alone this time of the night,” says the ould witch.
Now, the clever man knew as well as though he had been tould, when Sheelah said thim worruds, that the banshee had sent her to look for the comb, an’ his heart grew bould; but he answered her polite enough, “Why, thin, luck to ye, Misthress Maguire, ma’am,” he says, bowing grand, “sure, if you’re kilt with a-stonishment, amn’t I sphlit with inkerdoolity to find yourself mayandherin’ in this lonesome place on Halloween night.”
Sheelah hobbled a step or two nearer, an’ whuspered confaydential.
“I was wandherin’ hereabouts only this morning,” she says, “an’ I lost from me hair a goold comb—one that I’ve had this forty years. Did ye see such a thing as that, agra?” An’ her two eyes blazed.
“Faix, I dunno,” says Darby, putting his two arrums behind him. “Was it about the length of ye’re hand an’ the width of ye’re two fingers?” he axed.
“It was,” says she, thrusting out a withered paw.
“Thin I didn’t find it,” says the tantalising man. “But maybe I did find something summillar, only
