torted Michael hotly, "and if I do such things still it is no concern of yours. But you will not be entering this gate. Good night, sir."
The hint was so firm a one that Donald Reynolds argued no further but turned away and strode out of sight into the darkness. David was about to go through the gate and follow him down the lane, when Michael stopped him.
"Go up and look at Mr. Reynolds again before you go," he begged. "I have a feeling that all is not well with him, even yet."
"You have so many feelings, Michael, how do you know what they mean?" inquired David with interest.
The old man seated himself on his stool once more and began filling his pipe.
"Men of Ireland are not quite like the rest of the world," he said slowly. "We do not often say so, but I think it is in the hearts of all of us to think that since our fathers' fathers knew the Little People, we of their blood can feel a little deeper and see some things a little clearer than others. You wouldn't understand, not either of you, though you have keen, kind eyes yourselves."
Betsey looked back at him anxiously as they went toward the house to fulfill his request. He was lighting his pipe, the glow of the match shining
