“Rap, rap, rap,” on the door, then a pause.
“God save all here!” cried a queer voice from the outside.
Now no fairy would say “God save all here,” so Darby took heart and opened the door. Who should be standing there but Sheelah Maguire, a spy for the Good People. So angry were Darby and Bob that they snatched her within the threshold, and before she knew it they had her tied hand and foot, wound a cloth around her mouth, and rolled her under the bed. Within the minute a thousand rustling woices sprung from outside. Through the window, in the clear moonlight, Darby marked weeds and grass being trampled by inwisible feet beyond the farthest ring of holly.
Suddenly broke a great cry. The gap in the first ring was found. Signs were plainly seen of uncountable feet rushing through and spreading about the nearer wreath. Afther that a howl of madness from the little men and women. Darby had pulled his twine and the trap was closed, with five thousand of the Good People entirely at his mercy.
Princes, princesses, dukes, dukesses, earls, earlesses, and all the quality of Sleive-na-mon were presoners.
