“When the cock crows the Good People must be safe at home. After cock-crow they have no power to help or to hurt, and every mortal eye can see them plain.”
“I thank you kindly,” says Darby, “and I bid you good evening, ma’am.” He turned away, leaving her standing there alone looking after him; but he was sure he heard voices talkin’ to her and laughin’ and tittherin’ behind him.
It was dark night when Darby stretched himself on the ground in Hagan’s meadow; the yellow rim of the moon just tipped the edge of the hills.
As he lay there in the long grass amidst the silence there came a cowld shudder in the air, an’ afther it had passed the deep cracked voice of a near-by bullfrog called loudly an’ ballyraggin’:
“The Omadhaun! Omadhaun! Omadhaun!” it said.
From a sloe three over near the hedge an owl cried, surprised and thrembling:
“Who-o-o? who-o-o?” it axed.
At that every frog in the meadow—an’ there must have been tin thousand of them—took up the answer, an’ shrieked shrill an’ high together. “Darby O’Gill! Darby O’Gill! Darby O’Gill!” sang they.
