Where is it wanished to?” says Darby. “If a ghost were to jump at me from the churchyard wall, where would I look for help? To run is no use,” he says, “an’ to face it is⸺”
Just then the current of his misdoubtings ran whack up against a sayin’ of ould Peggy O’Callaghan. Mrs. O’Callaghan’s repitation for truth and voracity, whin it come to fairy tales or ghost stories, be it known, was ayquil if not shuparior to the best in Tipperary. Now, Peggy had towld Ned Mullin, an’ Ned Mullin had towld Bill Donahue, the tinker, an’ the tinker had adwised Darby that no one need ever be afeared of ghosts if he only had the courage to face them.
Peggy said, “The poor crachures ain’t roamin’ about shakin’ chains an’ moanin’ an’ groanin’, just for the sport of scarin’ people, nor yet out of maneness. ’Tis always a throuble that’s on their minds—a message they want sint, a saycret they’re endayvouring to unload. So instead of flyin’ from the onhappy things, as most people generally do,” she said, “one should walk up bowld to the apparraytion, be it gentle or common, male or faymale, an’ say, ‘What throubles ye, sir?’ or ‘What’s amiss with ye, ma’am?’
