The foive huvering little lads wanished like a candle that’s blown out.
“As for you, Phadrig,” wint on the masther fairy, “tell the ridgiment they’re to guard this townland the night, an’ keep the ghosts out of it. Begin at once!” he commanded.
The worruds wern’t well said till the whole ridgiment had blown itself out, an’ agin the night closed in as black as yer hat. But as it did Darby caught a glimpse from afar of the goolden light of his own open door, an’ he thought he could see on the thrashol the shadow of Bridget, with one of the childher clinging to her skirt, an’ herself watchin’ with a hand shading her eyes.
“Do you go home to yer supper, me poor man,” says the King, “an’ meantime I’ll engage Shaun to guide us to the banshee. He’s a great comerade of hers, an’ he’ll paycificate her if anyone can.”
The idee of becomin’ acquainted pursonal with the ghosts, an’ in a friendly, pleasant way have dalings with them, was a new sinsation to Darby. “What’ll I do now?” he axed.
“Go home to yer supper,” says the King, “an’ meet me by the withered three at Conroy’s crass-roads
