had been a smooth road. Then some say that the water rose aroundthem and covered them and that they were in a beautiful place underthe sea. I am not sure of that. Lands there are under the sea, theysay, and no doubt there are, but I am not so sure that the realTir-na-n-Oge is there. 

"For others say that the tops of blue hills rose before them, andchanged to green as they came nearer, and then Oisin saw that softgrass sloped down to the very water here and there, and in otherplaces there were tall cliffs, and trailing vines hung down from thetops of them, covered with bright flowers, and they swung to and froin the light breeze. Beyond there were more hills, covered with richwoods. Little veils of mist hid them partly and made them morebeautiful, and streams poured down from high places and looked likethin, silky tassels hung upon the hills, and they waved in the air, like the waving vines, and some of them seemed never to reach theground at all, but to blow away into fine silver spray and to mix withthe mists of the hills. And golden sunlight poured down over it all, and there was a warm shimmer in the air that made it all look likesomething seen in a dream. And this was Tir-na-n-Oge. 

"The horse came to the shore and galloped over soft turf till itseemed to Oisin that they were in the very middle of the island, andthere they came to a palace, and Oisin thought that it was morebeautiful than anything else that he had seen. It may be that thepalace was built of marble, but to Oisin it seemed like blocks of puresnow. It was so long that one might well mount his horse to go thelength of it, instead of walking. It had gilded domes that lookedlike suns, with the light shining on them, and the whole palace wasdazzling to look at. All around it were gardens, with trees and plantsin full bloom, of all the colors of the rainbow, and colors that arenot in the rainbow, and other trees with only deep green leaves, andpathways among them which led down into cool, shady hollows, withclear brooks running through them between banks of soft, dark-greenmoss, sinking their quiet little song. 

"Oisin got down off his horse and then lifted the Princess down, andthey went into the palace. There the Princess's father, the King ofTir-na-n-Oge, made Oisin welcome and led both of them to the banquethall, where a great feast was spread in honor of the Princess and thenew Prince. And Oisin thought that if the palace was beautifuloutside, it was much more beautiful inside, and as for the table thatwas before him, he could not think of any of the best things in theworld to eat and to drink that were not on it. 

"The next day the Princess was married to Oisin. For a long time Oisinand the Princess lived in the palace and Oisin thought that he nevercould be more happy than he was now. The old warriors cared much forwhat they ate and drank, and Oisin ate and drank better things than hehad ever tasted before. He walked with the Princess down through theshady ways among the trees and across the brooks and up the hill-sidesamong the flowers. They sat together in the garden or in the palaceand she sang to him and told him wonderful tales of heroes and ofprincesses of olden times. Sometimes they rode hunting together, andeverywhere they found game, the finest that Oisin had ever seen. 

"But at last Oisin began to feel that he cared less for all thesethings than he had done at first. The grass and the flowers and thewoods did not seem so fair to him as they had seemed; the sunshine wasnot such pure gold; he wished that the silver streams would not blowaway in spray and mix with the mists; he wanted to see them come downyellow with the earth of the mountains and plunge into caverns withgreat rushing and roaring; he felt that the warm air was taking hisstrength from him; he no longer liked the rich feasts that were spreadbefore him every day; he longed to follow the deer through the woods, with his old friends, to kill it and to cook it and eat it in thewoods, and then to sleep there, under the trees and the stars; thesetrees and these gardens were beautiful, it was true, but they were toobeautiful; a hard way through a rough forest would have pleased himbetter now; he did not love the Princess less, but he longed to seehis father and his men again; her singing was no less sweet to himthan it had ever been before, but he wished that he could be againwhere the Fenians, after a hard day's hunt or a hard day's fight, satabout the fire in their stronghold, and listened to one ofthem--perhaps himself, for he was the best singer of them all--whilehe sang songs of great heroes and of great fights. 

"And one day, when the Princess had been singing to him, he took herharp from her and sang a song of one of his father's battles, a battlewhich he had seen himself, where Diarmuid had slain hundreds, andOrcur had slain hundreds, and Erin had been kept from her enemies. Then he said to the Princess: 'Do not think that I am ungrateful forall the happiness that I have had here, but I am longing to see Erinagain and to see my father and his men. It is not so beautiful a landas this, but it is my own land, and I am longing to see it. The airhere is sweet and the sunshine is warm, but I should like to breathethe mists and to feel the chill again, if I could only see Erin oncemore!"

Mrs. O'Brien stopped a moment, with the way that she had of seeming tolook at things far off. Kathleen said nothing when she paused in thisway, and in a minute the old woman went on:

"'You would not be so happy in Erin as you think, ' the Princessanswered him. 'This is the best place for you to stay, and it wouldbreak my heart for you to go. '

"So Oisin said no more then, but the great longing grew upon him, andevery day the delights of Tir-na-n-Oge pleased him less. And at lasthe spoke of it again, and asked the Princess to let him go for alittle while. 'You would find Erin changed, ' she said, 'and theFenians are all gone. How long have you been here with me?'

"'I cannot tell you to a day, ' Oisin answered, 'but I know that it isweeks since I saw my country and my people. '

"'You have been here, ' said the Princess, 'for three hundred years. '

"Oisin could not understand it, but he thought that if he could liveso long and not know that the time had passed, the Fenians, too, mightbe living still, and he begged again to be allowed to go. At last thePrincess saw that he would never be happy unless he went, so shebrought him the same white horse that had brought them both toTir-na-n-Oge. 'The horse, ' she said, 'will take you to Erin. But youmust sit upon his back and never loose his bridle or get down upon theground. If you touch the ground of Erin you will be at once a weak, old man, you can never come back to Tir-na-n-Oge, you will never seeme, and I shall never see you again. Will you promise me, if I willlet you go, that you will not get off the horse's back or let go hisbridle?'

"Oisin promised and she let him go. Away over the water the horsegalloped again. Tir-na-n-Oge, with its warm sun and its sweet air, wasleft behind. A damp sea-wind came up, and it blew the salt sprayharshly into Oisin's face as the horse dashed along. It was a joy tohim. No more of the soft comforts of that weary island. This wassomething for a man to face. Yet he did not forget the Princess, andhe meant to go back to her when he had seen his land and his peopleonce more. Then the clouds and the fog drifted away and the sun shoneout, but still the salt spray covered him, and he felt stronger as hemade his way against it and felt the great, free breeze from the east. And now he saw something like a little cloud on the horizon, and itrose higher and grew wider, and then its misty brown faded away and hesaw the beautiful green shores of Erin. "

The old woman paused again and said over softly to herself: "Thebeautiful--beautiful green shores of Erin. "

"The horse and the rider soon reached the land now. Oisin rode firstto the spot where he had first met the Princess of Tir-na-n-Oge andwhere he had last seen his father and his companions. He did not thinkto find them there, but he felt that it was the first place to whichhe should go. The forest had been cleared away a little, and a strangebuilding stood there. It was a small house, built of stone, and therewas a cross on the top of it. Inside he heard a sound of singing. Herode to the door and looked in. There were people kneeling before aman who stood in a higher place than the rest and held up a goldencup. 

"This was something that Oisin did not understand, and he rode away, remembering what the Princess had told him, that he would find Irelandchanged. He wondered if he had been wise to come at all. But he wenton, and now he rode fast, in this direction and in that, to try tofind the Fenians. Sometimes he asked people whom he met if they couldtell him of his father. Some of them shook their heads and said thatthey knew no such person as Finn McCool. Others laughed at him. One ortwo old men told him that the Fenians had all died long ago and thatthe man of greatest power in Ireland now was Patrick. It was hard forhim to believe. He would have thought himself in a dream, but a dreamseems right and true while it lasts, and this seemed all wrong andfalse. Yet, when he found a place that he knew and looked for somefamiliar stronghold of the Fenians, he found only a low mound ofearth, grown all over with grass, or perhaps with weeds and bushes. And everywhere he saw these houses of stone, with crosses on theirtops. 

"Then it came into his mind to find this Patrick of whom he heard somuch, and to see what sort of man was now the greatest in Ireland. This was an easier matter than searching for the Fenians. Everyoneknew where the holy Patrick was, and soon Oisin came near the placeand found that the saint was building another of the stone houses. AsOisin came near he saw some men trying to lift a heavy stone upon acar, to take it to the new building. It almost made him laugh to seehow small and weak the men were. He knew well that he could put thestone on the car alone. It was no larger than the stones that theFenians used to throw for sport. 

"He came near and leaned down from his saddle to lift the stone forthe men. He took hold of it and began to raise it, but with the weightthe girth of his saddle broke, the saddle slipped around on the horse, Oisin fell, and the horse ran away. Oisin lay there on the ground ofErin, which the Princess had forbidden him to touch, an old man, weak, helpless, blind, hollow-cheeked, wrinkled, white-haired. 

"The men took him up and carried him to St. Patrick, who welcomed himkindly and kept him for a while in his own house. Many times the sainttalked with him and tried to make him a Christian, but Oisin couldthink of nothing but the grand days of the Fenians. When St. Patricktalked with him he would begin to tell of these, and he would make thepoems about them that have been kept till now and give us what we knowof Finn McCool and his heroes. And these poems Patrick would havewritten down. And always Oisin was mourning for the brave old days ofFinn McCool or for the days of Tir-na-n-Oge, which seemed to him nowstill farther off. 

"Old as he was now, with the heavy weight of more than three hundredyears upon him, blind and weak, there was one thing in which Oisinfelt himself a better man that St. Patrick or any of his band. St. Patrick and all those who were with him fasted much, and when they ateit was frugally, of bread and the herbs of the field, and but littlemeat. But this was not enough for Oisin. He remembered how he and hisfellow-huntsmen used to follow the deer and kill it, and dress it, andcook it on the moor in the fresh, cool evening, and feast till it wastime to sleep, and then wake and follow the deer again. And so thefood which was given to him in St. Patrick's house seemed poor andscanty to him. 

"He said this to the cook and others in the house, and they made sportof him, because so old a man as he should wish to eat so much. Then hetold them tales of the days of his father, how great and strong themen of Erin were then, how much more fertile the land was, and of thegreat beasts and the great trees and plants and vines that it broughtforth. In those days, he said, the leg of a lark was as large as a legof mutton now, a berry of the wild ash was as large as a sheep, and anivy leaf as broad as a shield. 

"They all laughed at him the more when he said these things, and theydid not believe a word of it all. 'Alas!' he said, 'how can I show youthat what I say is true? The dear heroes whom I knew are all gone. Iam left alone to mourn for them, among men who do not even believe howgreat they were. Everything that I have found is changed, but theremay be something that is not changed. Will one of you go with me in awar chariot and drive where I shall tell him, and let me see if I canfind anything as I knew it once?'

"Then one of them said that he would go with him. The next morningthey set out. Oisin told the man where to drive, till they came to aplace where Oisin said: 'Look around you and tell me what you can seeon the plain. '

"'I see a stone pillar, ' the man answered. 

"'Drive the chariot to it, ' said Oisin, 'and dig at the foot of thepillar, on the south side of it. '

"The man did as Oisin told him, and when he had dug for a while Oisinasked him if he had found anything. 'There is something long and hardhere, ' said the man, 'like a wooden pole. '

"'Dig it out, ' said Oisin. 

"The man dug more. 'I have it out now, ' he said; 'it is like a greatspear, for it has a huge head of rusty iron. I can scarcely lift it. '

"'It is a spear such as the Fenians used, ' said Oisin. 'Dig stilldeeper. '

"The man dug again. 'Do you find anything more?' said Oisin. 

"'I have found a great horn, ' the man answered, 'many times as largeas any horn that I ever saw. '

"'It is the great war-horn of my father, Finn McCool, ' said Oisin. 'Dig deeper. '

"The man dug again and said, 'I have found a lump of bog butter. '

"'Now blow the horn, ' said Oisin. 

"The man was scarcely able to blow the horn, but he did blow it, andit gave forth a harsh, terrible note, which sounded over the plainand was echoed back from the woods and the rocks with a hoarse, dreadful sound. 

"'Look about you, ' said Oisin, 'and tell me what you see. '

"'Oh, I see, ' said the man, 'a great flock of birds coming toward us, and every one of them is many times as large as the largest eagle thatI have ever seen. I fear that we cannot escape them and that they willkill us. The dog is nearly dead with terror and he is trying to breakhis chain. '

"'Give him a piece of the bog butter, ' said Oisin, 'and let him go. Then tell me what he does. '

"'He is running straight toward the birds, ' the man answered, 'andthey are coming straight toward him and toward us, along the ground. Ah! he has caught one of them, and all the rest have flown away! Hehas killed the bird! He is rushing back to us, with madness in hiseyes and his mouth covered with blood and foam! I fear that he will beworse for us than the birds would have been. '

"'Hold the spear straight in front of you as he comes, ' said Oisin, 'and let him run upon the point of it and kill him. '

[Illustration: "HOLD THE SPEAR STRAIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU. "]

"The man held the spear as Oisin told him, and when the dog came on hewas caught upon the point of it, and it went through his heart andhe fell dead. 

"Then the man went and cut off one of the legs of the bird which hadbeen killed, and they took it with them and started back. As they wentthey passed a mountain ash which had berries of enormous size, and theman put one of them into the chariot. Then the man saw huge ivyleaves, and he took one of them too. So they went back to St. Patrick's house and showed all the men there what they had brought. The leg of the bird and the berry and the ivy leaf were even largerthan Oisin had said. And after that they all believed the stories thatOisin told them, and all of them agreed that a man who had lived inthe days when there were such trees and such beasts and such men inErin should be his own judge as to how much he needed to eat. And soafter that all of St. Patrick's men treated him as well as did St. Patrick himself. 

"But Oisin died only a little while after that, the last of the greatheroes of Erin. He had lived for more than three hundred years, and itseemed to him no more than the life of a young man. "

[Illustration: ]

X

THE IRON CRUCIFIX

Kathleen had not been at home long, of course, before Peter and Ellencame to see her, and Terence came with them. It seemed to Kathleenthat she had never seen him look as he did then. She had never seenhim look so evil or so crafty or so sad. She felt afraid of him, because he looked so evil and so crafty, and she felt sorry for him, because he looked so sad. She sat in the corner of the room that wasfarthest from him, and it was also the farthest from all the others, as they were all sitting near together. Then, when all the others werebusy talking among themselves, Terence suddenly came and sat close toher, and between her and the others, so that she could not get awayfrom him. 

"What did you do all the year that you was inside the hill?" he said. 

"I don't know, " Kathleen answered; "it seemed only a day to me, and Ican't remember and I can't think what it was that I did to fill allthat time. "

"And how did you like the fairies?" said Terence. 

"The Good People? They were very kind to me and I liked them verymuch, but I wouldn't have let them keep me--I wouldn't have stayed--solong, if I had known. "

"You wouldn't have let them? You wouldn't have stayed? And what wouldyou have done?"

"I don't know, " said Kathleen. 

"And who was there besides the fairies?" Terence asked. 

"Why, there was--oh, I don't want to talk to you about it, and I don'tthink you ought to make me. "

"You don't need, " said Terence. "I know who was there. I know who heis and what he is, and I know the kind of talk that he talked to you. He made love to you. I know that well enough. That's what he would do. But do you mind the promise that your father made to my father the dayafter we was born? I want you should remember that promise. "

"It was no promise at all, " Kathleen said, "and I won't let you talkto me that way, and I don't see that it matters to you what he--whatanybody said to me anywhere, and I won't tell you any more. "

"Ah!" said Terence; "he did make love to you. And you think you cantalk any way you like to me and you won't let me talk any way I liketo you. Do you know that his staying in that hill with the fairiesdepends on me? Do you know that--"

Terence turned to see if anybody else was listening and saw Mrs. O'Brien looking straight at him. He stopped short in what he wassaying, and then, speaking lower, he went on: "Don't dare to tellanybody what I was saying to you; you don't know what I can do, but Imight show you if I took the notion. "

For the rest of the time that he stayed Terence said not a word, buthe sat and stared at Kathleen. And now she thought that there wassomething more terrible in his look than there had been before. Itseemed to have a kind of spell about it. Kathleen had a feeling thatshe could not move while he looked at her, although when she tried itshe found that she could. 

The most natural thing in the world for Kathleen to do would have beento tell her grandmother about this and about all that Terence had saidto her, but, whether it was because of the way that Terence had lookedat her or for some other reason, she did not tell her. Sometimesafter that, when she and Terence met, he reminded her again of what hecalled the promise, but oftener he said nothing, or next to nothing, and only looked at her in that same way, and then she felt as if shecould do nothing of herself, and that if he told her to do anything, she would have to do it. 

Kathleen did not forget the promise which she had made to the otherTerence in the hill, that she would come back. She had said that shewould come back to-morrow if she could. But when to-morrow came, somany people who had heard that she was at home again came to see her, that she was not left alone for a moment. It was several days beforeshe could get away from the house to go where she pleased alone. Thenshe went straight to the little pool in the Park. 

If you live in New York, perhaps you would like to know just wherethis pool was--and still is. Well, then--go to the northwest corner ofCentral Park and go in by the little gate at the right of thecarriage-drive. Then you will have to go down a flight of steps. Keepto the right, along the west side of the Park, and you will have to goonly a few steps till you come to the pool, which is a little way upthe bank, on the left, with the rocks behind it and the trees aroundit, as I have described it to you before. Then go back to the path andkeep on the way that you were going, till you have gone up two shortflights of steps. Then, only a few feet farther on, you will see, onthe left, the little, shell-shaped, grassy slope where Kathleen dancedwith the Good People. Seeing these places will prove to you that thiswhole story is true. 

Kathleen went straight to the pool, as I said, never thinking butthat, when she got there, she could walk into the hill as easily asshe had done before. But there was no opening at all in the rocks. They were just as they had always looked before she went through themwith the Good People. Then she tried to step on the water, and insteadof stepping on it she stepped into it and wet her foot. She almostconcluded that everything had been a dream after all. She feltfrightened about it, and she hurried home to look at the little box ofgreen ointment. If she found it where she had left it, it would provethat she had really been inside the hill and that it was not a dream. She ran to her room to look for it, and there it was just as she hadleft it. It was not a dream. 

But how was she to keep her promise to Terence?--the Hill Terence, shecalled him now, when she thought of him, so as not to confuse him withTerence Sullivan. She went to the pool again and again and tried tofind the door in the rocks open and the water so that she could walkon it, but she never found them so. Yet she could not think of anyother way to get into the hill again. After a while it seemed sohopeless that she gave up going to the pool so often. 

Then one day a thought came to her which made it all seem so simplethat she was quite surprised at herself for not thinking of it before. Terence had told her that he came out every day to go to school. Hehad said that the next year he was to go to the School of Engineeringat the University. It was when she first came into the hill that hetold her that, and so it was next year now. Now the University was notvery far away, up on the hill, beyond the north end of the Park. Shedid not know whether there was any other way to get into the hill thanthis way through the rocks behind the pool, but if anybody were at theUniversity and wanted to get into the hill, this would surely be thenearest way. Then she felt sure that if she went to the pool at theright time of the day she should meet Terence when he came out or whenhe went in. 

When she thought again she decided that she would not do anything ofthe kind. If Terence wanted to see her, it was his business to findher, not hers to find him. After that she thought still more. Terencehad no way of finding her. She had never told him where she lived, and he might spend the rest of his life searching for her and neverfind her. And then she had promised him that she would come back. Shehad tried so hard to keep that promise already that most people wouldhave said it was right for her to give it up now, but she had afeeling that a promise which she had made to Terence must be kept. Shesaid to herself that it was because he had been so kind to her whenshe was in the hill. 

So she spent all the time she could near the pool, in the hope ofseeing Terence. And what do you think happened? She did see him. Oneafternoon as she was walking along the same old path toward the gateat the corner of the Park, she saw Terence come through that gate anddown the steps. And now you will never in the world guess what shedid. I suppose you have believed this whole story till now, but I amafraid you will not believe this. I should not believe it myself, if Idid not know that it was so. But there is no doubt about it. Sheturned and walked straight back along the path, and tried to get awaywithout letting Terence see her. Don't expect me to explain it. Idon't blame you for being surprised. It was the most wonderful thing Iever heard of. A sensible girl like Kathleen too!

But Terence had seen her and he walked swiftly along the path andovertook her. "What makes you try to get away from me?" he said. 

"I don't know, " said Kathleen. 

"Didn't you want to see me?" he asked. 

"Yes, " said Kathleen, "I wanted--I don't know--oh, yes, I did want tosee you! How is the little Prince?"

"The little Prince is very well, " said Terence. "You promised that youwould come back, you know. "

"Yes, " said Kathleen, "and didn't I try? But how could I get throughthose hard rocks? I don't suppose it was your fault about the rocks, though. How are they getting on with their triangles?"

"They are not getting on at all, " Terence answered. "You promised thatyou would come back, and then, when you saw me you tried to run away. What made you do that?"

"Oh, but I tried so hard to find you!" Kathleen said. "You don't knowhow hard I tried. "

"But what made--?"

"I don't know; I just couldn't help it. "

You notice how uninteresting Terence and Kathleen's conversation wasgetting. They kept on with it, however, dull as it was. They turnedand went up over the hill to the blockhouse, and then down the steeppath on the other side and back along the north end of the Park. "Doyou come here often?" Terence asked. 

"I have been here very often, " Kathleen said, "trying to keep mypromise to you. "

"I am here, " he said, "nearly every day, at about this time; will youcome again?"

"Yes, " Kathleen said, "if you would like me to. "

They were close to the pool again now. "See that bright star up therein the west?" said Terence. 

Kathleen turned to look at it. "It is Venus, " she said. Then sheturned back toward where Terence had stood. He was gone. She looked upand down the path and all around, but she could not find him. She wentup to the pool. The rocks were just as usual--just as close, just ashard. She tried the water again to see if she could stand on it. Shecould not. Terence was gone and she went home to think about it. 

She thought about it and she thought more about it, but she could notunderstand it at all. So she very sensibly gave up understanding it. She kept her promise and met Terence again near the pool. And then shemet him again and a few times more. Every time he would make her lookaway from him for a moment, or wait till she did look away, and whenshe looked back he would be gone. It did not take her long to findout that he did not want her to see him go, of course, and so one day, when she turned her head away she turned it back again quickly, andsaw him standing close to the pool with his face toward the rocks. Shewatched him for a moment while he stood there, and neither of themmoved. Then he said, without looking around: "Let me go, Kathleen; Ican't go while you're looking. "

So she turned away for another instant, and when she looked again hewas gone. 

I don't know how many times Terence and Kathleen strolled about thePark in this way, or what they talked about, or just how long a timewent by, and I suppose that all these things interest you as little asthey do me. But there is no doubt that one day, as they were walkingtogether and talking together of whatever they found to talk about, they came face to face with Terence Sullivan. He passed them as if hehad not seen them, but his face was black. 

The next day he came to see Kathleen, and he said to her: "Do youthink I don't know who that was with you in the Park yesterday? Anddoes your father know? He will, if I tell him, and what will he say, do you think, when he knows that you're meeting that fine boy withouthis knowledge? If I see the two of you there again I'll tell him, andI'll be watching for you too. What do you say to that now?"

"I say nothing to it, " Kathleen answered; "what did you think I wouldsay?"

"What did I think you would say? What did I think you could say?Nothing, of course. And is that all you say?"

"That is all, " said Kathleen. 

And that was all. He tried his best to get her to say more, but shewould not. But it did not take her a minute to think what to do. Andit was so simple that she wondered why she had never thought of itbefore. It was a wonder, too, that Terence Sullivan did not think ofit himself and know that she would do it. But he was not clever insome ways, though he was so clever in others. 

The next day Kathleen met Terence in the Park, and she said to him:"Terence, we must not stay here for a single minute. You must comestraight home with me. I want you to see my father and mygrandmother. "

And Terence went straight home with her and she told her grandmotherwho he was--and indeed she had told her of him before--and that shehad met him in the Park. Her father came soon and Terence wasintroduced to him too. 

After that Terence came often and Kathleen seldom met him in the Park, though they still walked there sometimes. Mrs. O'Brien and John wereimmensely pleased with him. It was the strangest thing to see how muchhe liked to be in a house, just because it was a house, and howwonderful the ways of people who lived in a house seemed to him. Whenhe and Kathleen sat together in a corner of the room and John satreading a paper and Mrs. O'Brien knitting and reading a book at thesame time, it was as astonishing a sight to him as it would be to youto see a dozen mermaids playing at the bottom of the sea. 

"Isn't it beautiful?" he whispered to Kathleen. 

"Isn't what beautiful?" Kathleen asked. 

"The way you live here, " Terence answered. "All these years, you know, I have just come out of the hill to go to school, and then I have goneback again. I have seen the people outside, but I never was in one oftheir houses before. And don't you ever dance?"

"Why, of course we do, " Kathleen said; "we go to balls sometimes, andto parties where there is dancing, and then--"

"But do you never dance here, where you live?"

"Oh, yes, sometimes we do, but the rooms are not large enough to do itvery well, you know. "

"I never thought before, " said Terence, "of people's not dancing allthe time that they were not at work or eating or sleeping. You knowthere in the hill they dance a good deal of the time, and I get sotired of it that it seems to me as if they danced all the time. Ithink it is delightful not to dance. And what is your grandmotherdoing? Is she studying?"

"Why, no, she is only reading. "

"But what does she read, if she is not studying?"

"Why, I don't know; a story, maybe, or history, or poetry, or asermon, or--it might be anything. "

"Will you tell me about all those things some time?" Terence asked. "Ihave heard people tell stories, but I never read a story, and I neverread anything except books to help me learn to make railways andtelegraphs, so as to teach it to the people in the hill. That is allthey think of when they are not dancing. "

And Terence wondered like this at everything that he saw, and he oftentold Kathleen how tired he was of living in the hill and how much hewished that he could live outside among the real people, as he calledthem, instead of with the Good People. Once Kathleen tried to takeTerence to see Peter and Ellen, and then a strange thing wasdiscovered. Terence could not go there. When he came to the corner ofthe street where Peter and Ellen lived, he turned straight around andwalked the other way. "This is the way, " Kathleen called, and shehurried back after him. 

When she came up with him he turned again and walked with her as theyhad been going at first. "I don't know why I did that, " he said. "Ididn't mean to. It was as if my feet turned me around and brought meback. "

By this time they were at the corner again, and Terence did just thesame thing over. He turned square around and walked back. He could nothelp it. He tried it again and again and he could not turn thatcorner. If you had been there and had seen him trying it, you wouldhave thought that it was the funniest sight that you ever saw, thoughit may not sound so funny to tell about it. Kathleen was vexed thatTerence could not go where she wanted him to, but she laughed till shehad to sit down on a doorstep and rest. 

Terence did not understand it any more than Kathleen did, andafterward he tried it again, but it was of no use. He begged her notto tell her father or her grandmother, because, he said, it would makehim look so ridiculous. But one day, when he and Kathleen were ontheir way together to the O'Briens' house, as he came to the lastcorner, Terence turned around and walked away. "I can't go home withyou to-day, " he said. "I don't know why it is. I can't walk that way. It is just the same as when I try to go to the Sullivans'. "

He went back to the Park and Kathleen went home alone and found thatPeter and Ellen were there. Then she simply could not keep herselffrom telling her grandmother all about it. Afterward she wished thatshe had not told her, for her grandmother laughed a little and noddedand looked as if she knew everything, and she would tell nothing. 

So the Hill Terence came to the O'Briens' so often that he felt quiteat home, and everyone there was glad to have him come, and if hestayed away for as long as three or four days, they wondered what hadbecome of him. And all this, you may suppose, did not improve TerenceSullivan's temper. He and the Hill Terence never met except that onetime in the Park, but he knew all about it. And he talked withKathleen about it sometimes, too, and it made her very uncomfortable. He talked in the same way that he did the day after Kathleen came backfrom the hill, of his having something to do with the Hill Terence andof the harm that he could do if he chose. He never said anything thatKathleen could understand, but he always made her afraid. She told theHill Terence about it, and she told her grandmother about it. Hergrandmother seemed to understand it perfectly, and she told her not tobe afraid. Terence did not seem to understand it at all, and he toldher not to be afraid. 

Then one day, when Terence Sullivan had been talking to her in thesame way and had been looking at her in a more terrible way than everbefore, she told her grandmother that she could not bear it anylonger. If something could not be done to make Terence stop talking toher so, and looking at her so, she should ask her father to let her goaway somewhere. 

"There's nothing for you to be afraid of, " her grandmother said, "butif you are afraid and if it troubles you so much, we will see what wecan do. "

Then Mrs. O'Brien went to her own room and came back with somethingwhich she gave to Kathleen. It was a little crucifix, made of iron. "It was this, " she said, "that I touched you with to bring you out ofthe circle when you were dancing with the Good People. Hang it aroundyour neck, and if Terence troubles you, hold it up before you andbefore him. I have always said that Terence was one of the GoodPeople, and I never believed it more than this minute. If he is one ofthem, he cannot come near the cross, and the iron will be a terror tohim too. If he tries to come too near to you, touch him with it, andthen we'll see. "

"Why can he not come near the cross?" Kathleen asked. 

"Because, " Mrs. O'Brien said, "the Good People are a kind of spirits, and no spirits can do you any harm if you hold the cross before you, or if you make the sign of the cross. Did I never tell you what theGood People were? They were angels and lived in Heaven once. WhenSatan and his angels rebelled against God and were driven out ofHeaven, the angels that are the Good People were driven out too. Theywere not good enough to stay in Heaven, and they were not bad enoughto fall as Satan and his angels fell, so some of them stayed on theland and some of them stayed in the sea. And so they will live tillthe Day of Judgment, and then, some say, they will vanish like dewwhen it dries away; and some say that they will be saved like thesouls of Christians. But we do not know. "

"You do not know, " Kathleen repeated, "if the Good People will besaved or not? They were very good to me, though they kept me away fromhome so long, and I should like to believe--"

"I have read of one of them, " Mrs. O'Brien went on, "who looked in atthe gate of Heaven, and an angel told him that he could come in, ifhe could bring with him the thing which was counted in Heaven the mostprecious in all the world. And he found it and brought it and wentinto Heaven. But for the most of them--the Good People themselves donot know whether they are to be saved, and we common people do notknow, but they say that priests know. And sometimes the Good Peoplethemselves have tried to find out from them. 

"There was a troupe of fairies dancing one night on a green near ariver, and they were all having the merry kind of time that you knowbetter than I do, Kathleen. But they stopped all at once and ran tohide themselves among the grass and behind leaves and weeds. For theyknew, in the way that they have of knowing, that a priest was coming, and the Good People cannot bear to be near a priest. 

"The priest who was coming had been on some errand at a long distancefrom home, and he was a long way from home still. Indeed, he was justmaking up his mind that, as it was so late, he would not try to gohome at all that night, but would ask for a supper and a bed at thefirst cabin he should come to. And well he knew he would find it andwelcome. 

"And true for him, close by where the Good People had been dancing, hecame to a cabin and knocked at the door. The man and his wife wholived there were proud enough to see the priest in their house and togive him all that he asked, and the trouble that was on them was thatthey had no more to give. For there was nothing to offer him butpotatoes, though they were as good potatoes as there were in Ireland. 

"It was only a little while ago that the man of the house had set anet in the river, and he thought that there would hardly be a fish init so soon. But then he thought that there could be no harm inlooking, so down to the river he went to try could he find somethingfor the priest's supper more than the potatoes. And true enough, therein the net was the finest salmon he ever saw. He was about to take himout, when the net was pulled away from him by something that he couldnot see, and away went the salmon swimming down the river. 

"It may be that he said things to the fish that I wouldn't like to besaying after him, and at the same time he looked around to see what itwas that was pulling his net. And then he saw the Good People. 

"'Give yourself no trouble about the fish, ' one of them said to him. 'If you'll only go back to your house and ask the priest one questionfrom us we'll see that he and you have the finest supper that was everseen. '

"Now the man thought that it was not safe to be talking and makingbargains with the Good People, so he said: 'I'll not have anything todo with you at all. ' And then he thought neither was it safe to makethem angry with him, and so he said again: 'I've no wish to offend youand I thank you for your offer, but I can't take it from you, and Idon't think his Reverence would like me to do that same. '

"Then the one that had spoken first said: 'We'll not ask you to takeanything you don't want, but will you ask the priest one question forus?"

"'I see no harm in that, ' said he, 'for sure he needn't answer it ifhe doesn't like; but I'll not take your supper. '

"'Then, ' said the little man, 'ask him if we are to be saved at theDay of Judgment, like the souls of Christians, and bring us back wordwhat he says, and we'll be grateful to you forever. '

"He went back to his cabin and found his wife and the priest sittingdown to supper. 'Your Reverence, ' said he, 'might I ask you onequestion?'

"'And what might that be?' said the priest. 

"'Will you tell me, ' said he 'will the Good People be saved at the Dayof Judgment, the same as Christians?'

"'You never thought of asking that yourself, ' the priest said; 'whotold you to ask it?'

"'It was the Good People themselves, ' said the man, 'and they are downthere by the river, waiting for me to tell them what you answer toit. '

"'Go and tell them, then, ' said the priest, 'that if they will comehere and ask me that or any other question themselves, I will answerthem. '

"So he went back and told them what the priest said, and the instantthey heard it they all flew away over the grass and up into the airand vanished. Then he went back to eat his potatoes with the priest, still feeling sorry that he had lost the salmon. "

"But still I don't see, " Kathleen said. "You say that the cross willhelp me against Terence if he is one of the Good People, because theyare a kind of spirits. But why wouldn't it help me against him just asmuch if he wasn't one of the Good People--if he was just a bad man?"

"No, no, " said the old woman; "that little bit of iron will keep youagainst any evil spirit, and never one of them dare come near it; butno poor human creature with a soul to save, no matter how wicked, wasever turned away from the blessed cross, or ever will be. The crosswas made for them. And now, dear, you have been crying and your eyesare all red. Go to your room and try to make them look better. Theremight be someone to see you before long, and you wouldn't like youreyes to look that way. "

Someone did come to see Kathleen before long, but, as it happened, neither she nor her grandmother stayed to see him. 

Kathleen scarcely knew that she had been crying till her grandmothertold her, but she had. She went to her room and looked in the glassand was surprised to see how red her eyes were. And just at the sameinstant she saw the little gold box of green ointment, just under theglass, where she had left it, and where it had been ever since thatnight when she came back from the hill. Then she remembered how theFairy Queen had given it to her to put on the little Prince's eyes, and how she had done it, and how bright his eyes looked when shetouched them with the ointment. She wondered if it would make her eyeslook bright, too, and take the marks of the tears away from them. Shetook a tiny bit of the ointment on her finger and just touched eacheye with it. It did make them look brighter; there was no doubt aboutit. 

The next instant Kathleen started away from the mirror and across theroom with a little frightened gasp. For, looking in the glass, shehad seen a dark form pass behind her, as if it had just come in at thedoor of the room. She knew who it was without turning around. It wasTerence Sullivan. He was still close to the door now, and she wasacross the room. She had the little iron crucifix in her hand and sheturned and faced him. 

"What are you doing here?" she said. 

Terence only stared at her, for an instant, more surprised than shewas herself. Then he stammered: "What--what am I--"

"What are you here for?" said Kathleen. "Why do you follow me likethis? I won't let you. Go away. "

Terence was a little more himself now. "Which eye do you see me with?"he cried. 

"With both eyes, of course, " said Kathleen. 

"This for both of them, then!" Terence cried, and he struck atKathleen's eyes with his fist. 

She raised her hand quickly to ward off the blow, and Terence's handtouched the iron crucifix. The blow did not reach her eyes. Terencestarted back from her and fell upon the floor. Only for an instantKathleen saw his face. His eyes blazed, but the rest of it was as ifhe had been dead. Somehow he found his way out of the room, Kathleencould scarcely see how. He did not rise, but he seemed to run like abeast running for its life. Kathleen followed him out of the room andto the stairs. She saw him just leaving the house by the door. And yetshe could not see how he went, for the door was shut. 

Kathleen ran downstairs to find her grandmother and to tell her whathad happened. Mrs. O'Brien listened and then she said: "Kathleen, youhave been thinking too much about Terence and you have got toonervous. Nobody has come into the house since you left me, only a fewminutes ago. "

"But I saw him, grandmother, " Kathleen answered, "and it was all justas I told you. How could I see him if he did not come?"

Mrs. O'Brien sat and thought for a few minutes. "What did you dobefore you saw Terence?" she asked. 

Kathleen thought for a minute, too, for she was so much excited thatshe could scarcely remember. "I had been crying, " she said, "as youtold me, and I put some of the ointment in the little gold box on myeyes to see if it would make them look better. "

"It was that, " said Mrs. O'Brien. "I've heard the like of it before. When you have touched your eyes with that ointment you can always seethe Good People, whether they want you to or not. That was why hetried to strike your eyes, and if he had struck them he would have putthem out. You will always see the Good People now wherever you meetthem. They don't like to be seen except when they choose, and so theymay try to do you harm, and you must be careful. Keep the little crossalways by you. 

"And now come with me, " the old woman went on. "I have had enough ofthis, and I will have no more. "

"Come with you where, grandmother?" Kathleen asked. 

"To the Sullivans, " the old woman answered. 

 * * * * *

It was only a little while after they had gone when the Hill Terencecame to the door. "Mrs. O'Brien and Miss Kathleen have gone to theSullivans', " the servant told him. 

"Will they be back soon?" he asked. 

"I don't think so, " the servant said; "it was only a few minutes agothat they went away. "

"I will go to the Sullivans' and find them, " Terence said. 

Now that, you know, was about the most remarkable thing that Terencecould say. He had tried to go to the Sullivans' so many times and hadfound so many times that his feet simply would not take him there, that he had given up trying long ago. But now he resolved that hewould go, and, more than that, he had a feeling such as he had neverhad before that he must go. 

He knew the street and the number, though he had never been there. Hestarted off as if there could not be the slightest doubt of his goingwherever he wished to go. He walked quickly through the Park and pastthe little pool as if he had never seen the place. He came out of thePark at the other side and went on till he came to the corner which hecould never turn before. He turned it as if it had been any othercorner. It did not even surprise him to find that he could. He thoughtthat he was doing all this just because he was so determined to gojust where he chose, but he had never felt anything like the force orthe determination or whatever it was which was drawing him straighton. 

He reached the house and went up the steps. The door was open, and, instead of ringing, he went straight in. But what he did next was thestrangest of all. He could not have told you why he did it any morethan he could have told you why he did anything else. Instead ofknocking at the door or going into any room that he passed, he wentdownstairs to the door of the kitchen. There, just for one instant, he stopped--the first instant that he had stopped since he left theO'Briens' house. Then, still without knocking, he pushed the door openand went in. 

[Illustration: ]

XI

THE OLD KING COMES BACK

When Mrs. O'Brien and Kathleen left home they walked through the Parkand to the Sullivans'. Peter was away. Terence half sat and half layon the floor in a corner. He held his right hand behind him andcovered his face with his left arm. His whole body shook as if he wereriding in a cart over a rough road. Ellen sat close to him, trying tosoothe him and trying to get him to tell her what was the matter. 

When Mrs. O'Brien and Kathleen came in Terence seemed to try to makehimself smaller, but he did nothing else. "Ellen, " said Mrs. O'Brien, "come outside the room here for a moment; I have something to tellyou. "

"Look at Terence there, " Ellen answered; "how can I leave him whenhe's that way?"

"Leave him, " said Mrs. O'Brien, "and come out here with me. "

She took Ellen by the hand and led her, and Ellen followed. There wassomething in Mrs. O'Brien's look now that told her she would have tocome. "Now look at me, " said Mrs. O'Brien, when they were out of theroom; "do I look as if I would mean every word I said, or do I not?"

Ellen did not answer, and Mrs. O'Brien said: "Ellen, when it was onlyyour own affair I told you what you ought to do, but I let you takeyour own way. But now it is Kathleen's affair and John's and mine, andit is time that I had my way. Look at me, Ellen, and tell me, do Ilook as if I meant to have it?"

Again Ellen looked in the old woman's face and said nothing for aninstant. Then she looked down again in a confused way, and said: "Imust go back to Terence. "

"Ellen, " said the old woman, "go down to the kitchen. We'll followyou, and Terence can come, too, if he likes, and I think he will. "

Without a word Ellen went down the stairs. Mrs. O'Brien called toTerence: "We are going to the kitchen; you can come if you like. "

Mrs. O'Brien and Kathleen followed Ellen, and Terence followed them. He slipped down the stairs like a bundle of rags. He stole into thekitchen after the others and half sat and half lay in the corner, ashe had done in the room above, only he did not cover his face with hisarm, but kept his eyes on Mrs. O'Brien to see what she was going todo. 

"Now, Ellen, " Mrs. O'Brien whispered, "put your largest pot on thefire, put water in it, and let it boil. "

Ellen looked at the old woman as if she were begging her not to dothis. The old woman looked back at her, and then she did it. She putthe pot on the fire and the water in the pot. "Now bring all the eggsyou have in the house, " Mrs. O'Brien said. 

Ellen was past asking questions now, and she brought the eggs. Italways takes a long time for water to boil, and it seemed to all ofthem as if it took hours for this water to boil. While they werewaiting not one of them spoke and they scarcely moved. Terence was allbut holding his breath, and his eyes, red and staring, were now uponMrs. O'Brien and now upon Ellen, and never at rest. Kathleen looked atTerence and clutched the little crucifix in her hand. But she need nothave been afraid of Terence; he knew the crucifix as well as he caredto know it. 

After a long time the water boiled. Mrs. O'Brien waited till it wasboiling as hard as ever it could, and then she whispered to Ellen:"Break the eggs now; keep the shells and throw away the rest. "

Poor Ellen could not guess what it all meant, but she broke the eggs, laid the shells carefully aside, and threw away the rest. 

"Now, " said Mrs. O'Brien, "put the shells in the pot. "

Ellen did as she was told. 

"What are you doing, mother?" Terence called from his corner. 

"Tell him you are brewing, " Mrs. O'Brien whispered. 

"I'm brewing, Terence, " said Ellen, scarcely loud enough to be heard. 

"And what are you brewing?" Terence asked again. 

"Say egg-shells, " Mrs. O'Brien whispered. 

"Egg-shells, Terence, " Ellen said. 

Terence sprang to his feet. "Egg-shells!" he cried. "For near sixthousand years I have lived on this earth, and never till this minutedid I see anybody brew egg-shells!"

Mrs. O'Brien had turned upon him before he had done speaking. "Sixthousand years, is it, that you've been on this earth?" she cried. "Then go and spend the rest of the years where you spent the sixthousand! You've been long enough here! And send back the child thatwas stolen when you came here!"

Terence sprang toward a window. Ellen stood in his way; he struck herin the face with his open hand and threw her on the floor. After thatnobody saw him but Kathleen. She saw him go toward the window. It wasopen just a little crack. Before her very eyes he grew smaller andsmaller, till he scrambled and rolled and slipped through the crackand was gone. 

That very instant the door opened and the Hill Terence came in. He sawEllen lying on the floor, and, without noticing anyone else, he wentto her and lifted her up. Ellen looked in his face, started back fromhim for an instant, still gazing in his face, and then caught him inher arms and cried, with her voice all full of tears, "It's my ownboy--my own boy--the one I always saw in my dreams! Don't come nearme, any of you, or you'll wake me and it'll be another dream! Oh, letme keep this dream while I can!"

"You'll keep this dream always, Ellen, dear, " the old woman said. "Have no more fear. This is the dream that's for all your life andforever. "

It was about that time, or it may have been a little later, that Petercame in. They told him all about it as well as they could. "It's gladI am that it all came out so, " Peter said, after they had completelybewildered him by trying to make him understand the story; "it's gladI am. And yet I did like to hear Terence play the fiddle. "

"I can play the fiddle a little too, " the new Terence said. 

"Oh, yes, indeed he can!" said Kathleen. "Bring the fiddle and he willshow you. "

Peter brought the fiddle and Terence played, and the fiddle sang agreat song of gladness--the song of a soul born to find itself a fullman all at once. 

"Ah! don't you see now? Don't you see now?" Kathleen cried. "Thatmeans something!"

 * * * * *

The fairies in the hill were dancing their endless dance, whenNaggeneen, as if he had been lifted up in the air and dropped, wassuddenly among them. They stopped the dance and gathered around him. "What for are you back here?" the King asked. 

"They drove me out!" Naggeneen cried. "I knew they would! I told youthey would! I told you you could do nothing and I could do nothing!It's the only wonder that they didn't drive me out long ago. "

"What do you keep your hand behind you for?" the King asked. 

"I couldn't tell you that, " said Naggeneen; "I couldn't say the wordsthat I'ld have to say to tell you. "

"And how did they drive you out?"

"By brewing egg-shells. "

"And do you mean, " the King cried, "that you let them catch you withthat old trick? I thought you was clever. "

"Let them catch me! I couldn't help what they did! I tried to help it, but it's a spell that's too strong for me or for any of us. If I wasto get a soul by it, I couldn't help saying: 'What are you doing, mother?' and then I couldn't help saying how long I had been on theearth. Ah, didn't I always tell you mortals was more powerful than us, if they only knew how? What are our spells and our charms to theirs?"

"And where is Terence, then?" the King asked. 

"He's not come in yet, " somebody answered. 

"You know where he must be by this time, " said Naggeneen. "He's backwith his father and his mother by now. Where else could he be?"

"There'll be no geometry to-night, " the King said. "It's all done;we've failed in that. We'll always be as we are, as you told us, Naggeneen. So now be as you were yourself and give us a tune to danceby. We was dancing when you came in, but it was no good music we had. "

"I'll not play any more, " Naggeneen said; "that's all done too. But Ihave something more to tell you. Kathleen O'Brien can see us, whetherwe like it or not. Some fool of you must have given her the ointmentwhen she was here, and now she has used it on her eyes. She saw mewhen I meant to be invisible, and by the same token she can see any ofyou any time, whether you want to be seen or not. Now you know it'sthe rule that she must be blinded in some way. Any of you can do itthat likes. I've had enough and I warn you. She carries something thatnone of you can face, if she uses it. But you can watch your chanceand do it when she's asleep or in some way off her guard. "

An angry murmur ran around when Naggeneen said this. The King wasabout to speak, but the Queen spoke first. "Never a one of you shallharm her, " she said. "Look what she did for me and the little Prince, at that time when we can do nothing for ourselves. And how good hergrandmother has always been to us; and her mother, when she was alive. I don't care if she sees everything we do; no one of us shall everharm her or anyone that belongs to her. "

"You are right, " the King said, "and it's ordered as you say. "

"And she's not to be blinded, then?" said Naggeneen. 

"She's not to be harmed, " the King answered. "I forbid you ever totouch her, Naggeneen, and none of us ever will. "

"Don't fear for me, " said Naggeneen. "I'll never go near her. I've hadenough. "

"And we've all had enough, " said the King; "so now, Naggeneen, playfor us. "

"Leave me be, " said Naggeneen; "I'll never play for you again. King, did you ever lose what you cared for more than all the world? When youdo, you'll know more than you know now, with all your age and with allyour power. I told you once how I carried off the Princess of Franceand how Guleesh na Guss Dhu stole her from me. I cared nothing forher. It was only the soul that I'ld get from her that I wanted. Andthis time it was only the soul that I wanted, too, at first, but Iloved this one in the end. But a soul will always find out anothersoul, and there's nothing for one like us, that has no soul. Oh, Icouldn't even tell her like a man. All I could do was to be alwaysfrightening her and threatening her, and I knew all the time that itwould drive her away from me at last, or me away from her. And I'll belike the rest of you till the Last Day, and then it's not even alittle smoke that there'll be left of us. Dance and play and do whatyou like, but leave me be. "

Naggeneen turned away from the King, pushed his way through the crowd, and threw himself down in a corner of the hall, with his face againstthe wall. The rest did not dance any more that night. Naggeneen hadfrightened them, as he always frightened them when he chose. 

After that for a time everything went with the fairies as it had goneat first, except that Naggeneen was not among them. Sometimes he wasin the hall by himself and sometimes he was out of it by himself, buthe never danced with the others, he never talked with them, and henever played for them. 

One day the King came to him as he sat in his corner alone and said, "Naggeneen, we are all going to the wedding. Will you come with us?"

"Leave me be, " said Naggeneen. "Why would I want to see it? I don'tknow if I'll ever go with you or do anything with you again, or withanyone, but I know I'll not now. "

All the people who were passing St. Patrick's Cathedral could tell bythe looks of things that if they waited long enough they would seesomebody come out. So a good many waited. After a while they sawTerence and Kathleen come out and get into a carriage. 

"Look, " said Kathleen: "do you see them? They are the Good People!Don't you see them all around us, in the street and in the air, andeverywhere? I remember every one of them--the funny little men and thepretty little girls. Oh, you goose, you have lived with them all yourlife, and still you can't see them except when they want you to. Butmy eyes are different, and I can see them always. Here is one of themcoming close to the carriage. It is the King. Yes, Your Majesty. Whatdo you think he says, Terence? He says that they are never going totry to put my eyes out and are never going to do me any harm at all, and that I am never to be afraid of them. "

Presently the people who were waiting outside the Cathedral saw JohnO'Brien and his mother come out and get into another carriage. "Shaun, " said the old woman, "I'm wishing that poor Kitty--Heaven resther soul!--could be here to-day. "

"I was thinking that same, mother, " said John. 

"I think she sees it all, " said his mother. 

"I think so, " said John. 

"Shaun, " said the old woman again, "isn't it all as well as it couldbe? Isn't my old King back with us, and isn't it the luck ofO'Donoghue that we've found again?"

 * * * * *

BY THE SAME AUTHOR

 * * * * *

FAIRIES AND FOLK OF IRELAND. $1. 50

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