moved without so much as bruising a blade of grass or bendin’ a twig, as they came.
Only once, and that at the top of the Pig’s Head, he trew a look back.
The Divil’s Pillow was in a great commotion; a whirlwind was sweeping over it—whether of dust or of mist he couldn’t tell.
Afther this, Darby never looked back again or to the right or the left of him, but kept straight on till he found himself, panting and puffing, at his own kitchen door. ’Twas tin minutes before he could spake, but at last, whin he tould Bridget to make ready herself and the childher to go up to the Divil’s Pillow with him, for once in her life that raymarkable woman, without axing, How comes it so, What rayson have you, or Why should I do it, set to work washing the childher’s faces.
Maybe she dabbed a little more soap in their eyes than was needful, for ’twas a habit she had; though this time if she did, not a whimper broke from the little hayros. For the matther of that, not one word, good, bad or indifferent, did herself spake till the whole family were trudging down the lane two by two, marching like sojers.
