{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_1605/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_1605","id":"gutenberg_1605","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1605","summary":null,"tags":["Category: British Literature","Category: Humour","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Novels","Category: Science-Fiction & Fantasy","Fairies -- Fiction","Fantasy","Ireland -- Fiction","Pan (Greek deity) -- Fiction"],"text":"[Illustration: The Philosophers were able to hear each other\nthinking all day long (page 5)]\n\n\n\n\n                                THE\n                           CROCK OF GOLD\n\n\n                                By\n                          James Stephens\n\n\n                WITH TWELVE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR\n                                BY\n                         THOMAS MACKENZIE\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n                          BOOK I\n  THE COMING OF PAN                                  1\n\n                          BOOK II\n  THE PHILOSOPHER\u2019S JOURNEY                         91\n\n                          BOOK III\n  THE TWO GODS                                     135\n\n                          BOOK IV\n  THE PHILOSOPHER\u2019S RETURN                         151\n\n                          BOOK V\n  THE POLICEMEN                                    185\n\n                          BOOK VI\n  THE THIN WOMAN\u2019S JOURNEY AND THE HAPPY MARCH     253\n\n\n\n\nILLUSTRATIONS\n\nIN COLOUR\n\n\n  The Philosophers were able to hear each other\n  thinking all day long (page 5)                      _Frontispiece_\n\n                                                           FACE PAGE\n\n  \u201cWill you never be done talking?\u201d shouted the Thin\n  Woman passionately                                              26\n\n  He stood waist-deep in greenery fronting her squarely           42\n\n  \u201cDo you remember,\u201d said Seumas, \u201cthe way he hopped and\n  waggled his leg the last time he was here?\u201d                     58\n\n  He saw Caitilin Ni Murrachu walking a little way in front\n  with a small vessel in her hand                                 74\n\n  At that moment the Philosopher\u2019s cake lost all its savour       97\n\n  A swift shadow darkened the passage                            109\n\n  A young woman came along the road and stood gazing earnestly\n  at this house                                                  129\n\n  \u201cTell me where the money is?\u201d he hissed                        166\n\n  He . . . wept in so loud a voice that his comrades swarmed\n  up to see what had happened to him                             200\n\n  When they topped a slight incline they saw a light shining\n  some distance away                                             212\n\n  Caitilin danced in uncontrollable gaiety                       222\n\n\n\n\nBOOK I. THE COMING OF PAN\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nIn the centre of the pine wood called Coilla Doraca there lived\nnot long ago two Philosophers. They were wiser than anything else\nin the world except the Salmon who lies in the pool of Glyn Cagny\ninto which the nuts of knowledge fall from the hazel bush on its\nbank. He, of course, is the most profound of living creatures, but\nthe two Philosophers are next to him in wisdom. Their faces looked\nas though they were made of parchment, there was ink under their\nnails, and every difficulty that was submitted to them, even by\nwomen, they were able to instantly resolve. The Grey Woman of Dun\nGortin and the Thin Woman of Inis Magrath asked them the three\nquestions which nobody had ever been able to answer, and they were\nable to answer them. That was how they obtained the enmity of these\ntwo women which is more valuable than the friendship of angels. The\nGrey Woman and the Thin Woman were so incensed at being answered\nthat they married the two Philosophers in order to be able to\npinch them in bed, but the skins of the Philosophers were so thick\nthat they did not know they were being pinched. They repaid the\nfury of the women with such tender affection that these vicious\ncreatures almost expired of chagrin, and once, in a very ecstasy\nof exasperation, after having been kissed by their husbands, they\nuttered the fourteen hundred maledictions which comprised their\nwisdom, and these were learned by the Philosophers who thus became\neven wiser than before.\n\nIn due process of time two children were born of these marriages.\nThey were born on the same day and in the same hour, and they were\nonly different in this, that one of them was a boy and the other\none was a girl. Nobody was able to tell how this had happened, and,\nfor the first time in their lives, the Philosophers were forced\nto admire an event which they had been unable to prognosticate;\nbut having proved by many different methods that the children were\nreally children, that what must be must be, that a fact cannot be\ncontroverted, and that what has happened once may happen twice,\nthey described the occurrence as extraordinary but not unnatural,\nand submitted peacefully to a Providence even wiser than they were.\n\nThe Philosopher who had the boy was very pleased because, he said,\nthere were too many women in the world, and the Philosopher who\nhad the girl was very pleased also because, he said, you cannot\nhave too much of a good thing: the Grey Woman and the Thin Woman,\nhowever, were not in the least softened by maternity-they said\nthat they had not bargained for it, that the children were gotten\nunder false presences, that they were respectable married women,\nand that, as a protest against their wrongs, they would not cook\nany more food for the Philosophers. This was pleasant news for\ntheir husbands, who disliked the women\u2019s cooking very much, but\nthey did not say so, for the women would certainly have insisted\non their rights to cook had they imagined their husbands disliked\nthe results: therefore, the Philosophers besought their wives every\nday to cook one of their lovely dinners again, and this the women\nalways refused to do.\n\nThey all lived together in a small house in the very centre of a\ndark pine wood. Into this place the sun never shone because the\nshade was too deep, and no wind ever came there either, because\nthe boughs were too thick, so that it was the most solitary and\nquiet place in the world, and the Philosophers were able to hear\neach other thinking all day long, or making speeches to each other,\nand these were the pleasantest sounds they knew of. To them there\nwere only two kinds of sounds anywhere\u2014these were conversation and\nnoise: they liked the first very much indeed, but they spoke of\nthe second with stern disapproval, and, even when it was made by a\nbird, a breeze, or a shower of rain, they grew angry and demanded\nthat it should be abolished. Their wives seldom spoke at all and\nyet they were never silent: they communicated with each other by\na kind of physical telegraphy which they had learned among the\nShee-they cracked their finger-joints quickly or slowly and so were\nable to communicate with each other over immense distances, for by\ndint of long practice they could make great explosive sounds which\nwere nearly like thunder, and gentler sounds like the tapping of\ngrey ashes on a hearthstone. The Thin Woman hated her own child,\nbut she loved the Grey Woman\u2019s baby, and the Grey Woman loved the\nThin Woman\u2019s infant but could not abide her own. A compromise may\nput an end to the most perplexing of situations, and, consequently,\nthe two women swapped children, and at once became the most tender\nand amiable mothers imaginable, and the families were able to live\ntogether in a more perfect amity than could be found anywhere else.\n\nThe children grew in grace and comeliness. At first the little boy\nwas short and fat and the little girl was long and thin, then the\nlittle girl became round and chubby while the little boy grew lanky\nand wiry. This was because the little girl used to sit very quiet\nand be good and the little boy used not.\n\nThey lived for many years in the deep seclusion of the pine wood\nwherein a perpetual twilight reigned, and here they were wont\nto play their childish games, flitting among the shadowy trees\nlike little quick shadows. At times their mothers, the Grey Woman\nand the Thin Woman, played with them, but this was seldom, and\nsometimes their fathers, the two Philosophers, came out and looked\nat them through spectacles which were very round and very glassy,\nand had immense circles of horn all round the edges. They had,\nhowever, other playmates with whom they could romp all day long.\nThere were hundreds of rabbits running about in the brushwood; they\nwere full of fun and were very fond of playing with the children.\nThere were squirrels who joined cheerfully in their games, and some\ngoats, having one day strayed in from the big world, were made so\nwelcome that they always came again whenever they got the chance.\nThere were birds also, crows and blackbirds and willy-wagtails,\nwho were well acquainted with the youngsters, and visited them as\nfrequently as their busy lives permitted.\n\nAt a short distance from their home there was a clearing in the\nwood about ten feet square; through this clearing, as through a\nfunnel, the sun for a few hours in the summer time blazed down.\nIt was the boy who first discovered the strange radiant shaft in\nthe wood. One day he had been sent out to collect pine cones for\nthe fire. As these were gathered daily the supply immediately near\nthe house was scanty, therefore he had, while searching for more,\nwandered further from his home than usual. The first sight of the\nextraordinary blaze astonished him. He had never seen anything\nlike it before, and the steady, unwinking glare aroused his fear\nand curiosity equally. Curiosity will conquer fear even more than\nbravery will; indeed, it has led many people into dangers which\nmere physical courage would shudder away from, for hunger and love\nand curiosity are the great impelling forces of life. When the\nlittle boy found that the light did not move he drew closer to it,\nand at last, emboldened by curiosity, he stepped right into it and\nfound that it was not a thing at all. The instant that he stepped\ninto the light he found it was hot, and this so frightened him that\nhe jumped out of it again and ran behind a tree. Then he jumped\ninto it for a moment and out of it again, and for nearly half an\nhour he played a splendid game of tip and tig with the sunlight.\nAt last he grew quite bold and stood in it and found that it did\nnot burn him at all, but he did not like to remain in it, fearing\nthat he might be cooked. When he went home with the pine cones he\nsaid nothing to the Grey Woman of Dun Gortin or to the Thin Woman\nof Inis Magrath or to the two Philosophers, but he told the little\ngirl all about it when they went to bed, and every day afterwards\nthey used to go and play with the sunlight, and the rabbits and\nthe squirrels would follow them there and join in their games with\ntwice the interest they had shown before.\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nTo the lonely house in the pine wood people sometimes came for\nadvice on subjects too recondite for even those extremes of\nelucidation, the parish priest and the tavern. These people were\nalways well received, and their perplexities were attended to\ninstantly, for the Philosophers liked being wise and they were not\nashamed to put their learning to the proof, nor were they, as so\nmany wise people are, fearful lest they should become poor or less\nrespected by giving away their knowledge. These were favourite\nmaxims with them:\n\nYou must be fit to give before you can be fit to receive.\n\nKnowledge becomes lumber in a week, therefore, get rid of it.\n\nThe box must be emptied before it can be refilled.\n\nRefilling is progress.\n\nA sword, a spade, and a thought should never be allowed to rust.\n\nThe Grey Woman and the Thin Woman, however, held opinions quite\ncontrary to these, and their maxims also were different:\n\nA secret is a weapon and a friend.\n\nMan is God\u2019s secret, Power is man\u2019s secret, Sex is woman\u2019s secret.\n\nBy having much you are fitted to have more.\n\nThere is always room in the box.\n\nThe art of packing is the last lecture of wisdom.\n\nThe scalp of your enemy is progress.\n\nHolding these opposed views it seemed likely that visitors seeking\nfor advice from the Philosophers might be astonished and captured\nby their wives; but the women were true to their own doctrines and\nrefused to part with information to any persons saving only those\nof high rank, such as policemen, gombeen men, and district and\ncounty councillors; but even to these they charged high prices for\ntheir information, and a bonus on any gains which accrued through\nthe following of their advices. It is unnecessary to state that\ntheir following was small when compared with those who sought the\nassistance of their husbands, for scarcely a week passed but some\nperson came through the pine wood with his brows in a tangle of\nperplexity.\n\nIn these people the children were deeply interested. They used\nto go apart afterwards and talk about them, and would try to\nremember what they looked like, how they talked, and their manner\nof walking or taking snuff. After a time they became interested in\nthe problems which these people submitted to their parents and the\nreplies or instructions wherewith the latter relieved them. Long\ntraining had made the children able to sit perfectly quiet, so\nthat when the talk came to the interesting part they were entirely\nforgotten, and ideas which might otherwise have been spared their\nyouth became the commonplaces of their conversation.\n\nWhen the children were ten years of age one of the Philosophers\ndied. He called the household together and announced that the\ntime had come when he must bid them all good-bye, and that his\nintention was to die as quickly as might be. It was, he continued,\nan unfortunate thing that his health was at the moment more\nrobust than it had been for a long time, but that, of course,\nwas no obstacle to his resolution, for death did not depend upon\nill-health but upon a multitude of other factors with the details\nwhereof he would not trouble them.\n\nHis wife, the Grey Woman of Dun Gortin, applauded this resolution\nand added as an amendment that it was high time he did something,\nthat the life he had been leading was an arid and unprofitable one,\nthat he had stolen her fourteen hundred maledictions for which he\nhad no use and presented her with a child for which she had none,\nand that, all things concerned, the sooner he did die and stop\ntalking the sooner everybody concerned would be made happy.\n\nThe other Philosopher replied mildly as he lit his pipe: \u201cBrother,\nthe greatest of all virtues is curiosity, and the end of all desire\nis wisdom; tell us, therefore, by what steps you have arrived at\nthis commendable resolution.\u201d\n\nTo this the Philosopher replied: \u201cI have attained to all the wisdom\nwhich I am fitted to bear. In the space of one week no new truth\nhas come to me. All that I have read lately I knew before; all that\nI have thought has been but a recapitulation of old and wearisome\nideas. There is no longer an horizon before my eves. Space has\nnarrowed to the petty dimensions of my thumb. Time is the tick of\na clock. Good and evil are two peas in the one pod. My wife\u2019s face\nis the same for ever. I want to play with the children, and yet I\ndo not want to. Your conversation with me, brother, is like the\ndroning of a bee in a dark cell. The pine trees take root and grow\nand die.\u2014It\u2019s all bosh. Good-bye.\u201d\n\nHis friend replied:\n\n\u201cBrother, these are weighty reflections, and I do clearly perceive\nthat the time has come for you to stop. I might observe, not in\norder to combat your views, but merely to continue an interesting\nconversation, that there are still some knowledges which you have\nnot assimilated\u2014you do not yet know how to play the tambourine, nor\nhow to be nice to your wife, nor how to get up first in the morning\nand cook the breakfast. Have you learned how to smoke strong\ntobacco as I do? or can you dance in the moonlight with a woman of\nthe Shee? To understand the theory which underlies all things is\nnot sufficient. It has occurred to me, brother, that wisdom may not\nbe the end of everything. Goodness and kindliness are, perhaps,\nbeyond wisdom. Is it not possible that the ultimate end is gaiety\nand music and a dance of joy? Wisdom is the oldest of all things.\nWisdom is all head and no heart. Behold, brother, you are being\ncrushed under the weight of your head. You are dying of old age\nwhile you are yet a child.\u201d\n\n\u201cBrother,\u201d replied the other Philosopher, \u201cyour voice is like\nthe droning of a bee in a dark cell. If in my latter days I am\nreduced to playing on the tambourine and running after a hag in the\nmoonlight, and cooking your breakfast in the grey morning, then it\nis indeed time that I should die. Good-bye, brother.\u201d\n\nSo saying, the Philosopher arose and removed all the furniture to\nthe sides of the room so that there was a clear space left in the\ncentre. He then took off his boots and his coat, and standing on\nhis toes he commenced to gyrate with extraordinary rapidity. In a\nfew moments his movements became steady and swift, and a sound came\nfrom him like the humming of a swift saw; this sound grew deeper\nand deeper, and at last continuous, so that the room was filled\nwith a thrilling noise. In a quarter of an hour the movement began\nto noticeably slacken. In another three minutes it was quite slow.\nIn two more minutes he grew visible again as a body, and then he\nwobbled to and fro, and at last dropped in a heap on the floor.\nHe was quite dead, and on his face was an expression of serene\nbeatitude.\n\n\u201cGod be with you, brother,\u201d said the remaining Philosopher, and he\nlit his pipe, focused his vision on the extreme tip of his nose,\nand began to meditate profoundly on the aphorism whether the good\nis the all or the all is the good. In another moment he would have\nbecome oblivious of the room, the company, and the corpse, but the\nGrey Woman of Dun Gortin shattered his meditation by a demand for\nadvice as to what should next be done. The Philosopher, with an\neffort, detached his eyes from his nose and his mind from his maxim.\n\n\u201cChaos,\u201d said he, \u201cis the first condition. Order is the first\nlaw. Continuity is the first reflection. Quietude is the\nfirst happiness. Our brother is dead\u2014bury him.\u201d So saying, he\nreturned his eyes to his nose, and his mind to his maxim, and\nlapsed to a profound reflection wherein nothing sat perched on\ninsubstantiality, and the Spirit of Artifice goggled at the puzzle.\n\nThe Grey Woman of Dun Gortin took a pinch of snuff from her box and\nraised the keen over her husband:\n\n\n    \u201cYou were my husband and you are dead.\n\n    It is wisdom that has killed you.\n\n    If you had listened to my wisdom instead of to your own you\n    would still be a trouble to me and I would still be happy.\n\n    Women are stronger than men\u2014they do not die of wisdom.\n\n    They are better than men because they do not seek wisdom.\n\n    They are wiser than men because they know less and\n    understand more.\n\n    I had fourteen hundred maledictions, my little store, and\n    by a trick you stole them and left me empty.\n\n    You stole my wisdom and it has broken your neck.\n\n    I lost my knowledge and I am yet alive raising the keen\n    over your body, but it was too heavy for you, my little\n    knowledge.\n\n    You will never go out into the pine wood in the morning, or\n    wander abroad on a night of stars.\n\n    You will not sit in the chimney-corner on the hard nights,\n    or go to bed, or rise again, or do anything at all from\n    this day out.\n\n    Who will gather pine cones now when the fire is going down,\n    or call my name in the empty house, or be angry when the\n    kettle is not boiling?\n\n    Now I am desolate indeed. I have no knowledge, I have no\n    husband, I have no more to say.\u201d\n\n\n\u201cIf I had anything better you should have it,\u201d said she politely to\nthe Thin Woman of Inis Magrath.\n\n\u201cThank you,\u201d said the Thin Woman, \u201cit was very nice. Shall I begin\nnow? My husband is meditating and we may be able to annoy him.\u201d\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t trouble yourself,\u201d replied the other, \u201cI am past enjoyment\nand am, moreover, a respectable woman.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is no more than the truth, indeed.\u201d\n\n\u201cI have always done the right thing at the right time.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019d be the last body in the world to deny that,\u201d was the warm\nresponse.\n\n\u201cVery well, then,\u201d said the Grey Woman, and she commenced to take\noff her boots. She stood in the centre of the room and balanced\nherself on her toe.\n\n\u201cYou are a decent, respectable lady,\u201d said the Thin Woman of\nInis Magrath, and then the Grey Woman began to gyrate rapidly\nand more rapidly until she was a very fervour of motion, and in\nthree-quarters of an hour (for she was very tough) she began to\nslacken, grew visible, wobbled, and fell beside her dead husband,\nand on her face was a beatitude almost surpassing his.\n\nThe Thin Woman of Inis Magrath smacked the children and put them\nto bed, next she buried the two bodies under the hearthstone, and\nthen, with some trouble, detached her husband from his meditations.\nWhen he became capable of ordinary occurrences she detailed all\nthat had happened, and said that he alone was to blame for the sad\nbereavement. He replied:\n\n\u201cThe toxin generates the anti-toxin. The end lies concealed in the\nbeginning. All bodies grow around a skeleton. Life is a petticoat\nabout death. I will not go to bed.\u201d\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nOn the day following this melancholy occurrence Meehawl MacMurrachu,\na small farmer in the neighbourhood, came through the pine trees\nwith tangled brows. At the door of the little house he said, \u201cGod\nbe with all here,\u201d and marched in.\n\nThe Philosopher removed his pipe from his lips\u2014\n\n\u201cGod be with yourself,\u201d said he, and he replaced his pipe.\n\nMeehawl MacMurrachu crooked his thumb at space, \u201cWhere is the other\none?\u201d said he.\n\n\u201cAh!\u201d said the Philosopher.\n\n\u201cHe might be outside, maybe?\u201d\n\n\u201cHe might, indeed,\u201d said the Philosopher gravely.\n\n\u201cWell, it doesn\u2019t matter,\u201d said the visitor, \u201cfor you have\nenough knowledge by yourself to stock a shop. The reason I came\nhere to-day was to ask your honoured advice about my wife\u2019s\nwashing-board. She only has it a couple of years, and the last time\nshe used it was when she washed out my Sunday shirt and her black\nskirt with the red things on it\u2014you know the one?\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not,\u201d said the Philosopher.\n\n\u201cWell, anyhow, the washboard is gone, and my wife says it was\neither taken by the fairies or by Bessie Hannigan\u2014you know Bessie\nHannigan? She has whiskers like a goat and a lame leg!\u201d \u201cI do not,\u201d\nsaid the Philosopher.\n\n\u201cNo matter,\u201d said Meehawl MacMurrachu. \u201cShe didn\u2019t take it, because\nmy wife got her out yesterday and kept her talking for two hours\nwhile I went through everything in her bit of a house\u2014the washboard\nwasn\u2019t there.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt wouldn\u2019t be,\u201d said the Philosopher.\n\n\u201cMaybe your honour could tell a body where it is then?\u201d\n\n\u201cMaybe I could,\u201d said the Philosopher; \u201care you listening?\u201d\n\n\u201cI am,\u201d said Meehawl MacMurrachu.\n\nThe Philosopher drew his chair closer to the visitor until their\nknees were jammed together. He laid both his hands on Meehawl\nMacMurrachu\u2019s knees \u201cWashing is an extraordinary custom,\u201d said he.\n\u201cWe are washed both on coming into the world and on going out of\nit, and we take no pleasure from the first washing nor any profit\nfrom the last.\u201d\n\n\u201cTrue for you, sir,\u201d said Meehawl MacMurrachu.\n\n\u201cMany people consider that scourings supplementary to these are\nonly due to habit. Now, habit is continuity of action, it is a most\ndetestable thing and is very difficult to get away from. A proverb\nwill run where a writ will not, and the follies of our forefathers\nare of greater importance to us than is the well-being of our\nposterity.\u201d\n\n\u201cI wouldn\u2019t say a word against that, sir,\u201d said Meehawl MacMurrachu.\n\n\u201cCats are a philosophic and thoughtful race, but they do not\nadmit the efficacy of either water or soap, and yet it is usually\nconceded that they are cleanly folk. There are exceptions to every\nrule, and I once knew a cat who lusted after water and bathed\ndaily: he was an unnatural brute and died ultimately of the head\nstaggers. Children are nearly as wise as cats. It is true that\nthey will utilize water in a variety of ways, for instance, the\ndestruction of a tablecloth or a pinafore, and I have observed\nthem greasing a ladder with soap, showing in the process a great\nknowledge of the properties of this material.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy shouldn\u2019t they, to be sure?\u201d said Meehawl MacMurrachu. \u201cHave\nyou got a match, sir?\u201d\n\n\u201cI have not,\u201d said the Philosopher. \u201cSparrows, again, are a highly\nacute and reasonable folk. They use water to quench thirst, but\nwhen they are dirty they take a dust bath and are at once cleansed.\nOf course, birds are often seen in the water, but they go there to\ncatch fish and not to wash. I have often fancied that fish are a\ndirty, sly, and unintelligent people\u2014this is due to their staying\nso much in the water, and it has been observed that on being\nremoved from this element they at once expire through sheer ecstasy\nat escaping from their prolonged washing.\u201d\n\n\u201cI have seen them doing it myself,\u201d said Meehawl. \u201cDid you ever\nhear, sir, about the fish that Paudeen MacLoughlin caught in the\npoliceman\u2019s hat.\u201d\n\n\u201cI did not,\u201d said the Philosopher. \u201cThe first person who washed\nwas possibly a person seeking a cheap notoriety. Any fool can\nwash himself, but every wise man knows that it is an unnecessary\nlabour, for nature will quickly reduce him to a natural and\nhealthy dirtiness again. We should seek, therefore, not how to\nmake ourselves clean, but how to attain a more unique and splendid\ndirtiness, and perhaps the accumulated layers of matter might, by\nordinary geologic compulsion, become incorporated with the human\ncuticle and so render clothing unnecessary\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cAbout that washboard,\u201d said Meehawl, \u201cI was just going to say\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cIt doesn\u2019t matter,\u201d said the Philosopher. \u201cIn its proper place I\nadmit the necessity for water. As a thing to sail a ship on it can\nscarcely be surpassed (not, you will understand, that I entirely\napprove of ships, they tend to create and perpetuate international\ncuriosity and the smaller vermin of different latitudes). As an\nelement wherewith to put out a fire, or brew tea, or make a slide\nin winter it is useful, but in a tin basin it has a repulsive and\nmeagre aspect.\u2014Now as to your wife\u2019s washboard\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cGood luck to your honour,\u201d said Meehawl.\n\n\u201cYour wife says that either the fairies or a woman with a goat\u2019s\nleg has it.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s her whiskers,\u201d said Meehawl.\n\n\u201cThey are lame,\u201d said the Philosopher sternly.\n\n\u201cHave it your own way, sir, I\u2019m not certain now how the creature is\nafflicted.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou say that this unhealthy woman has not got your wife\u2019s\nwashboard. It remains, therefore, that the fairies have it.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt looks that way,\u201d said Meehawl.\n\n\u201cThere are six clans of fairies living in this neighbourhood;\nbut the process of elimination, which has shaped the world to a\nglobe, the ant to its environment, and man to the captaincy of the\nvertebrates, will not fail in this instance either.\u201d\n\n\u201cDid you ever see anything like the way wasps have increased this\nseason?\u201d said Meehawl; \u201cfaith, you can\u2019t sit down anywhere but your\nbreeches\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cI did not,\u201d said the Philosopher. \u201cDid you leave out a pan of milk\non last Tuesday?\u201d\n\n\u201cI did then.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you take off your hat when you meet a dust twirl?\u201d\n\n\u201cI wouldn\u2019t neglect that,\u201d said Meehawl.\n\n\u201cDid you cut down a thorn bush recently?\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019d sooner cut my eye out,\u201d said Meehawl, \u201cand go about as\nwall-eyed as Lorcan O\u2019Nualain\u2019s ass: I would that. Did you ever see\nhis ass, sir? It\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cI did not,\u201d said the Philosopher. \u201cDid you kill a robin redbreast?\u201d\n\n\u201cNever,\u201d said Meehawl. \u201cBy the pipers,\u201d he added, \u201cthat old skinny\ncat of mine caught a bird on the roof yesterday.\u201d\n\n\u201cHah!\u201d cried the Philosopher, moving, if it were possible, even\ncloser to his client, \u201cnow we have it. It is the Leprecauns of Gort\nna Cloca Mora took your washboard. Go to the Gort at once. There\nis a hole under a tree in the southeast of the field. Try what you\nwill find in that hole.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll do that,\u201d said Meehawl. \u201cDid you ever\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cI did not,\u201d said the Philosopher.\n\nSo Meehawl MacMurrachu went away and did as he had been bidden, and\nunderneath the tree of Gort na Cloca Mora he found a little crock\nof gold.\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s a power of washboards in that,\u201d said he.\n\nBy reason of this incident the fame of the Philosopher became even\ngreater than it had been before, and also by reason of it many\nsingular events were to happen with which you shall duly become\nacquainted.\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nIt so happened that the Leprecauns of Gort na Cloca Mora were not\nthankful to the Philosopher for having sent Meehawl MacMurrachu\nto their field. In stealing Meehawl\u2019s property they were quite\nwithin their rights because their bird had undoubtedly been slain\nby his cat. Not alone, therefore, was their righteous vengeance\nnullified, but the crock of gold which had taken their community\nmany thousands of years to amass was stolen. A Leprecaun without\na pot of gold is like a rose without perfume, a bird without a\nwing, or an inside without an outside. They considered that the\nPhilosopher had treated them badly, that his action was mischievous\nand unneighbourly, and that until they were adequately compensated\nfor their loss both of treasure and dignity, no conditions other\nthan those of enmity could exist between their people and the\nlittle house in the pine wood. Furthermore, for them the situation\nwas cruelly complicated. They were unable to organise a direct,\npersonal hostility against their new enemy, because the Thin Woman\nof Inis Magrath would certainly protect her husband. She belonged\nto the Shee of Croghan Conghaile, who had relatives in every fairy\nfort in Ireland, and were also strongly represented in the forts\nand duns of their immediate neighbours. They could, of course,\nhave called an extraordinary meeting of the Sheogs, Leprecauns,\nand Cluricauns, and presented their case with a claim for damages\nagainst the Shee of Croghan Conghaile, but that Clann would\nassuredly repudiate any liability on the ground that no member of\ntheir fraternity was responsible for the outrage, as it was the\nPhilosopher, and not the Thin Woman of Inis Magrath, who had done\nthe deed. Notwithstanding this they were unwilling to let the\nmatter rest, and the fact that justice was out of reach only added\nfury to their anger.\n\nOne of their number was sent to interview the Thin Woman of Inis\nMagrath, and the others concentrated nightly about the dwelling\nof Meehawl MacMurrachu in an endeavour to recapture the treasure\nwhich they were quite satisfied was hopeless. They found that\nMeehawl, who understood the customs of the Earth Folk very well,\nhad buried the crock of gold beneath a thorn bush, thereby placing\nit under the protection of every fairy in the world\u2014the Leprecauns\nthemselves included, and until it was removed from this place by\nhuman hands they were bound to respect its hiding-place, and even\nguarantee its safety with their blood.\n\nThey afflicted Meehawl with an extraordinary attack of rheumatism\nand his wife with an equally virulent sciatica, but they got no\nlasting pleasure from their groans.\n\nThe Leprecaun, who had been detailed to visit the Thin Woman of\nInis Magrath, duly arrived at the cottage in the pine wood and made\nhis complaint. The little man wept as he told the story, and the\ntwo children wept out of sympathy for him. The Thin Woman said she\nwas desperately grieved by the whole unpleasant transaction, and\nthat all her sympathies were with Gort na Cloca Mora, but that she\nmust disassociate herself from any responsibility in the matter as\nit was her husband who was the culpable person, and that she had no\ncontrol over his mental processes, which, she concluded, was one of\nthe seven curious things in the world.\n\nAs her husband was away in a distant part of the wood nothing\nfurther could be done at that time, so the Leprecaun returned again\nto his fellows without any good news, but he promised to come back\nearly on the following day. When the Philosopher come home late\nthat night the Thin Woman was waiting up for him.\n\n\u201cWoman,\u201d said the Philosopher, \u201cyou ought to be in bed.\u201d\n\n\u201cOught I indeed?\u201d said the Thin Woman. \u201cI\u2019d have you know that I\u2019ll\ngo to bed when I like and get up when I like without asking your or\nany one else\u2019s permission.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is not true,\u201d said the Philosopher. \u201cYou get sleepy whether\nyou like it or not, and you awaken again without your permission\nbeing asked. Like many other customs such as singing, dancing,\nmusic, and acting, sleep has crept into popular favour as part of a\nreligious ceremonial. Nowhere can one go to sleep more easily than\nin a church.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you know,\u201d said the Thin Woman, \u201cthat a Leprecaun came here\nto-day?\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not,\u201d said the Philosopher, \u201cand notwithstanding the\ninnumerable centuries which have elapsed since that first sleeper\n(probably with extreme difficulty) sank into his religious trance,\nwe can to-day sleep through a religious ceremony with an ease which\nwould have been a source of wealth and fame to that prehistoric\nworshipper and his acolytes.\u201d\n\n\u201cAre you going to listen to what I am telling you about the\nLeprecaun?\u201d said the Thin Woman.\n\n\u201cI am not,\u201d said the Philosopher. \u201cIt has been suggested that we go\nto sleep at night because it is then too dark to do anything else;\nbut owls, who are a venerably sagacious folk, do not sleep in the\nnight time. Bats, also, are a very clear-minded race; they sleep in\nthe broadest day, and they do it in a charming manner. They clutch\nthe branch of a tree with their toes and hang head downwards\u2014a\nposition which I consider singularly happy, for the rush of blood\nto the head consequent on this inverted position should engender a\ndrowsiness and a certain imbecility of mind which must either sleep\nor explode.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: \u201cWill you never be done talking?\u201d shouted the Thin\nWoman passionately]\n\n\u201cWill you never be done talking?\u201d shouted the Thin Woman\npassionately.\n\n\u201cI will not,\u201d said the Philosopher. \u201cIn certain ways sleep is\nuseful. It is an excellent way of listening to an opera or seeing\npictures on a bioscope. As a medium for day-dreams I know of\nnothing that can equal it. As an accomplishment it is graceful, but\nas a means of spending a night it is intolerably ridiculous. If you\nwere going to say anything, my love, please say it now, but you\nshould always remember to think before you speak. A woman should\nbe seen seldom but never heard. Quietness is the beginning of\nvirtue. To be silent is to be beautiful. Stars do not make a noise.\nChildren should always be in bed. These are serious truths, which\ncannot be controverted; therefore, silence is fitting as regards\nthem.\u201d\n\n\u201cYour stirabout is on the hob,\u201d said the Thin Woman. \u201cYou can get\nit for yourself. I would not move the breadth of my nail if you\nwere dying of hunger. I hope there\u2019s lumps in it. A Leprecaun\nfrom Gort na Cloca Mora was here to-day. They\u2019ll give it to you\nfor robbing their pot of gold. You old thief, you! you lobeared,\ncrock-kneed fat-eye!\u201d\n\nThe Thin Woman whizzed suddenly from where she stood and leaped\ninto bed. From beneath the blanket she turned a vivid, furious\neye on her husband. She was trying to give him rheumatism and\ntoothache and lockjaw all at once. If she had been satisfied to\nconcentrate her attention on one only of these torments she might\nhave succeeded in afflicting her husband according to her wish, but\nshe was not able to do that.\n\n\u201cFinality is death. Perfection is finality. Nothing is perfect.\nThere are lumps in it,\u201d said the Philosopher.\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nWhen the Leprecaun came through the pine wood on the following day\nhe met two children at a little distance from the house. He raised\nhis open right hand above his head (this is both the fairy and the\nGaelic form of salutation), and would have passed on but that a\nthought brought him to a halt. Sitting down before the two children\nhe stared at them for a long time, and they stared back at him. At\nlast he said to the boy:\n\n\u201cWhat is your name, a vic vig O?\u201d\n\n\u201cSeumas Beg, sir,\u201d the boy replied.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s a little name,\u201d said the Leprecaun.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s what my mother calls me, sir,\u201d returned the boy.\n\n\u201cWhat does your father call you,\u201d was the next question.\n\n\u201cSeumas Roghan Maelduin O\u2019Carbhail Mac an Droid.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s a big name,\u201d said the Leprecaun, and he turned to the little\ngirl. \u201cWhat is your name, a cailin vig O?\u201d\n\n\u201cBrigid Beg, sir.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what does your father call you?\u201d\n\n\u201cHe never calls me at all, sir.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, Seumaseen and Breedeen, you are good little children, and\nI like you very much. Health be with you until I come to see you\nagain.\u201d\n\nAnd then the Leprecaun went back the way he had come. As he went he\nmade little jumps and cracked his fingers, and sometimes he rubbed\none leg against the other.\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s a nice Leprecaun,\u201d said Seumas.\n\n\u201cI like him too,\u201d said Brigid.\n\n\u201cListen,\u201d said Seumas, \u201clet me be the Leprecaun, and you be the two\nchildren, and I will ask you our names.\u201d\n\nSo they did that.\n\nThe next day the Leprecaun came again. He sat down beside the\nchildren and, as before, he was silent for a little time.\n\n\u201cAre you not going to ask us our names, sir?\u201d said Seumas.\n\nHis sister smoothed out her dress shyly. \u201cMy name, sir, is Brigid\nBeg,\u201d said she.\n\n\u201cDid you ever play Jackstones?\u201d said the Leprecaun.\n\n\u201cNo, sir,\u201d replied Seumas.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll teach you how to play Jackstones,\u201d said the Leprecaun, and he\npicked up some pine cones and taught the children that game.\n\n\u201cDid you ever play Ball in the Decker?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, sir,\u201d said Seumas.\n\n\u201cDid you ever play \u2018I can make a nail with my ree-ro-raddy-O, I can\nmake a nail with my ree-ro-ray\u2019?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, sir,\u201d replied Seumas.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s a nice game,\u201d said the Leprecaun, \u201cand so is Capon-the-back,\nand Twenty-four yards on the Billy-goat\u2019s Tail, and Towns, and\nRelievo, and Leap-frog. I\u2019ll teach you all these games,\u201d said\nthe Leprecaun, \u201cand I\u2019ll teach you how to play Knifey, and\nHole-and-taw, and Horneys and Robbers.\n\n\u201cLeap-frog is the best one to start with, so I\u2019ll teach it to you\nat once. Let you bend down like this, Breedeen, and you bend down\nlike that a good distance away, Seumas. Now I jump over Breedeen\u2019s\nback, and then I run and jump over Seumaseen\u2019s back like this, and\nthen I run ahead again and I bend down. Now, Breedeen, you jump\nover your brother, and then you jump over me, and run a good bit on\nand bend down again. Now, Seumas, it\u2019s your turn; you jump over me\nand then over your sister, and then you run on and bend down again\nand I jump.\u201d\n\n\u201cThis is a fine game, sir,\u201d said Seumas.\n\n\u201cIt is, a vic vig,\u2014keep in your head,\u201d said the Leprecaun. \u201cThat\u2019s\na good jump, you couldn\u2019t beat that jump, Seumas.\u201d\n\n\u201cI can jump better than Brigid already,\u201d replied Seumas, \u201cand I\u2019ll\njump as well as you do when I get more practice\u2014keep in your head,\nsir.\u201d\n\nAlmost without noticing it they had passed through the edge of the\nwood, and were playing into a rough field which was cumbered with\nbig, grey rocks. It was the very last field in sight, and behind\nit the rough, heather-packed mountain sloped distantly away to\nthe skyline. There was a raggedy blackberry hedge all round the\nfield, and there were long, tough, haggard-looking plants growing\nin clumps here and there. Near a corner of this field there was\na broad, low tree, and as they played they came near and nearer\nto it. The Leprecaun gave a back very close to the tree. Seumas\nran and jumped and slid down a hole at the side of the tree. Then\nBrigid ran and jumped and slid down the same hole.\n\n\u201cDear me!\u201d said Brigid, and she flashed out of sight.\n\nThe Leprecaun cracked his fingers and rubbed one leg against the\nother, and then he also dived into the hole and disappeared from\nview.\n\nWhen the time at which the children usually went home had passed,\nthe Thin Woman of Inis Magrath became a little anxious. She had\nnever known them to be late for dinner before. There was one of\nthe children whom she hated; it was her own child, but as she\nhad forgotten which of them was hers, and as she loved one of\nthem, she was compelled to love both for fear of making a mistake\nand chastising the child for whom her heart secretly yearned.\nTherefore, she was equally concerned about both of them.\n\nDinner time passed and supper time arrived, but the children did\nnot. Again and again the Thin Woman went out through the dark pine\ntrees and called until she was so hoarse that she could not even\nhear herself when she roared. The evening wore on to the night, and\nwhile she waited for the Philosopher to come in she reviewed the\nsituation. Her husband had not come in, the children had not come\nin, the Leprecaun had not returned as arranged.... A light flashed\nupon her. The Leprecaun had kidnapped her children! She announced\na vengeance against the Leprecauns which would stagger humanity.\nWhile in the extreme centre of her ecstasy the Philosopher came\nthrough the trees and entered the house.\n\nThe Thin Woman flew to him\u2014\n\n\u201cHusband,\u201d said she, \u201cthe Leprecauns of Gort na Cloca Mora have\nkidnapped our children.\u201d\n\nThe Philosopher gazed at her for a moment.\n\n\u201cKidnapping,\u201d said he, \u201chas been for many centuries a favourite\noccupation of fairies, gypsies, and the brigands of the East. The\nusual procedure is to attach a person and hold it to ransom. If the\nransom is not paid an ear or a finger may be cut from the captive\nand despatched to those interested, with the statement that an arm\nor a leg will follow in a week unless suitable arrangements are\nentered into.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you understand,\u201d said the Thin Woman passionately, \u201cthat it is\nyour own children who have been kidnapped?\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not,\u201d said the Philosopher. \u201cThis course, however, is rarely\nfollowed by the fairy people: they do not ordinarily steal for\nransom, but for love of thieving, or from some other obscure and\npossibly functional causes, and the victim is retained in their\nforts or duns until by the effluxion of time they forget their\norigin and become peaceable citizens of the fairy state. Kidnapping\nis not by any means confined to either humanity or the fairy\npeople.\u201d\n\n\u201cMonster,\u201d said the Thin Woman in a deep voice, \u201cwill you listen to\nme?\u201d\n\n\u201cI will not,\u201d said the Philosopher. \u201cMany of the insectivora\nalso practice this custom. Ants, for example, are a respectable\nrace living in well-ordered communities. They have attained to\na most complex and artificial civilization, and will frequently\nadventure far afield on colonising or other expeditions from\nwhence they return with a rich booty of aphides and other stock,\nwho thenceforward become the servants and domestic creatures of\nthe republic. As they neither kill nor eat their captives, this\npractice will be termed kidnapping. The same may be said of bees,\na hardy and industrious race living in hexagonal cells which are\nvery difficult to make. Sometimes, on lacking a queen of their\nown, they have been observed to abduct one from a less powerful\nneighbour, and use her for their own purposes without shame, mercy,\nor remorse.\u201d\n\n\u201cWill you not understand?\u201d screamed the Thin Woman.\n\n\u201cI will not,\u201d said the Philosopher. \u201cSemi-tropical apes have been\nrumoured to kidnap children, and are reported to use them very\ntenderly indeed, sharing their coconuts, yams, plantains, and other\nequatorial provender with the largest generosity, and conveying\ntheir delicate captives from tree to tree (often at great distances\nfrom each other and from the ground) with the most guarded\nsolicitude and benevolence.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am going to bed,\u201d said the Thin Woman, \u201cyour stirabout is on the\nhob.\u201d\n\n\u201cAre there lumps in it, my dear?\u201d said the Philosopher.\n\n\u201cI hope there are,\u201d replied the Thin Woman, and she leaped into bed.\n\nThat night the Philosopher was afflicted with the most extraordinary\nattack of rheumatism he had ever known, nor did he get any ease\nuntil the grey morning wearied his lady into a reluctant slumber.\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nThe Thin Woman of Inis Magrath slept very late that morning, but\nwhen she did awaken her impatience was so urgent that she could\nscarcely delay to eat her breakfast. Immediately after she had\neaten she put on her bonnet and shawl and went through the pine\nwood in the direction of Gort na Cloca Mora. In a short time she\nreached the rocky field, and, walking over to the tree in the\nsoutheast corner, she picked up a small stone and hammered loudly\nagainst the trunk of the tree. She hammered in a peculiar fashion,\ngiving two knocks and then three knocks, and then one knock. A\nvoice came up from the hole.\n\n\u201cWho is that, please?\u201d said the voice.\n\n\u201cBan na Droid of Inis Magrath, and well you know it,\u201d was her reply.\n\n\u201cI am coming up, Noble Woman,\u201d said the voice, and in another\nmoment the Leprecaun leaped out of the hole.\n\n\u201cWhere are Seumas and Brigid Beg?\u201d said the Thin Woman sternly.\n\n\u201cHow would I know where they are?\u201d replied the Leprecaun. \u201cWouldn\u2019t\nthey be at home now?\u201d\n\n\u201cIf they were at home I wouldn\u2019t have come here looking for them,\u201d\nwas her reply. \u201cIt is my belief that you have them.\u201d\n\n\u201cSearch me,\u201d said the Leprecaun, opening his waistcoat.\n\n\u201cThey are down there in your little house,\u201d said the Thin Woman\nangrily, \u201cand the sooner you let them up the better it will be for\nyourself and your five brothers.\u201d\n\n\u201cNoble Woman,\u201d said the Leprecaun, \u201cyou can go down yourself into\nour little house and look. I can\u2019t say fairer than that.\u201d\n\n\u201cI wouldn\u2019t fit down there,\u201d said she. \u201cI\u2019m too big.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou know the way for making yourself little,\u201d replied the\nLeprecaun.\n\n\u201cBut I mightn\u2019t be able to make myself big again,\u201d said the Thin\nWoman, \u201cand then you and your dirty brothers would have it all your\nown way. If you don\u2019t let the children up,\u201d she continued, \u201cI\u2019ll\nraise the Shee of Croghan Conghaile against you. You know what\nhappened to the Cluricauns of Oilean na Glas when they stole the\nQueen\u2019s baby\u2014It will be a worse thing than that for you. If the\nchildren are not back in my house before moonrise this night, I\u2019ll\ngo round to my people. Just tell that to your five ugly brothers.\nHealth with you,\u201d she added, and strode away.\n\n\u201cHealth with yourself, Noble Woman,\u201d said the Leprecaun, and he\nstood on one leg until she was out of sight and then he slid down\ninto the hole again.\n\nWhen the Thin Woman was going back through the pine wood she saw\nMeehawl MacMurrachu travelling in the same direction and his brows\nwere in a tangle of perplexity.\n\n\u201cGod be with you, Meehawl MacMurrachu,\u201d said she.\n\n\u201cGod and Mary be with you, ma\u2019am,\u201d he replied, \u201cI am in great\ntrouble this day.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy wouldn\u2019t you be?\u201d said the Thin Woman.\n\n\u201cI came up to have a talk with your husband about a particular\nthing.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf it\u2019s talk you want you have come to a good house, Meehawl.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe\u2019s a powerful man right enough,\u201d said Meehawl.\n\nAfter a few minutes the Thin Woman spoke again. \u201cI can get the reek\nof his pipe from here. Let you go right in to him now and I\u2019ll stay\noutside for a while, for the sound of your two voices would give me\na pain in my head.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhatever will please you will please me, ma\u2019am,\u201d said her\ncompanion, and he went into the little house.\n\nMeehawl MacMurrachu had good reason to be perplexed. He was the\nfather of one child only, and she was the most beautiful girl in\nthe whole world. The pity of it was that no one at all knew she\nwas beautiful, and she did not even know it herself. At times when\nshe bathed in the eddy of a mountain stream and saw her reflection\nlooking up from the placid water she thought that she looked very\nnice, and then a great sadness would come upon her, for what is the\nuse of looking nice if there is nobody to see one\u2019s beauty? Beauty,\nalso, is usefulness. The arts as well as the crafts, the graces\nequally with the utilities must stand up in the marketplace and be\njudged by the gombeen men.\n\nThe only house near to her father\u2019s was that occupied by Bessie\nHannigan. The other few houses were scattered widely with long,\nquiet miles of hill and bog between them, so that she had hardly\nseen more than a couple of men beside her father since she was\nborn. She helped her father and mother in all the small businesses\nof their house, and every day also she drove their three cows and\ntwo goats to pasture on the mountain slopes. Here through the sunny\ndays the years had passed in a slow, warm thoughtlessness wherein,\nwithout thinking, many thoughts had entered into her mind and many\npictures hung for a moment like birds in the thin air. At first,\nand for a long time, she had been happy enough; there were many\nthings in which a child might be interested: the spacious heavens\nwhich never wore the same beauty on any day; the innumerable little\ncreatures living among the grasses or in the heather; the steep\nswing of a bird down from the mountain to the infinite plains\nbelow; the little flowers which were so contented each in its\npeaceful place; the bees gathering food for their houses, and the\nstout beetles who are always losing their way in the dusk. These\nthings, and many others, interested her. The three cows after they\nhad grazed for a long time would come and lie by her side and look\nat her as they chewed their cud, and the goats would prance from\nthe bracken to push their heads against her breast because they\nloved her.\n\nIndeed, everything in her quiet world loved this girl: but very\nslowly there was growing in her consciousness an unrest, a\ndisquietude to which she had hitherto been a stranger. Sometimes an\ninfinite weariness oppressed her to the earth. A thought was born\nin her mind and it had no name. It was growing and could not be\nexpressed. She had no words wherewith to meet it, to exorcise or\ngreet this stranger who, more and more insistently and pleadingly,\ntapped upon her doors and begged to be spoken to, admitted and\ncaressed and nourished. A thought is a real thing and words are\nonly its raiment, but a thought is as shy as a virgin; unless it\nis fittingly apparelled we may not look on its shadowy nakedness:\nit will fly from us and only return again in the darkness crying\nin a thin, childish voice which we may not comprehend until, with\naching minds, listening and divining, we at last fashion for it\nthose symbols which are its protection and its banner. So she could\nnot understand the touch that came to her from afar and yet how\nintimately, the whisper so aloof and yet so thrillingly personal.\nThe standard of either language or experience was not hers; she\ncould listen but not think, she could feel but not know, her eyes\nlooked forward and did not see, her hands groped in the sunlight\nand felt nothing. It was like the edge of a little wind which\nstirred her tresses but could not lift them, or the first white\npeep of the dawn which is neither light nor darkness. But she\nlistened, not with her ears but with her blood. The fingers of her\nsoul stretched out to clasp a stranger\u2019s hand, and her disquietude\nwas quickened through with an eagerness which was neither physical\nnor mental, for neither her body nor her mind was definitely\ninterested. Some dim region between these grew alarmed and watched\nand waited and did not sleep or grow weary at all.\n\nOne morning she lay among the long, warm grasses. She watched\na bird who soared and sang for a little time, and then it sped\nswiftly away down the steep air and out of sight in the blue\ndistance. Even when it was gone the song seemed to ring in her\nears. It seemed to linger with her as a faint, sweet echo, coming\nfitfully, with little pauses as though a wind disturbed it, and\ncareless, distant eddies. After a few moments she knew it was not a\nbird. No bird\u2019s song had that consecutive melody, for their themes\nare as careless as their wings. She sat up and looked about her,\nbut there was nothing in sight: the mountains sloped gently above\nher and away to the clear sky; around her the scattered clumps of\nheather were drowsing in the sunlight; far below she could see her\nfather\u2019s house, a little grey patch near some trees\u2014and then the\nmusic stopped and left her wondering.\n\nShe could not find her goats anywhere although for a long time she\nsearched. They came to her at last of their own accord from behind\na fold in the hills, and they were more wildly excited than she\nhad ever seen them before. Even the cows forsook their solemnity\nand broke into awkward gambols around her. As she walked home that\nevening a strange elation taught her feet to dance. Hither and\nthither she flitted in front of the beasts and behind them. Her\nfeet tripped to a wayward measure. There was a tune in her ears\nand she danced to it, throwing her arms out and above her head\nand swaying and bending as she went. The full freedom of her body\nwas hers now: the lightness and poise and certainty of her limbs\ndelighted her, and the strength that did not tire delighted her\nalso. The evening was full of peace and quietude, the mellow, dusky\nsunlight made a path for her feet, and everywhere through the wide\nfields birds were flashing and singing, and she sang with them a\nsong that had no words and wanted none.\n\nThe following day she heard the music again, faint and thin,\nwonderfully sweet and as wild as the song of a bird, but it was a\nmelody which no bird would adhere to. A theme was repeated again\nand again. In the middle of trills, grace-notes, runs and catches\nit recurred with a strange, almost holy, solemnity,\u2014a hushing,\nslender melody full of austerity and aloofness. There was something\nin it to set her heart beating. She yearned to it with her ears and\nher lips. Was it joy, menace, carelessness? She did not know, but\nthis she did know, that however terrible it was personal to her.\nIt was her unborn thought strangely audible and felt rather than\nunderstood.\n\nOn that day she did not see anybody either. She drove her charges\nhome in the evening listlessly and the beasts also were very quiet.\n\nWhen the music came again she made no effort to discover where it\ncame from. She only listened, and when the tune was ended she saw\na figure rise from the fold of a little hill. The sunlight was\ngleaming from his arms and shoulders but the rest of his body was\nhidden by the bracken, and he did not look at her as he went away\nplaying softly on a double pipe.\n\n[Illustration: He stood waist-deep in greenery fronting her\nsquarely]\n\nThe next day he did look at her. He stood waist-deep in greenery\nfronting her squarely. She had never seen so strange a face before.\nHer eyes almost died on him as she gazed and he returned her look\nfor a long minute with an intent, expressionless regard. His hair\nwas a cluster of brown curls, his nose was little and straight, and\nhis wide mouth drooped sadly at the corners. His eyes were wide and\nmost mournful, and his forehead was very broad and white. His sad\neyes and mouth almost made her weep.\n\nWhen he turned away he smiled at her, and it was as though the\nsun had shone suddenly in a dark place, banishing all sadness\nand gloom. Then he went mincingly away. As he went he lifted the\nslender double reed to his lips and blew a few careless notes.\n\nThe next day he fronted her as before, looking down to her eyes\nfrom a short distance. He played for only a few moments, and\nfitfully, and then he came to her. When he left the bracken the\ngirl suddenly clapped her hands against her eyes affrighted.\nThere was something different, terrible about him. The upper part\nof his body was beautiful, but the lower part.... She dared not\nlook at him again. She would have risen and fled away but she\nfeared he might pursue her, and the thought of such a chase and\nthe inevitable capture froze her blood. The thought of anything\nbehind us is always terrible. The sound of pursuing feet is worse\nthan the murder from which we fly\u2014So she sat still and waited but\nnothing happened. At last, desperately, she dropped her hands. He\nwas sitting on the ground a few paces from her. He was not looking\nat her but far away sidewards across the spreading hill. His legs\nwere crossed; they were shaggy and hoofed like the legs of a goat:\nbut she would not look at these because of his wonderful, sad,\ngrotesque face. Gaiety is good to look upon and an innocent face\nis delightful to our souls, but no woman can resist sadness or\nweakness, and ugliness she dare not resist. Her nature leaps to\nbe the comforter. It is her reason. It exalts her to an ecstasy\nwherein nothing but the sacrifice of herself has any proportion.\nMen are not fathers by instinct but by chance, but women are\nmothers beyond thought, beyond instinct which is the father of\nthought. Motherliness, pity, self-sacrifice\u2014these are the charges\nof her primal cell, and not even the discovery that men are\ncomedians, liars, and egotists will wean her from this. As she\nlooked at the pathos of his face she repudiated the hideousness of\nhis body. The beast which is in all men is glossed by women; it is\nhis childishness, the destructive energy inseparable from youth and\nhigh spirits, and it is always forgiven by women, often forgotten,\nsometimes, and not rarely, cherished and fostered.\n\nAfter a few moments of this silence he placed the reed to his lips\nand played a plaintive little air, and then he spoke to her in a\nstrange voice, coming like a wind from distant places.\n\n\u201cWhat is your name, Shepherd Girl?\u201d said he.\n\n\u201cCaitilin, Ingin Ni Murrachu,\u201d she whispered.\n\n\u201cDaughter of Murrachu,\u201d said he, \u201cI have come from a far place\nwhere there are high hills. The men and maidens who follow their\nflocks in that place know me and love me for I am the Master of\nthe Shepherds. They sing and dance and are glad when I come to\nthem in the sunlight; but in this country no people have done any\nreverence to me. The shepherds fly away when they hear my pipes in\nthe pastures; the maidens scream in fear when I dance to them in\nthe meadows. I am very lonely in this strange country. You also,\nalthough you danced to the music of my pipes, have covered your\nface against me and made no reverence.\u201d\n\n\u201cI will do whatever you say if it is right,\u201d said she.\n\n\u201cYou must not do anything because it is right, but because it is\nyour wish. Right is a word and Wrong is a word, but the sun shines\nin the morning and the dew falls in the dusk without thinking of\nthese words which have no meaning. The bee flies to the flower and\nthe seed goes abroad and is happy. Is that right, Shepherd Girl?\u2014it\nis wrong also. I come to you because the bee goes to the flower\u2014it\nis wrong! If I did not come to you to whom would I go? There is no\nright and no wrong but only the will of the gods.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am afraid of you,\u201d said the girl.\n\n\u201cYou fear me because my legs are shaggy like the legs of a goat.\nLook at them well, O Maiden, and know that they are indeed the\nlegs of a beast and then you will not be afraid any more. Do you\nnot love beasts? Surely you should love them for they yearn to you\nhumbly or fiercely, craving your hand upon their heads as I do. If\nI were not fashioned thus I would not come to you because I would\nnot need you. Man is a god and a brute. He aspires to the stars\nwith his head but his feet are contented in the grasses of the\nfield, and when he forsakes the brute upon which he stands then\nthere will be no more men and no more women and the immortal gods\nwill blow this world away like smoke.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know what you want me to do,\u201d said the girl.\n\n\u201cI want you to want me. I want you to forget right and wrong; to be\nas happy as the beasts, as careless as the flowers and the birds.\nTo live to the depths of your nature as well as to the heights.\nTruly there are stars in the heights and they will be a garland for\nyour forehead. But the depths are equal to the heights. Wondrous\ndeep are the depths, very fertile is the lowest deep. There are\nstars there also, brighter than the stars on high. The name of the\nheights is Wisdom and the name of the depths is Love. How shall\nthey come together and be fruitful if you do not plunge deeply\nand fearlessly? Wisdom is the spirit and the wings of the spirit,\nLove is the shaggy beast that goes down. Gallantly he dives, below\nthought, beyond Wisdom, to rise again as high above these as he had\nfirst descended. Wisdom is righteous and clean, but Love is unclean\nand holy. I sing of the beast and the descent: the great unclean\npurging itself in fire: the thought that is not born in the measure\nor the ice or the head, but in the feet and the hot blood and the\npulse of fury. The Crown of Life is not lodged in the sun: the wise\ngods have buried it deeply where the thoughtful will not find it,\nnor the good: but the Gay Ones, the Adventurous Ones, the Careless\nPlungers, they will bring it to the wise and astonish them. All\nthings are seen in the light\u2014How shall we value that which is easy\nto see? But the precious things which are hidden, they will be more\nprecious for our search: they will be beautiful with our sorrow:\nthey will be noble because of our desire for them. Come away with\nme, Shepherd Girl, through the fields, and we will be careless and\nhappy, and we will leave thought to find us when it can, for that\nis the duty of thought, and it is more anxious to discover us than\nwe are to be found.\u201d\n\nSo Caitilin Ni Murrachu arose and went with him through the fields,\nand she did not go with him because of love, nor because his words\nhad been understood by her, but only because he was naked and\nunashamed.\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nIt was on account of his daughter that Meehawl MacMurrachu had come\nto visit the Philosopher. He did not know what had become of her,\nand the facts he had to lay before his adviser were very few.\n\nHe left the Thin Woman of Inis Magrath taking snuff under a pine\ntree and went into the house.\n\n\u201cGod be with all here,\u201d said he as he entered.\n\n\u201cGod be with yourself, Meehawl MacMurrachu,\u201d said the Philosopher.\n\n\u201cI am in great trouble this day, sir,\u201d said Meehawl, \u201cand if you\nwould give me an advice I\u2019d be greatly beholden to you.\u201d\n\n\u201cI can give you that,\u201d replied the Philosopher.\n\n\u201cNone better than your honour and no trouble to you either. It was\na powerful advice you gave me about the washboard, and if I didn\u2019t\ncome here to thank you before this it was not because I didn\u2019t want\nto come, but that I couldn\u2019t move hand or foot by dint of the cruel\nrheumatism put upon me by the Leprecauns of Gort na Cloca Mora, bad\ncess to them for ever: twisted I was the way you\u2019d get a squint in\nyour eye if you only looked at me, and the pain I suffered would\nastonish you.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt would not,\u201d said the Philosopher.\n\n\u201cNo matter,\u201d said Meehawl. \u201cWhat I came about was my young daughter\nCaitilin. Sight or light of her I haven\u2019t had for three days. My\nwife said first, that it was the fairies had taken her, and then\nshe said it was a travelling man that had a musical instrument she\nwent away with, and after that she said, that maybe the girl was\nlying dead in the butt of a ditch with her eyes wide open, and she\nstaring broadly at the moon in the night time and the sun in the\nday until the crows would be finding her out.\u201d\n\nThe Philosopher drew his chair closer to Meehawl.\n\n\u201cDaughters,\u201d said he, \u201chave been a cause of anxiety to their\nparents ever since they were instituted. The flightiness of the\nfemale temperament is very evident in those who have not arrived\nat the years which teach how to hide faults and frailties, and,\ntherefore, indiscretions bristle from a young girl the way branches\ndo from a bush.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe person who would deny that\u2014\u201d said Meehawl.\n\n\u201cFemale children, however, have the particular sanction of\nnature. They are produced in astonishing excess over males, and\nmay, accordingly, be admitted as dominant to the male; but the\nwell-proven law that the minority shall always control the majority\nwill relieve our minds from a fear which might otherwise become\nintolerable.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s true enough,\u201d said Meehawl. \u201cHave you noticed, sir, that in a\nlitter of pups\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cI have not,\u201d said the Philosopher. \u201cCertain trades and professions,\nit is curious to note, tend to be perpetuated in the female line.\nThe sovereign profession among bees and ants is always female, and\npublicans also descend on the distaff side. You will have noticed\nthat every publican has three daughters of extraordinary charms.\nLacking these signs we would do well to look askance at such a man\u2019s\nliquor, divining that in his brew there will be an undue percentage\nof water, for if his primogeniture is infected how shall his honesty\nescape?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt would take a wise head to answer that,\u201d said Meehawl.\n\n\u201cIt would not,\u201d said the Philosopher. \u201cThroughout nature the female\ntends to polygamy.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf,\u201d said Meehawl, \u201cthat unfortunate daughter of mine is lying\ndead in a ditch\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cIt doesn\u2019t matter,\u201d said the Philosopher. \u201cMany races have\nendeavoured to place some limits to this increase in females.\nCertain Oriental peoples have conferred the titles of divinity\non crocodiles, serpents, and tigers of the jungle, and have fed\nthese with their surplusage of daughters. In China, likewise, such\nsacrifices are defended as honourable and economic practices.\nBut, broadly speaking, if daughters have to be curtailed I prefer\nyour method of losing them rather than the religio-hysterical\ncompromises of the Orient.\u201d\n\n\u201cI give you my word, sir,\u201d said Meehawl, \u201cthat I don\u2019t know what\nyou are talking about at all.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat,\u201d said the Philosopher, \u201cmay be accounted for in three\nways\u2014firstly, there is a lack of cerebral continuity: that is,\nfaulty attention; secondly, it might be due to a local peculiarity\nin the conformation of the skull, or, perhaps, a superficial\ninstead of a deep indenting of the cerebral coil; and thirdly\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cDid you ever hear,\u201d said Meehawl, \u201cof the man that had the scalp\nof his head blown off by a gun, and they soldered the bottom of a\ntin dish to the top of his skull the way you could hear his brains\nticking inside of it for all the world like a Waterbury watch?\u201d\n\n\u201cI did not,\u201d said the Philosopher. \u201cThirdly, it may\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s my daughter, Caitilin, sir,\u201d said Meehawl humbly. \u201cMaybe she\nis lying in the butt of a ditch and the crows picking her eyes out.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat did she die of?\u201d said the Philosopher.\n\n\u201cMy wife only put it that maybe she was dead, and that maybe she\nwas taken by the fairies, and that maybe she went away with the\ntravelling man that had the musical instrument. She said it was a\nconcertina, but I think myself it was a flute he had.\u201d\n\n\u201cWho was this traveller?\u201d\n\n\u201cI never saw him,\u201d said Meehawl, \u201cbut one day I went a few perches\nup the hill and I heard him playing\u2014thin, squeaky music it was\nlike you\u2019d be blowing out of a tin whistle. I looked about for him\neverywhere, but not a bit of him could I see.\u201d\n\n\u201cEh?\u201d said the Philosopher.\n\n\u201cI looked about\u2014\u201d said Meehawl.\n\n\u201cI know,\u201d said the Philosopher. \u201cDid you happen to look at your\ngoats?\u201d\n\n\u201cI couldn\u2019t well help doing that,\u201d said Meehawl.\n\n\u201cWhat were they doing?\u201d said the Philosopher eagerly.\n\n\u201cThey were bucking each other across the field, and standing on\ntheir hind legs and cutting such capers that I laughed till I had a\npain in my stomach at the gait of them.\u201d\n\n\u201cThis is very interesting,\u201d said the Philosopher.\n\n\u201cDo you tell me so?\u201d said Meehawl.\n\n\u201cI do,\u201d said the Philosopher, \u201cand for this reason-most of the\nraces of the world have at one time or another\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s my little daughter, Caitilin, sir,\u201d said Meehawl.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m attending to her,\u201d the Philosopher replied.\n\n\u201cI thank you kindly,\u201d returned Meehawl.\n\nThe Philosopher continued \u201cMost of the races of the world have at\none time or another been visited by this deity, whose title is\nthe \u2018Great God Pan,\u2019 but there is no record of his ever having\njourneyed to Ireland, and, certainly within historic times, he has\nnot set foot on these shores. He lived for a great number of years\nin Egypt, Persia, and Greece, and although his empire is supposed\nto be world-wide, this universal sway has always been, and always\nwill be, contested; but nevertheless, however sharply his empire\nmay be curtailed, he will never be without a kingdom wherein his\nexercise of sovereign rights will be gladly and passionately\nacclaimed.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs he one of the old gods, sir?\u201d said Meehawl.\n\n\u201cHe is,\u201d replied the Philosopher, \u201cand his coming intends no good\nto this country. Have you any idea why he should have captured your\ndaughter?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot an idea in the world.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs your daughter beautiful?\u201d\n\n\u201cI couldn\u2019t tell you, because I never thought of looking at her\nthat way. But she is a good milker, and as strong as a man. She can\nlift a bag of meal under her arm easier than I can; but she\u2019s a\ntimid creature for all that.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhatever the reason is I am certain that he has the girl, and I am\ninclined to think that he was directed to her by the Leprecauns of\nthe Gort. You know they are at feud with you ever since their bird\nwas killed?\u201d\n\n\u201cI am not likely to forget it, and they racking me day and night\nwith torments.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou may be sure,\u201d said the Philosopher, \u201cthat if he\u2019s anywhere at\nall it\u2019s at Gort na Cloca Mora he is, for, being a stranger, he\nwouldn\u2019t know where to go unless he was directed, and they know\nevery hole and corner of this countryside since ancient times. I\u2019d\ngo up myself and have a talk with him, but it wouldn\u2019t be a bit of\ngood, and it wouldn\u2019t be any use your going either. He has power\nover all grown people so that they either go and get drunk or else\nthey fall in love with every person they meet, and commit assaults\nand things I wouldn\u2019t like to be telling you about. The only folk\nwho can go near him at all are little children, because he has no\npower over them until they grow to the sensual age, and then he\nexercises lordship over them as over every one else. I\u2019ll send my\ntwo children with a message to him to say that he isn\u2019t doing the\ndecent thing, and that if he doesn\u2019t let the girl alone and go back\nto his own country we\u2019ll send for Angus \u00d3g.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe\u2019d make short work of him, I\u2019m thinking.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe might surely; but he may take the girl for himself all the\nsame.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, I\u2019d sooner he had her than the other one, for he\u2019s one of\nourselves anyhow, and the devil you know is better than the devil\nyou don\u2019t know.\u201d\n\n\u201cAngus \u00d3g is a god,\u201d said the Philosopher severely.\n\n\u201cI know that, sir,\u201d replied Meehawl; \u201cit\u2019s only a way of talking I\nhave. But how will your honour get at Angus? for I heard say that\nhe hadn\u2019t been seen for a hundred years, except one night only when\nhe talked to a man for half an hour on Kilmasheogue.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll find him, sure enough,\u201d replied the Philosopher.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll warrant you will,\u201d replied Meehawl heartily as he stood up.\n\u201cLong life and good health to your honour,\u201d said he as he turned\naway.\n\nThe Philosopher lit his pipe.\n\n\u201cWe live as long as we are let,\u201d said he, \u201cand we get the health we\ndeserve. Your salutation embodies a reflection on death which is\nnot philosophic. We must acquiesce in all logical progressions. The\nmerging of opposites is completion. Life runs to death as to its\ngoal, and we should go towards that next stage of experience either\ncarelessly as to what must be, or with a good, honest curiosity as\nto what may be.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s not much fun in being dead, sir,\u201d said Meehawl.\n\n\u201cHow do you know?\u201d said the Philosopher.\n\n\u201cI know well enough,\u201d replied Meehawl.\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nWhen the children leaped into the hole at the foot of the tree they\nfound themselves sliding down a dark, narrow slant which dropped\nthem softly enough into a little room. This room was hollowed out\nimmediately under the tree, and great care had been taken not to\ndisturb any of the roots which ran here and there through the\nchamber in the strangest criss-cross, twisted fashion. To get\nacross such a place one had to walk round, and jump over, and\nduck under perpetually. Some of the roots had formed themselves\nvery conveniently into low seats and narrow, uneven tables, and\nat the bottom all the roots ran into the floor and away again in\nthe direction required by their business. After the clear air\noutside this place was very dark to the children\u2019s eyes, so that\nthey could not see anything for a few minutes, but after a little\ntime their eyes became accustomed to the semiobscurity and they\nwere able to see quite well. The first things they became aware\nof were six small men who were seated on low roots. They were all\ndressed in tight green clothes and little leathern aprons, and they\nwore tall green hats which wobbled when they moved. They were all\nbusily engaged making shoes. One was drawing out wax ends on his\nknee, another was softening pieces of leather in a bucket of water,\nanother was polishing the instep of a shoe with a piece of curved\nbone, another was paring down a heel with a short broad-bladed\nknife, and another was hammering wooden pegs into a sole. He had\nall the pegs in his mouth, which gave him a widefaced, jolly\nexpression, and according as a peg was wanted he blew it into his\nhand and hit it twice with his hammer, and then he blew another\npeg, and he always blew the peg with the right end uppermost, and\nnever had to hit it more than twice. He was a person well worth\nwatching.\n\nThe children had slid down so unexpectedly that they almost forgot\ntheir good manners, but as soon as Seumas Beg discovered that he\nwas really in a room he removed his cap and stood up.\n\n\u201cGod be with all here,\u201d said he.\n\nThe Leprecaun who had brought them lifted Brigid from the floor to\nwhich amazement still constrained her.\n\n\u201cSit down on that little root, child of my heart,\u201d said he, \u201cand\nyou can knit stockings for us.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, sir,\u201d said Brigid meekly.\n\nThe Leprecaun took four knitting needles and a ball of green wool\nfrom the top of a high, horizontal root. He had to climb over one,\ngo round three and climb up two roots to get at it, and he did\nthis so easily that it did not seem a bit of trouble. He gave the\nneedles and wool to Brigid Beg.\n\n\u201cDo you know how to turn the heel, Brigid Beg?\u201d said he.\n\n\u201cNo, sir,\u201d said Brigid.\n\n\u201cWell, I\u2019ll show you how when you come to it.\u201d\n\nThe other six Leprecauns had ceased work and were looking at the\nchildren. Seumas turned to them.\n\n\u201cGod bless the work,\u201d said he politely.\n\nOne of the Leprecauns, who had a grey, puckered face and a thin\nfringe of grey whisker very far under his chin, then spoke.\n\n\u201cCome over here, Seumas Beg,\u201d said he, \u201cand I\u2019ll measure you for a\npair of shoes. Put your foot up on that root.\u201d\n\nThe boy did so, and the Leprecaun took the measure of his foot with\na wooden rule.\n\n\u201cNow, Brigid Beg, show me your foot,\u201d and he measured her also.\n\u201cThey\u2019ll be ready for you in the morning.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you never do anything else but make shoes, sir?\u201d said Seumas.\n\n\u201cWe do not,\u201d replied the Leprecaun, \u201cexcept when we want new\nclothes, and then we have to make them, but we grudge every minute\nspent making anything else except shoes, because that is the proper\nwork for a Leprecaun. In the night time we go about the country\ninto people\u2019s houses and we clip little pieces off their money,\nand so, bit by bit, we get a crock of gold together, because, do\nyou see, a Leprecaun has to have a crock of gold so that if he\u2019s\ncaptured by men folk he may be able to ransom himself. But that\nseldom happens, because it\u2019s a great disgrace altogether to be\ncaptured by a man, and we\u2019ve practiced so long dodging among the\nroots here that we can easily get away from them. Of course, now\nand again we are caught; but men are fools, and we always escape\nwithout having to pay the ransom at all. We wear green clothes\nbecause it\u2019s the colour of the grass and the leaves, and when we\nsit down under a bush or lie in the grass they just walk by without\nnoticing us.\u201d\n\n\u201cWill you let me see your crock of gold?\u201d said Seumas.\n\nThe Leprecaun looked at him fixedly for a moment.\n\n\u201cDo you like griddle bread and milk?\u201d said he.\n\n\u201cI like it well,\u201d Seumas answered.\n\n\u201cThen you had better have some,\u201d and the Leprecaun took a piece of\ngriddle bread from the shelf and filled two saucers with milk.\n\nWhile the children were eating the Leprecauns asked them many\nquestions \u201cWhat time do you get up in the morning?\u201d\n\n\u201cSeven o\u2019clock,\u201d replied Seumas.\n\n\u201cAnd what do you have for breakfast?\u201d\n\n\u201cStirabout and milk,\u201d he replied.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s good food,\u201d said the Leprecaun. \u201cWhat do you have for dinner?\u201d\n\n\u201cPotatoes and milk,\u201d said Seumas.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s not bad at all,\u201d said the Leprecaun. \u201cAnd what do you have\nfor supper?\u201d\n\nBrigid answered this time because her brother\u2019s mouth was full.\n\n\u201cBread and milk, sir,\u201d said she.\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s nothing better,\u201d said the Leprecaun.\n\n\u201cAnd then we go to bed,\u201d continued Brigid.\n\n\u201cWhy wouldn\u2019t you?\u201d said the Leprecaun.\n\nIt was at this point the Thin Woman of Inis Magrath knocked on the\ntree trunk and demanded that the children should be returned to her.\n\nWhen she had gone away the Leprecauns held a consultation, whereat\nit was decided that they could not afford to anger the Thin Woman\nand the Shee of Croghan Conghaile, so they shook hands with the\nchildren and bade them good-bye. The Leprecaun who had enticed\nthem away from home brought them back again, and on parting he\nbegged the children to visit Gort na Cloca Mora whenever they felt\ninclined.\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s always a bit of griddle bread or potato cake, and a noggin\nof milk for a friend,\u201d said he.\n\n\u201cYou are very kind, sir,\u201d replied Seumas, and his sister said the\nsame words.\n\nAs the Leprecaun walked away they stood watching him.\n\n[Illustration: \u201cDo you remember,\u201d said Seumas, \u201cthe way he hopped\nand waggled his leg the last time he was here?\u201d]\n\n\u201cDo you remember,\u201d said Seumas, \u201cthe way he hopped and waggled his\nleg the last time he was here?\u201d\n\n\u201cI do so,\u201d replied Brigid.\n\n\u201cWell, he isn\u2019t hopping or doing anything at all this time,\u201d said\nSeumas.\n\n\u201cHe\u2019s not in good humour to-night,\u201d said Brigid, \u201cbut I like him.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo do I,\u201d said Seumas.\n\nWhen they went into the house the Thin Woman of Inis Magrath was\nvery glad to see them, and she baked a cake with currants in it,\nand also gave them both stirabout and potatoes; but the Philosopher\ndid not notice that they had been away at all. He said at last that\n\u201ctalking was bad wit, that women were always making a fuss, that\nchildren should be fed, but not fattened, and that beds were meant\nto be slept in.\u201d The Thin Woman replied \u201cthat he was a grisly old\nman without bowels, that she did not know what she had married him\nfor, that he was three times her age, and that no one would believe\nwhat she had to put up with.\u201d\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nPursuant to his arrangement with Meehawl MacMurrachu, the\nPhilosopher sent the children in search of Pan. He gave them the\nfullest instructions as to how they should address the Sylvan\nDeity, and then, having received the admonishments of the Thin\nWoman of Inis Magrath, the children departed in the early morning.\n\nWhen they reached the clearing in the pine wood, through which the\nsun was blazing, they sat down for a little while to rest in the\nheat. Birds were continually darting down this leafy shaft, and\ndiving away into the dark wood. These birds always had something in\ntheir beaks. One would have a worm, or a snail, or a grasshopper,\nor a little piece of wool torn off a sheep, or a scrap of cloth,\nor a piece of hay; and when they had put these things in a certain\nplace they flew up the sun-shaft again and looked for something\nelse to bring home. On seeing the children each of the birds\nwaggled his wings, and made a particular sound. They said \u201ccaw\u201d and\n\u201cchip\u201d and \u201ctwit\u201d and \u201ctut\u201d and \u201cwhat\u201d and \u201cpit\u201d; and one, whom the\nyoungsters liked very much, always said \u201ctit-tittit-tit-tit.\u201d The\nchildren were fond of him because he was so all-of-asudden. They\nnever knew where he was going to fly next, and they did not believe\nhe knew himself. He would fly backwards and forwards, and up and\ndown, and sideways and bawways\u2014all, so to speak, in the one breath.\nHe did this because he was curious to see what was happening\neverywhere, and, as something is always happening everywhere, he\nwas never able to fly in a straight line for more than the littlest\ndistance. He was a cowardly bird too, and continually fancied that\nsome person was going to throw a stone at him from behind a bush,\nor a wall, or a tree, and these imaginary dangers tended to make\nhis journeyings still more wayward and erratic. He never flew where\nhe wanted to go himself, but only where God directed him, and so he\ndid not fare at all badly.\n\nThe children knew each of the birds by their sounds, and always\nsaid these words to them when they came near. For a little time\nthey had difficulty in saying the right word to the right bird, and\nsometimes said \u201cchip\u201d when the salutation should have been \u201ctut.\u201d\nThe birds always resented this, and would scold them angrily, but\nafter a little practice they never made any mistakes at all. There\nwas one bird, a big, black fellow, who loved to be talked to. He\nused to sit on the ground beside the children, and say \u201ccaw\u201d as\nlong as they would repeat it after him. He often wasted a whole\nmorning in talk, but none of the other birds remained for more than\na few minutes at a time. They were always busy in the morning, but\nin the evening they had more leisure, and would stay and chat as\nlong as the children wanted them. The awkward thing was that in the\nevening all the birds wanted to talk at the same moment, so that\nthe youngsters never knew which of them to answer. Seumas Beg got\nout of that difficulty for a while by learning to whistle their\nnotes, but, even so, they spoke with such rapidity that he could\nnot by any means keep pace with them. Brigid could only whistle\none note; it was a little flat \u201cwhoo\u201d sound, which the birds all\nlaughed at, and after a few trials she refused to whistle any more.\n\nWhile they were sitting two rabbits came to play about in the\nbrush. They ran round and round in a circle, and all their\nmovements were very quick and twisty. Sometimes they jumped over\neach other six or seven times in succession, and every now and then\nthey sat upright on their hind legs, and washed their faces with\ntheir paws. At other times they picked up a blade of grass, which\nthey ate with great deliberation, pretending all the time that it\nwas a complicated banquet of cabbage leaves and lettuce.\n\nWhile the children were playing with the rabbits an ancient,\nstalwart he-goat came prancing through the bracken. He was an\nold acquaintance of theirs, and he enjoyed lying beside them to\nhave his forehead scratched with a piece of sharp stick. His\nforehead was hard as rock, and the hair grew there as sparse as\ngrass does on a wall, or rather the way moss grows on a wall\u2014it\nwas a mat instead of a crop. His horns were long and very sharp,\nand brilliantly polished. On this day the he-goat had two chains\naround his neck\u2014one was made of butter-cups and the other was made\nof daisies, and the children wondered to each other who it was\ncould have woven these so carefully. They asked the he-goat this\nquestion, but he only looked at them and did not say a word. The\nchildren liked examining this goat\u2019s eyes; they were very big, and\nof the queerest light-gray colour. They had a strange steadfast\nlook, and had also at times a look of queer, deep intelligence, and\nat other times they had a fatherly and benevolent expression, and\nat other times again, especially when he looked sidewards, they\nhad a mischievous, light-and-airy, daring, mocking, inviting and\nterrifying look; but he always looked brave and unconcerned. When\nthe he-goat\u2019s forehead had been scratched as much as he desired\nhe arose from between the children and went pacing away lightly\nthrough the wood. The children ran after him and each caught hold\nof one of his horns, and he ambled and reared between them while\nthey danced along on his either side singing snatches of bird\nsongs, and scraps of old tunes which the Thin Woman of Inis Magrath\nhad learned among the people of the Shee.\n\nIn a little time they came to Gort na Cloca Mora, but here\nthe he-goat did not stop. They went past the big tree of the\nLeprecauns, through a broken part of the hedge and into another\nrough field. The sun was shining gloriously. There was scarcely a\nwind at all to stir the harsh grasses. Far and near was silence\nand warmth, an immense, cheerful peace. Across the sky a few light\nclouds sailed gently on a blue so vast that the eye failed before\nthat horizon. A few bees sounded their deep chant, and now and\nagain a wasp rasped hastily on his journey. Than these there was no\nsound of any kind. So peaceful, innocent and safe did everything\nappear that it might have been the childhood of the world as it was\nof the morning.\n\nThe children, still clinging to the friendly goat, came near the\nedge of the field, which here sloped more steeply to the mountain\ntop. Great boulders, slightly covered with lichen and moss, were\nstrewn about, and around them the bracken and gorse were growing,\nand in every crevice of these rocks there were plants whose little,\ntight-fisted roots gripped a desperate, adventurous habitation in\na soil scarcely more than half an inch deep. At some time these\nrocks had been smitten so fiercely that the solid granite surfaces\nhad shattered into fragments. At one place a sheer wall of stone,\nragged and battered, looked harshly out from the thin vegetation.\nTo this rocky wall the he-goat danced. At one place there was a\nhole in the wall covered by a thick brush. The goat pushed his way\nbehind this growth and disappeared. Then the children, curious\nto see where he had gone, pushed through also. Behind the bush\nthey found a high, narrow opening, and when they had rubbed their\nlegs, which smarted from the stings of nettles, thistles and gorse\nprickles, they went into the hole which they thought was a place\nthe goat had for sleeping in on cold, wet nights. After a few paces\nthey found the passage was quite comfortably big, and then they saw\na light, and in another moment they were blinking at the god Pan\nand Caitilin Ni Murrachu.\n\nCaitilin knew them at once and came forward with welcome.\n\n\u201cO, Seumas Beg,\u201d she cried reproachfully, \u201chow dirty you have let\nyour feet get. Why don\u2019t you walk in the grassy places? And you,\nBrigid, have a right to be ashamed of yourself to have your hands\nthe way they are. Come over here at once.\u201d\n\nEvery child knows that every grown female person in the world\nhas authority to wash children and to give them food; that is\nwhat grown people were made for, consequently Seumas and Brigid\nBeg submitted to the scouring for which Caitilin made instant\npreparation. When they were cleaned she pointed to a couple of flat\nstones against the wall of the cave and bade them sit down and be\ngood, and this the children did, fixing their eyes on Pan with the\ncheerful gravity and curiosity which good-natured youngsters always\ngive to a stranger.\n\nPan, who had been lying on a couch of dried grass, sat up and bent\nan equally cheerful regard on the children.\n\n\u201cShepherd Girl,\u201d said he, \u201cwho are those children?\u201d\n\n\u201cThey are the children of the Philosophers of Coilla Doraca; the\nGrey Woman of Dun Gortin and the Thin Woman of Inis Magrath are\ntheir mothers, and they are decent, poor children, God bless them.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat have they come here for?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou will have to ask themselves that.\u201d\n\nPan looked at them smilingly.\n\n\u201cWhat have you come here for, little children?\u201d said he.\n\nThe children questioned one another with their eyes to see which of\nthem would reply, and then Seumas Beg answered:\n\n\u201cMy father sent me to see you, sir, and to say that you were not\ndoing a good thing in keeping Caitilin Ni Murrachu away from her\nown place.\u201d\n\nBrigid Beg turned to Caitilin\u2014\n\n\u201cYour father came to see our father, and he said that he didn\u2019t know\nwhat had become of you at all, and that maybe you were lying flat in\na ditch with the black crows picking at your flesh.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what,\u201d said Pan, \u201cdid your father say to that?\u201d\n\n\u201cHe told us to come and ask her to go home.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you love your father, little child?\u201d said Pan.\n\nBrigid Beg thought for a moment. \u201cI don\u2019t know, sir,\u201d she replied.\n\n\u201cHe doesn\u2019t mind us at all,\u201d broke in Seumas Beg, \u201cand so we don\u2019t\nknow whether we love him or not.\u201d\n\n\u201cI like Caitilin,\u201d said Brigid, \u201cand I like you.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo do I,\u201d said Seumas.\n\n\u201cI like you also, little children,\u201d said Pan. \u201cCome over here and\nsit beside me, and we will talk.\u201d\n\nSo the two children went over to Pan and sat down one each side of\nhim, and he put his arms about them. \u201cDaughter of Murrachu,\u201d said\nhe, \u201cis there no food in the house for guests?\u201d\n\n\u201cThere is a cake of bread, a little goat\u2019s milk and some cheese,\u201d\nshe replied, and she set about getting these things.\n\n\u201cI never ate cheese,\u201d said Seumas. \u201cIs it good?\u201d\n\n\u201cSurely it is,\u201d replied Pan. \u201cThe cheese that is made from goat\u2019s\nmilk is rather strong, and it is good to be eaten by people who\nlive in the open air, but not by those who live in houses, for such\npeople do not have any appetite. They are poor creatures whom I do\nnot like.\u201d\n\n\u201cI like eating,\u201d said Seumas.\n\n\u201cSo do I,\u201d said Pan. \u201cAll good people like eating. Every person who\nis hungry is a good person, and every person who is not hungry is a\nbad person. It is better to be hungry than rich.\u201d\n\nCaitilin having supplied the children with food, seated herself in\nfront of them. \u201cI don\u2019t think that is right,\u201d said she. \u201cI have\nalways been hungry, and it was never good.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf you had always been full you would like it even less,\u201d he\nreplied, \u201cbecause when you are hungry you are alive, and when you\nare not hungry you are only half alive.\u201d\n\n\u201cOne has to be poor to be hungry,\u201d replied Caitilin. \u201cMy father is\npoor and gets no good of it but to work from morning to night and\nnever to stop doing that.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is bad for a wise person to be poor,\u201d said Pan, \u201cand it is bad\nfor a fool to be rich. A rich fool will think of nothing else at\nfirst but to find a dark house wherein to hide away, and there he\nwill satisfy his hunger, and he will continue to do that until his\nhunger is dead and he is no better than dead but a wise person who\nis rich will carefully preserve his appetite. All people who have\nbeen rich for a long time, or who are rich from birth, live a great\ndeal outside of their houses, and so they are always hungry and\nhealthy.\u201d\n\n\u201cPoor people have no time to be wise,\u201d said Caitilin.\n\n\u201cThey have time to be hungry,\u201d said Pan. \u201cI ask no more of them.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy father is very wise,\u201d said Seumas Beg.\n\n\u201cHow do you know that, little boy?\u201d said Pan.\n\n\u201cBecause he is always talking,\u201d replied Seumas. \u201cDo you always\nlisten, my dear?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, sir,\u201d said Seumas; \u201cI go to sleep when he talks.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is very clever of you,\u201d said Pan.\n\n\u201cI go to sleep too,\u201d said Brigid.\n\n\u201cIt is clever of you also, my darling. Do you go to sleep when your\nmother talks?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, no,\u201d she answered. \u201cIf we went to sleep then our mother would\npinch us and say that we were a bad breed.\u201d\n\n\u201cI think your mother is wise,\u201d said Pan. \u201cWhat do you like best in\nthe world, Seumas Beg?\u201d\n\nThe boy thought for a moment and replied: \u201cI don\u2019t know, sir.\u201d\n\nPan also thought for a little time.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know what I like best either,\u201d said he. \u201cWhat do you like\nbest in the world, Shepherd Girl?\u201d\n\nCaitilin\u2019s eyes were fixed on his.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know yet,\u201d she answered slowly.\n\n\u201cMay the gods keep you safe from that knowledge,\u201d said Pan gravely.\n\n\u201cWhy would you say that?\u201d she replied. \u201cOne must find out all\nthings, and when we find out a thing we know if it is good or bad.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is the beginning of knowledge,\u201d said Pan, \u201cbut it is not the\nbeginning of wisdom.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat is the beginning of wisdom?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is carelessness,\u201d replied Pan.\n\n\u201cAnd what is the end of wisdom?\u201d said she.\n\n\u201cI do not know,\u201d he answered, after a little pause.\n\n\u201cIs it greater carelessness?\u201d she enquired.\n\n\u201cI do not know, I do not know,\u201d said he sharply. \u201cI am tired of\ntalking,\u201d and, so saying, he turned his face away from them and lay\ndown on the couch.\n\nCaitilin in great concern hurried the children to the door of the\ncave and kissed them good-bye.\n\n\u201cPan is sick,\u201d said the boy gravely.\n\n\u201cI hope he will be well soon again,\u201d the girl murmured.\n\n\u201cYes, yes,\u201d said Caitilin, and she ran back quickly to her lord.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK II. THE PHILOSOPHER\u2019S JOURNEY\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nWhen the children reached home they told the Philosopher-the result\nof their visit. He questioned them minutely as to the appearance\nof Pan, how he had received them, and what he had said in defence\nof his iniquities; but when he found that Pan had not returned any\nanswer to his message he became very angry. He tried to persuade\nhis wife to undertake another embassy setting forth his abhorrence\nand defiance of the god, but the Thin Woman replied sourly that\nshe was a respectable married woman, that having been already\nbereaved of her wisdom she had no desire to be further curtailed\nof her virtue, that a husband would go any length to asperse his\nwife\u2019s reputation, and that although she was married to a fool\nher self-respect had survived even that calamity. The Philosopher\npointed out that her age, her appearance, and her tongue were\nsufficient guarantees of immunity against the machinations of\neither Pan or slander, and that he had no personal feelings in the\nmatter beyond a scientific and benevolent interest in the troubles\nof Meehawl MacMurrachu; but this was discounted by his wife as the\nmalignant and subtle tactics customary to all husbands.\n\nMatters appeared to be thus at a deadlock so far as they were\nimmediately concerned, and the Philosopher decided that he\nwould lay the case before Angus \u00d3g and implore his protection\nand assistance on behalf of the Clann MacMurrachu. He therefore\ndirected the Thin Woman to bake him two cakes of bread, and set\nabout preparations for a journey.\n\nThe Thin Woman baked the cakes, and put them in a bag, and early\non the following morning the Philosopher swung this bag over his\nshoulder, and went forth on his quest.\n\n[Illustration: He saw Caitilin Ni Murrachu walking a little way in\nfront with a small vessel in her hand]\n\nWhen he came to the edge of the pine wood he halted for a few\nmoments, not being quite certain of his bearings, and then went\nforward again in the direction of Gort na Cloca Mora. It came\ninto his mind as he crossed the Gort that he ought to call on the\nLeprecauns and have a talk with them, but a remembrance of Meehawl\nMacMurrachu and the troubles under which he laboured (all directly\nto be traced to the Leprecauns) hardened his heart against his\nneighbours, so that he passed by the yew tree without any stay. In\na short time he came to the rough, heather-clumped field wherein\nthe children had found Pan, and as he was proceeding up the hill,\nhe saw Caitilin Ni Murrachu walking a little way in front with a\nsmall vessel in her hand. The she-goat which she had just milked\nwas bending again to the herbage, and as Caitilin trod lightly in\nfront of him the Philosopher closed his eyes in virtuous anger and\nopened them again in a not unnatural curiosity, for the girl had no\nclothes on. He watched her going behind the brush and disappearing\nin the cleft of the rock, and his anger, both with her and Pan,\nmastering him he forsook the path of prudence which soared to the\nmountain top, and followed that leading to the cave. The sound of\nhis feet brought Caitilin out hastily, but he pushed her by with a\nharsh word. \u201cHussy,\u201d said he, and he went into the cave where Pan\nwas.\n\nAs he went in he already repented of his harshness and said \u201cThe\nhuman body is an aggregation of flesh and sinew, around a central\nbony structure. The use of clothing is primarily to protect this\norganism from rain and cold, and it may not be regarded as the\nbanner of morality without danger to this fundamental premise.\nIf a person does not desire to be so protected who will quarrel\nwith an honourable liberty? Decency is not clothing but Mind.\nMorality is behaviour. Virtue is thought; I have often fancied,\u201d\nhe continued to Pan, whom he was now confronting, \u201cthat the effect\nof clothing on mind must be very considerable, and that it must\nhave a modifying rather than an expanding effect, or, even, an\nintensifying as against an exuberant effect. With clothing the\nwhole environment is immediately affected. The air, which is our\nproper medium, is only filtered to our bodies in an abated and\nniggardly fashion which can scarcely be as beneficial as the\ngenerous and unintermitted elemental play. The question naturally\narises whether clothing is as unknown to nature as we have fancied?\nViewed as a protective measure against atmospheric rigour we find\nthat many creatures grow, by their own central impulse, some\nkind of exterior panoply which may be regarded as their proper\nclothing. Bears, cats, dogs, mice, sheep and beavers are wrapped\nin fur, hair, fell, fleece or pelt, so these creatures cannot by\nany means be regarded as being naked. Crabs, cockroaches, snails\nand cockles have ordered around them a crusty habiliment, wherein\ntheir original nakedness is only to be discovered by force, and\nother creatures have similarly provided themselves with some\nspecies of covering. Clothing, therefore, is not an art, but an\ninstinct, and the fact that man is born naked and does not grow\nhis clothing upon himself from within but collects it from various\ndistant and haphazard sources is not any reason to call this\nnecessity an instinct for decency. These, you will admit, are\nweighty reflections and worthy of consideration before we proceed\nto the wide and thorny subject of moral and immoral action. Now,\nwhat is virtue?\u201d Pan, who had listened with great courtesy to these\nremarks, here broke in on the Philosopher.\n\n\u201cVirtue,\u201d said he, \u201cis the performance of pleasant actions.\u201d\n\nThe Philosopher held the statement for a moment on his forefinger.\n\n\u201cAnd what, then, is vice?\u201d said he.\n\n\u201cIt is vicious,\u201d said Pan, \u201cto neglect the performance of pleasant\nactions.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf this be so,\u201d the other commented, \u201cphilosophy has up to the\npresent been on the wrong track.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is so,\u201d said Pan. \u201cPhilosophy is an immoral practice because\nit suggests a standard of practice impossible of being followed,\nand which, if it could be followed, would lead to the great sin of\nsterility.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe idea of virtue,\u201d said the Philosopher, with some indignation,\n\u201chas animated the noblest intellects of the world.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt has not animated them,\u201d replied Pan; \u201cit has hypnotised them so\nthat they have conceived virtue as repression and self-sacrifice as\nan honourable thing instead of the suicide which it is.\u201d\n\n\u201cIndeed,\u201d said the Philosopher; \u201cthis is very interesting, and if\nit is true the whole conduct of life will have to be very much\nsimplified.\u201d\n\n\u201cLife is already very simple,\u201d said Pan; \u201cit is to be born and to\ndie, and in the interval to eat and drink, to dance and sing, to\nmarry and beget children.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut it is simply materialism,\u201d cried the Philosopher.\n\n\u201cWhy do you say \u2018but\u2019?\u201d replied Pan.\n\n\u201cIt is sheer, unredeemed animalism,\u201d continued his visitor.\n\n\u201cIt is any name you please to call it,\u201d replied Pan.\n\n\u201cYou have proved nothing,\u201d the Philosopher shouted.\n\n\u201cWhat can be sensed requires no proof.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou leave out the new thing,\u201d said the Philosopher. \u201cYou leave\nout brains. I believe in mind above matter. Thought above emotion.\nSpirit above flesh.\u201d\n\n\u201cOf course you do,\u201d said Pan, and he reached for his oaten pipe.\n\nThe Philosopher ran to the opening of the passage and thrust\nCaitilin aside. \u201cHussy,\u201d said he fiercely to her, and he darted out.\n\nAs he went up the rugged path he could hear the pipes of Pan,\ncalling and sobbing and making high merriment on the air.\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\n\u201cShe does not deserve to be rescued,\u201d said the Philosopher, \u201cbut I\nwill rescue her. Indeed,\u201d he thought a moment later, \u201cshe does not\nwant to be rescued, and, _therefore_, I will rescue her.\u201d\n\nAs he went down the road her shapely figure floated before his\neyes as beautiful and simple as an old statue. He wagged his head\nangrily at the apparition, but it would not go away. He tried\nto concentrate his mind on a deep, philosophical maxim, but her\ndisturbing image came between him and his thought, blotting out the\nlatter so completely that a moment after he had stated his aphorism\nhe could not remember what it had been. Such a condition of mind\nwas so unusual that it bewildered him.\n\n\u201cIs a mind, then, so unstable,\u201d said he, \u201cthat a mere figure, an\nanimated geometrical arrangement can shake it from its foundations?\u201d\n\nThe idea horrified him: he saw civilisation building its temples\nover a volcano....\n\n\u201cA puff,\u201d said he, \u201cand it is gone. Beneath all is chaos and red\nanarchy, over all a devouring and insistent appetite. Our eyes tell\nus what to think about, and our wisdom is no more than a catalogue\nof sensual stimuli.\u201d\n\nHe would have been in a state of deep dejection were it not that\nthrough his perturbation there bubbled a stream of such amazing\nwell-being as he had not felt since childhood. Years had toppled\nfrom his shoulders. He left one pound of solid matter behind at\nevery stride. His very skin grew flexuous, and he found a pleasure\nin taking long steps such as he could not have accounted for by\nthought. Indeed, thought was the one thing he felt unequal to,\nand it was not precisely that he could not think but that he did\nnot want to. All the importance and authority of his mind seemed\nto have faded away, and the activity which had once belonged to\nthat organ was now transferred to his eyes. He saw, amazedly, the\nsunshine bathing the hills and the valleys. A bird in the hedge\nheld him\u2014beak, head, eyes, legs, and the wings that tapered widely\nat angles to the wind. For the first time in his life he really\nsaw a bird, and one minute after it had flown away he could have\nreproduced its strident note. With every step along the curving\nroad the landscape was changing. He saw and noted it almost in an\necstasy. A sharp hill jutted out into the road, it dissolved into a\nsloping meadow, rolled down into a valley and then climbed easily\nand peacefully into a hill again. On this side a clump of trees\nnodded together in the friendliest fashion. Yonder a solitary tree,\nwell-grown and clean, was contented with its own bright company. A\nbush crouched tightly on the ground as though, at a word, it would\nscamper from its place and chase rabbits across the sward with\nshouts and laughter. Great spaces of sunshine were everywhere, and\neverywhere there were deep wells of shadow; and the one did not\nseem more beautiful than the other. That sunshine! Oh, the glory\nof it, the goodness and bravery of it, how broadly and grandly\nit shone, without stint, without care; he saw its measureless\ngenerosity and gloried in it as though himself had been the flinger\nof that largesse. And was he not? Did the sunlight not stream from\nhis head and life from his finger-tips? Surely the well-being that\nwas in him did bubble out to an activity beyond the universe.\nThought! Oh! the petty thing! but motion! emotion! these were the\nrealities. To feel, to do, to stride forward in elation chanting a\npaean of triumphant life!\n\nAfter a time he felt hungry, and thrusting his hand into his wallet\nhe broke off a piece of one of his cakes and looked about for a\nplace where he might happily eat it. By the side of the road there\nwas a well; just a little corner filled with water. Over it was a\nrough stone coping, and around, hugging it on three sides almost\nfrom sight, were thick, quiet bushes. He would not have noticed the\nwell at all but for a thin stream, the breadth of two hands, which\ntiptoed away from it through a field. By this well he sat down and\nscooped the water in his hand and it tasted good.\n\nHe was eating his cake when a sound touched his ear from some\ndistance, and shortly a woman came down the path carrying a vessel\nin her hand to draw water.\n\nShe was a big, comely woman, and she walked as one who had no\nmisfortunes and no misgivings. When she saw the Philosopher sitting\nby the well she halted a moment in surprise and then came forward\nwith a good-humoured smile.\n\n\u201cGood morrow to you, sir,\u201d said she.\n\n\u201cGood morrow to you too, ma\u2019am,\u201d replied the Philosopher. \u201cSit down\nbeside me here and eat some of my cake.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy wouldn\u2019t I, indeed,\u201d said the woman, and she did sit beside\nhim.\n\nThe Philosopher cracked a large piece off his cake and gave it to\nher and she ate some.\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s a taste on that cake,\u201d said she. \u201cWho made it?\u201d\n\n\u201cMy wife did,\u201d he replied.\n\n\u201cWell, now!\u201d said she, looking at him. \u201cDo you know, you don\u2019t look\na bit like a married man.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo?\u201d said the Philosopher.\n\n\u201cNot a bit. A married man looks comfortable and settled: he looks\nfinished, if you understand me, and a bachelor looks unsettled and\nfunny, and he always wants to be running round seeing things. I\u2019d\nknow a married man from a bachelor any day.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow would you know that?\u201d said the Philosopher.\n\n\u201cEasily,\u201d said she, with a nod. \u201cIt\u2019s the way they look at a woman.\nA married man looks at you quietly as if he knew all about you.\nThere isn\u2019t any strangeness about him with a woman at all; but a\nbachelor man looks at you very sharp and looks away and then looks\nback again, the way you\u2019d know he was thinking about you and didn\u2019t\nknow what you were thinking about him; and so they are always\nstrange, and that\u2019s why women like them.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy!\u201d said the Philosopher, astonished, \u201cdo women like bachelors\nbetter than married men?\u201d\n\n\u201cOf course they do,\u201d she replied heartily. \u201cThey wouldn\u2019t look at\nthe side of the road a married man was on if there was a bachelor\nman on the other side.\u201d\n\n\u201cThis,\u201d said the Philosopher earnestly, \u201cis very interesting.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd the queer thing is,\u201d she continued, \u201cthat when I came up the\nroad and saw you I said to myself \u2018it\u2019s a bachelor man.\u2019 How long\nhave you been married, now?\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d said the Philosopher. \u201cMaybe it\u2019s ten years.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd how many children would you have, mister?\u201d\n\n\u201cTwo,\u201d he replied, and then corrected himself, \u201cNo, I have only\none.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs the other one dead?\u201d\n\n\u201cI never had more than one.\u201d\n\n\u201cTen years married and only one child,\u201d said she. \u201cWhy, man dear,\nyou\u2019re not a married man. What were you doing at all, at all! I\nwouldn\u2019t like to be telling you the children I have living and\ndead. But what I say is that married or not you\u2019re a bachelor man.\nI knew it the minute I looked at you. What sort of a woman is\nherself?\u201d\n\n\u201cShe\u2019s a thin sort of woman,\u201d cried the Philosopher, biting into\nhis cake.\n\n\u201cIs she now?\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd,\u201d the Philosopher continued, \u201cthe reason I talked to you is\nbecause you are a fat woman.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am not fat,\u201d was her angry response.\n\n\u201cYou are fat,\u201d insisted the Philosopher, \u201cand that\u2019s the reason I\nlike you.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, if you mean it that way . . .\u201d she chuckled.\n\n\u201cI think,\u201d he continued, looking at her admiringly, \u201cthat women\nought to be fat.\u201d\n\n\u201cTell you the truth,\u201d said she eagerly, \u201cI think that myself. I\nnever met a thin woman but she was a sour one, and I never met a\nfat man but he was a fool. Fat women and thin men; it\u2019s nature,\u201d\nsaid she.\n\n\u201cIt is,\u201d said he, and he leaned forward and kissed her eye.\n\n\u201cOh, you villain!\u201d said the woman, putting out her hands against\nhim.\n\nThe Philosopher drew back abashed. \u201cForgive me,\u201d he began, \u201cif I\nhave alarmed your virtue\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s the married man\u2019s word,\u201d said she, rising hastily: \u201cnow I\nknow you; but there\u2019s a lot of the bachelor in you all the same,\nGod help you! I\u2019m going home.\u201d And, so saying, she dipped her\nvessel in the well and turned away.\n\n\u201cMaybe,\u201d said the Philosopher, \u201cI ought to wait until your husband\ncomes home and ask his forgiveness for the wrong I\u2019ve done him.\u201d\n\nThe woman turned round on him and each of her eyes was as big as a\nplate.\n\n\u201cWhat do you say?\u201d said she. \u201cFollow me if you dare and I\u2019ll set\nthe dog on you; I will so,\u201d and she strode viciously homewards.\n\nAfter a moment\u2019s hesitation the Philosopher took his own path\nacross the hill.\n\nThe day was now well advanced, and as he trudged forward the happy\nquietude of his surroundings stole into his heart again and so\ntoned down his recollection of the fat woman that in a little time\nshe was no more than a pleasant and curious memory. His mind was\nexercised superficially, not in thinking, but in wondering how it\nwas he had come to kiss a strange woman. He said to himself that\nsuch conduct was not right; but this statement was no more than the\nautomatic working of a mind long exercised in the distinctions of\nright and wrong, for, almost in the same breath, he assured himself\nthat what he had done did not matter in the least. His opinions\nwere undergoing a curious change. Right and wrong were meeting and\nblending together so closely that it became difficult to dissever\nthem, and the obloquy attaching to the one seemed out of proportion\naltogether to its importance, while the other by no means justified\nthe eulogy wherewith it was connected. Was there any immediate or\neven distant, effect on life caused by evil which was not instantly\nswung into equipoise by goodness? But these slender reflections\ntroubled him only for a little time. He had little desire for any\nintrospective quarryings. To feel so well was sufficient in itself.\nWhy should thought be so apparent to us, so insistent? We do not\nknow we have digestive or circulatory organs until these go out of\norder, and then the knowledge torments us. Should not the labours\nof a healthy brain be equally subterranean and equally competent?\nWhy have we to think aloud and travel laboriously from syllogism\nto ergo, chary of our conclusions and distrustful of our premises?\nThought, as we know it, is a disease and no more. The healthy\nmentality should register its convictions and not its labours. Our\nears should not hear the clamour of its doubts nor be forced to\nlisten to the pro and con wherewith we are eternally badgered and\nperplexed.\n\nThe road was winding like a ribbon in and out of the mountains. On\neither side there were hedges and bushes,\u2014little, stiff trees which\nheld their foliage in their hands and dared the winds snatch a leaf\nfrom that grip. The hills were swelling and sinking, folding and\nsoaring on every view. Now the silence was startled by the falling\ntinkle of a stream. Far away a cow lowed, a long, deep monotone, or\na goat\u2019s call trembled from nowhere to nowhere. But mostly there\nwas a silence which buzzed with a multitude of small winged life.\nGoing up the hills the Philosopher bent forward to the gradient,\nstamping vigorously as he trod, almost snorting like a bull in the\npride of successful energy. Coming down the slope he braced back\nand let his legs loose to do as they pleased. Didn\u2019t they know\ntheir business\u2014Good luck to them, and away!\n\nAs he walked along he saw an old woman hobbling in front of him.\nShe was leaning on a stick and her hand was red and swollen with\nrheumatism. She hobbled by reason of the fact that there were\nstones in her shapeless boots. She was draped in the sorriest\nmiscellaneous rags that could be imagined, and these were knotted\ntogether so intricately that her clothing, having once been\nattached to her body, could never again be detached from it. As she\nwalked she was mumbling and grumbling to herself, so that her mouth\nmoved round and round in an india-rubber fashion.\n\nThe Philosopher soon caught up on her.\n\n\u201cGood morrow, ma\u2019am,\u201d said he.\n\nBut she did not hear him: she seemed to be listening to the pain\nwhich the stones in her boots gave her.\n\n\u201cGood morrow, ma\u2019am,\u201d said the Philosopher again.\n\nThis time she heard him and replied, turning her old, bleared eyes\nslowly in his direction\u2014\n\n\u201cGood morrow to yourself, sir,\u201d said she, and the Philosopher\nthought her old face was a very kindly one.\n\n\u201cWhat is it that is wrong with you, ma\u2019am?\u201d said he.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s my boots, sir,\u201d she replied. \u201cFull of stones they are, the\nway I can hardly walk at all, God help me!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy don\u2019t you shake them out?\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, sure, I couldn\u2019t be bothered, sir, for there are so many holes\nin the boots that more would get in before I could take two steps,\nand an old woman can\u2019t be always fidgeting, God help her!\u201d\n\nThere was a little house on one side of the road, and when the old\nwoman saw this place she brightened up a little.\n\n\u201cDo you know who lives in that house?\u201d said the Philosopher.\n\n\u201cI do not,\u201d she replied, \u201cbut it\u2019s a real nice house with clean\nwindows and a shiny knocker on the door, and smoke in the chimney\u2014I\nwonder would herself give me a cup of tea now if I asked her\u2014A poor\nold woman walking the roads on a stick! and maybe a bit of meat, or\nan egg perhaps....\u201d\n\n\u201cYou could ask,\u201d suggested the Philosopher gently.\n\n\u201cMaybe I will, too,\u201d said she, and she sat down by the road just\noutside the house and the Philosopher also sat down.\n\nA little puppy dog came from behind the house and approached them\ncautiously. Its intentions were friendly but it had already found\nthat amicable advances are sometimes indifferently received, for,\nas it drew near, it wagged its dubious tail and rolled humbly on\nthe ground. But very soon the dog discovered that here there was no\nevil, for it trotted over to the old woman, and without any more\npreparation jumped into her lap.\n\nThe old woman grinned at the dog \u201cAh, you thing you!\u201d said she,\nand she gave it her finger to bite. The delighted puppy chewed her\nbony finger, and then instituted a mimic warfare against a piece of\nrag that fluttered from her breast, barking and growling in joyous\nexcitement, while the old woman fondled and hugged it.\n\nThe door of the house opposite opened quickly, and a woman with a\nfrost-bitten face came out.\n\n\u201cLeave that dog down,\u201d said she.\n\nThe old woman grinned humbly at her.\n\n\u201cSure, ma\u2019am, I wouldn\u2019t hurt the little dog, the thing!\u201d\n\n\u201cPut down that dog,\u201d said the woman, \u201cand go about your business\u2014the\nlikes of you ought to be arrested.\u201d\n\nA man in shirt sleeves appeared behind her, and at him the old\nwoman grinned even more humbly.\n\n\u201cLet me sit here for a while and play with the little dog, sir,\u201d\nsaid she; \u201csure the roads do be lonesome\u2014\u201d\n\nThe man stalked close and grabbed the dog by the scruff of the\nneck. It hung between his finger and thumb with its tail tucked\nbetween its legs and its eyes screwed round on one side in\namazement.\n\n\u201cBe off with you out of that, you old strap!\u201d said the man in a\nterrible voice.\n\nSo the old woman rose painfully to her feet again, and as she went\nhobbling along the dusty road she began to cry.\n\nThe Philosopher also arose; he was very indignant but did not\nknow what to do. A singular lassitude also prevented him from\ninterfering. As they paced along his companion began mumbling,\nmore to herself than to him \u201cAh, God be with me,\u201d said she, \u201can\nold woman on a stick, that hasn\u2019t a place in the wide world to go\nto or a neighbour itself.... I wish I could get a cup of tea, so I\ndo. I wish to God I could get a cup of tea.... Me sitting down in\nmy own little house, with the white tablecloth on the table, and\nthe butter in the dish, and the strong, red tea in the tea-cup;\nand me pouring cream into it, and, maybe, telling the children\nnot to be wasting the sugar, the things! and himself saying he\u2019d\ngot to mow the big field to-day, or that the red cow was going to\ncalve, the poor thing, and that if the boys went to school, who was\ngoing to weed the turnips\u2014and me sitting drinking my strong cup of\ntea, and telling him where that old trapesing hen was laying....\nAh, God be with me! an old creature hobbling along the roads on\na stick. I wish I was a young girl again, so I do, and himself\ncoming courting me, and him saying that I was a real nice little\ngirl surely, and that nothing would make him happy or easy at all\nbut me to be loving him.\u2014Ah, the kind man that he was, to be sure,\nthe kind, decent man.... And Sorca Reilly to be trying to get\nhim from me, and Kate Finnegan with her bold eyes looking after\nhim in the Chapel; and him to be saying that along with me they\nwere only a pair of old nanny goats.... And then me to be getting\nmarried and going home to my own little house with my man\u2014ah, God\nbe with me! and him kissing me, and laughing, and frightening me\nwith his goings-on. Ah, the kind man, with his soft eyes, and his\nnice voice, and his jokes and laughing, and him thinking the world\nand all of me\u2014ay, indeed.... And the neighbours to be coming in\nand sitting round the fire in the night time, putting the world\nthrough each other, and talking about France and Russia and them\nother queer places, and him holding up the discourse like a learned\nman, and them all listening to him and nodding their heads at each\nother, and wondering at his education and all: or, maybe, the\nneighbours to be singing, or him making me sing the Coulin, and him\nto be proud of me . . . and then him to be killed on me with a cold\non his chest.... Ah, then, God be with me, a lone, old creature on\na stick, and the sun shining into her eyes and she thirsty\u2014I wish\nI had a cup of tea, so I do. I wish to God I had a cup of tea and\na bit of meat . . . or, maybe, an egg. A nice fresh egg laid by\nthe speckeldy hen that used to be giving me all the trouble, the\nthing!... Sixteen hens I had, and they were the ones for laying,\nsurely.... It\u2019s the queer world, so it is, the queer world\u2014and the\nthings that do happen for no reason at all.... Ah, God be with me!\nI wish there weren\u2019t stones in my boots, so I do, and I wish to\nGod I had a cup of tea and a fresh egg. Ah, glory be, my old legs\nare getting tireder every day, so they are. Wisha, one time\u2014when\nhimself was in it\u2014I could go about the house all day long, cleaning\nthe place, and feeding the pigs, and the hens and all, and then\ndance half the night, so I could: and himself proud of me....\u201d\n\nThe old woman turned up a little rambling road and went on still\ntalking to herself, and the Philosopher watched her go up that\nroad for a long time. He was very glad she had gone away, and as\nhe tramped forward he banished her sad image so that in a little\ntime he was happy again. The sun was still shining, the birds were\nflying on every side, and the wide hillside above him smiled gaily.\n\nA small, narrow road cut at right angles into his path, and as he\napproached this he heard the bustle and movement of a host, the\ntrample of feet, the rolling and creaking of wheels, and the long\nunwearied drone of voices. In a few minutes he came abreast of this\nsmall road, and saw an ass and cart piled with pots and pans, and\nwalking beside this there were two men and a woman. The men and the\nwoman were talking together loudly, even fiercely, and the ass was\ndrawing his cart along the road without requiring assistance or\ndirection. While there was a road he walked on it: when he might\ncome to a cross road he would turn to the right: when a man said\n\u201cwhoh\u201d he would stop: when he said \u201chike\u201d he would go backwards,\nand when he said \u201cyep\u201d he would go on again. That was life, and if\none questioned it, one was hit with a stick, or a boot, or a lump\nof rock: if one continued walking nothing happened, and that was\nhappiness.\n\nThe Philosopher saluted this cavalcade.\n\n\u201cGod be with you,\u201d said he.\n\n\u201cGod and Mary be with you,\u201d said the first man.\n\n\u201cGod, and Mary, and Patrick be with you,\u201d said the second man.\n\n\u201cGod, and Mary, and Patrick, and Brigid be with you,\u201d said the\nwoman.\n\nThe ass, however, did not say a thing. As the word \u201cwhoh\u201d had not\nentered into the conversation he knew it was none of his business,\nand so he turned to the right on the new path and continued his\njourney.\n\n\u201cWhere are you going to, stranger,\u201d said the first man.\n\n\u201cI am going to visit Angus \u00d3g,\u201d replied the Philosopher.\n\nThe man gave him a quick look.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said he, \u201cthat\u2019s the queerest story I ever heard. Listen\nhere,\u201d he called to the others, \u201cthis man is looking for Angus \u00d3g.\u201d\n\nThe other man and woman came closer.\n\n\u201cWhat would you be wanting with Angus \u00d3g, Mister Honey?\u201d said the\nwoman.\n\n\u201cOh,\u201d replied the Philosopher, \u201cit\u2019s a particular thing, a family\nmatter.\u201d\n\nThere was silence for a few minutes, and they all stepped onwards\nbehind the ass and cart.\n\n\u201cHow do you know where to look for himself?\u201d said the first man\nagain: \u201cmaybe you got the place where he lives written down in an\nold book or on a carved stone?\u201d\n\n\u201cOr did you find the staff of Amergin or of Ossian in a bog and it\nwritten from the top to the bottom with signs?\u201d said the second man.\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d said the Philosopher, \u201cit isn\u2019t that way you\u2019d go visiting a\ngod. What you do is, you go out from your house and walk straight\naway in any direction with your shadow behind you so long as it\nis towards a mountain, for the gods will not stay in a valley\nor a level plain, but only in high places; and then, if the god\nwants you to see him, you will go to his rath as direct as if you\nknew where it was, for he will be leading you with an airy thread\nreaching from his own place to wherever you are, and if he doesn\u2019t\nwant to see you, you will never find out where he is, not if you\nwere to walk for a year or twenty years.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow do you know he wants to see you?\u201d said the second man.\n\n\u201cWhy wouldn\u2019t he want?\u201d said the Philosopher.\n\n\u201cMaybe, Mister Honey,\u201d said the woman, \u201cyou are a holy sort of a\nman that a god would like well.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy would I be that?\u201d said the Philosopher. \u201cThe gods like a man\nwhether he\u2019s holy or not if he\u2019s only decent.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, well, there\u2019s plenty of that sort,\u201d said the first man. \u201cWhat\ndo you happen to have in your bag, stranger?\u201d\n\n\u201cNothing,\u201d replied the Philosopher, \u201cbut a cake and a half that was\nbaked for my journey.\u201d\n\n\u201cGive me a bit of your cake, Mister Honey,\u201d said the woman. \u201cI like\nto have a taste of everybody\u2019s cake.\u201d\n\n\u201cI will, and welcome,\u201d said the Philosopher.\n\n\u201cYou may as well give us all a bit while you are about it,\u201d said\nthe second man. \u201cThat woman hasn\u2019t got all the hunger of the world.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy not,\u201d said the Philosopher, and he divided the cake.\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s a sup of water up yonder,\u201d said the first man, \u201cand it\nwill do to moisten the cake\u2014Whoh, you devil,\u201d he roared at the ass,\nand the ass stood stock still on the minute.\n\nThere was a thin fringe of grass along the road near a wall, and\ntowards this the ass began to edge very gently.\n\n\u201cHike, you beast, you,\u201d shouted the man, and the ass at once hiked,\nbut he did it in a way that brought him close to the grass. The\nfirst man took a tin can out of the cart and climbed over the\nlittle wall for water. Before he went he gave the ass three kicks\non the nose, but the ass did not say a word, he only hiked still\nmore which brought him directly on to the grass, and when the man\nclimbed over the wall the ass commenced to crop the grass. There\nwas a spider sitting on a hot stone in the grass. He had a small\nbody and wide legs, and he wasn\u2019t doing anything.\n\n\u201cDoes anybody ever kick you in the nose?\u201d said the ass to him.\n\n\u201cAy does there,\u201d said the spider; \u201cyou and your like that are\nalways walking on me, or lying down on me, or running over me with\nthe wheels of a cart.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, why don\u2019t you stay on the wall?\u201d said the ass.\n\n\u201cSure, my wife is there,\u201d replied the spider.\n\n\u201cWhat\u2019s the harm in that?\u201d said the ass.\n\n\u201cShe\u2019d eat me,\u201d said the spider, \u201cand, anyhow, the competition on\nthe wall is dreadful, and the flies are getting wiser and timider\nevery season. Have you got a wife yourself, now?\u201d\n\n\u201cI have not,\u201d said the ass; \u201cI wish I had.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou like your wife for the first while,\u201d said the spider, \u201cand\nafter that you hate her.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf I had the first while I\u2019d chance the second while,\u201d replied the\nass.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s bachelor\u2019s talk,\u201d said the spider; \u201call the same, we can\u2019t\nkeep away from them,\u201d and so saying he began to move all his legs\nat once in the direction of the wall. \u201cYou can only die once,\u201d said\nhe.\n\n\u201cIf your wife was an ass she wouldn\u2019t eat you,\u201d said the ass.\n\n\u201cShe\u2019d be doing something else then,\u201d replied the spider, and he\nclimbed up the wall.\n\nThe first man came back with the can of water and they sat down on\nthe grass and ate the cake and drank the water. All the time the\nwoman kept her eyes fixed on the Philosopher.\n\n\u201cMister Honey,\u201d said she, \u201cI think you met us just at the right\nmoment.\u201d\n\nThe other two men sat upright and looked at each other and then\nwith equal intentness they looked at the woman.\n\n\u201cWhy do you say that?\u201d said the Philosopher.\n\n\u201cWe were having a great argument along the road, and if we were to\nbe talking from now to the day of doom that argument would never be\nfinished.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt must have been a great argument. Was it about predestination or\nwhere consciousness comes from?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt was not; it was which of these two men was to marry me.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s not a great argument,\u201d said the Philosopher.\n\n\u201cIsn\u2019t it,\u201d said the woman. \u201cFor seven days and six nights we\ndidn\u2019t talk about anything else, and that\u2019s a great argument or I\u2019d\nlike to know what is.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut where is the trouble, ma\u2019am?\u201d said the Philosopher.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s this,\u201d she replied, \u201cthat I can\u2019t make up my mind which of\nthe men I\u2019ll take, for I like one as well as the other and better,\nand I\u2019d as soon have one as the other and rather.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s a hard case,\u201d said the Philosopher.\n\n\u201cIt is,\u201d said the woman, \u201cand I\u2019m sick and sorry with the trouble\nof it.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd why did you say that I had come up in a good minute?\u201d\n\n\u201cBecause, Mister Honey, when a woman has two men to choose from she\ndoesn\u2019t know what to do, for two men always become like brothers\nso that you wouldn\u2019t know which of them was which: there isn\u2019t any\nmore difference between two men than there is between a couple\nof hares. But when there\u2019s three men to choose from, there\u2019s no\ntrouble at all; and so I say that it\u2019s yourself I\u2019ll marry this\nnight and no one else\u2014and let you two men be sitting quiet in your\nplaces, for I\u2019m telling you what I\u2019ll do and that\u2019s the end of it.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll give you my word,\u201d said the first man, \u201cthat I\u2019m just as glad\nas you are to have it over and done with.\u201d\n\n\u201cMoidered I was,\u201d said the second man, \u201cwith the whole argument,\nand the this and that of it, and you not able to say a word\nbut\u2014maybe I will and maybe I won\u2019t, and this is true and that is\ntrue, and why not to me and why not to him\u2014I\u2019ll get a sleep this\nnight.\u201d\n\nThe Philosopher was perplexed.\n\n\u201cYou cannot marry me, ma\u2019am,\u201d said he, \u201cbecause I\u2019m married\nalready.\u201d\n\nThe woman turned round on him angrily.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t be making any argument with me now,\u201d said she, \u201cfor I won\u2019t\nstand it.\u201d\n\nThe first man looked fiercely at the Philosopher, and then motioned\nto his companion.\n\n\u201cGive that man a clout in the jaw,\u201d said he.\n\nThe second man was preparing to do this when the woman intervened\nangrily.\n\n\u201cKeep your hands to yourself,\u201d said she, \u201cor it\u2019ll be the worse for\nyou. I\u2019m well able to take care of my own husband,\u201d and she drew\nnearer and sat between the Philosopher and the men.\n\n[Illustration: At that moment the Philosopher\u2019s cake lost all its\nsavour]\n\nAt that moment the Philosopher\u2019s cake lost all its savour, and he\npacked the remnant into his wallet. They all sat silently looking\nat their feet and thinking each one according to his nature. The\nPhilosopher\u2019s mind, which for the past day had been in eclipse,\nstirred faintly to meet these new circumstances, but without much\nresult. There was a flutter at his heart which was terrifying,\nbut not unpleasant. Quickening through his apprehension was an\nexpectancy which stirred his pulses into speed. So rapidly did his\nblood flow, so quickly were an hundred impressions visualized and\nrecorded, so violent was the surface movement of his brain that he\ndid not realize he was unable to think and that he was only seeing\nand feeling.\n\nThe first man stood up.\n\n\u201cThe night will be coming on soon,\u201d said he, \u201cand we had better\nbe walking on if we want to get a good place to sleep. Yep, you\ndevil,\u201d he roared at the ass, and the ass began to move almost\nbefore he lifted his head from the grass. The two men walked one on\neither side of the cart, and the woman and the Philosopher walked\nbehind at the tail-board.\n\n\u201cIf you were feeling tired, or anything like that, Mister Honey,\u201d\nsaid the woman, \u201cyou could climb up into the little cart, and\nnobody would say a word to you, for I can see that you are not used\nto travelling.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am not indeed, ma\u2019am,\u201d he replied; \u201cthis is the first time I\never came on a journey, and if it wasn\u2019t for Angus \u00d3g I wouldn\u2019t\nput a foot out of my own place for ever.\u201d\n\n\u201cPut Angus \u00d3g out of your head, my dear,\u201d she replied, \u201cfor what\nwould the likes of you and me be saying to a god. He might put a\ncurse on us would sink us into the ground or burn us up like a grip\nof straw. Be contented now, I\u2019m saying, for if there is a woman in\nthe world who knows all things I am that woman myself, and if you\ntell your trouble to me I\u2019ll tell you the thing to do just as good\nas Angus himself, and better perhaps.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is very interesting,\u201d said the Philosopher. \u201cWhat kind of\nthings do you know best?\u201d\n\n\u201cIf you were to ask one of them two men walking beside the ass\nthey\u2019d tell you plenty of things they saw me do when they could\ndo nothing themselves. When there wasn\u2019t a road to take anywhere\nI showed them a road, and when there wasn\u2019t a bit of food in the\nworld I gave them food, and when they were bet to the last I put\nshillings in their hands, and that\u2019s the reason they wanted to\nmarry me.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you call that kind of thing wisdom?\u201d said the Philosopher.\n\n\u201cWhy wouldn\u2019t I?\u201d said she. \u201cIsn\u2019t it wisdom to go through the\nworld without fear and not to be hungry in a hungry hour?\u201d\n\n\u201cI suppose it is,\u201d he replied, \u201cbut I never thought of it that way\nmyself.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what would you call wisdom?\u201d\n\n\u201cI couldn\u2019t rightly say now,\u201d he replied, \u201cbut I think it was not\nto mind about the world, and not to care whether you were hungry or\nnot, and not to live in the world at all but only in your own head,\nfor the world is a tyrannous place. You have to raise yourself\nabove things instead of letting things raise themselves above you.\nWe must not be slaves to each other, and we must not be slaves to\nour necessities either. That is the problem of existence. There\nis no dignity in life at all if hunger can shout \u2018stop\u2019 at every\nturn of the road and the day\u2019s journey is measured by the distance\nbetween one sleep and the next sleep. Life is all slavery, and\nNature is driving us with the whips of appetite and weariness; but\nwhen a slave rebels he ceases to be a slave, and when we are too\nhungry to live we can die and have our laugh. I believe that Nature\nis just as alive as we are, and that she is as much frightened of\nus as we are of her, and, mind you this, mankind has declared war\nagainst Nature and we will win. She does not understand yet that\nher geologic periods won\u2019t do any longer, and that while she is\npattering along the line of least resistance we are going to travel\nfast and far until we find her, and then, being a female, she is\nbound to give in when she is challenged.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s good talk,\u201d said the woman, \u201cbut it\u2019s foolishness. Women\nnever give in unless they get what they want, and where\u2019s the harm\nto them then? You have to live in the world, my dear, whether you\nlike it or not, and, believe me now, that there isn\u2019t any wisdom\nbut to keep clear of the hunger, for if that gets near enough it\nwill make a hare of you. Sure, listen to reason now like a good\nman. What is Nature at all but a word that learned men have made\nto talk about. There\u2019s clay and gods and men, and they are good\nfriends enough.\u201d\n\nThe sun had long since gone down, and the grey evening was bowing\nover the land, hiding the mountain peaks, and putting a shadow\nround the scattered bushes and the wide clumps of heather.\n\n\u201cI know a place up here where we can stop for the night,\u201d said she,\n\u201cand there\u2019s a little shebeen round the bend of the road where we\ncan get anything we want.\u201d\n\nAt the word \u201cwhoh\u201d the ass stopped and one of the men took the\nharness off him. When he was unyoked the man gave him two kicks:\n\u201cBe off with you, you devil, and see if you can get anything to\neat,\u201d he roared. The ass trotted a few paces off and searched about\nuntil he found some grass. He ate this, and when he had eaten as\nmuch as he wanted he returned and lay down under a wall. He lay for\na long time looking in the one direction, and at last he put his\nhead down and went to sleep. While he was sleeping he kept one ear\nup and the other ear down for about twenty minutes, and then he put\nthe first ear down and the other one up, and he kept on doing this\nall the night. If he had anything to lose you wouldn\u2019t mind him\nsetting up sentries, but he hadn\u2019t a thing in the world except his\nskin and his bones, and no one would be bothered stealing them.\n\nOne of the men took a long bottle out of the cart and walked up\nthe road with it. The other man lifted out a tin bucket which was\npunched all over with jagged holes. Then he took out some sods of\nturf and lumps of wood and he put these in the bucket, and in a few\nminutes he had a very nice fire lit. A pot of water was put on to\nboil, and the woman cut up a great lump of bacon which she put into\nthe pot. She had eight eggs in a place in the cart, and a flat loaf\nof bread, and some cold boiled potatoes, and she spread her apron\non the ground and arranged these things on it.\n\nThe other man came down the road again with his big bottle filled\nwith porter, and he put this in a safe place. Then they emptied\neverything out of the cart and hoisted it over the little wall.\nThey turned the cart on one side and pulled it near to the fire,\nand they all sat inside the cart and ate their supper. When supper\nwas done they lit their pipes, and the woman lit a pipe also. The\nbottle of porter was brought forward, and they took drinks in turn\nout of the bottle, and smoked their pipes, and talked.\n\nThere was no moon that night, and no stars, so that just beyond the\nfire there was a thick darkness which one would not like to look\nat, it was so cold and empty. While talking they all kept their\neyes fixed on the red fire, or watched the smoke from their pipes\ndrifting and curling away against the blackness, and disappearing\nas suddenly as lightning.\n\n\u201cI wonder,\u201d said the first man, \u201cwhat it was gave you the idea\nof marrying this man instead of myself or my comrade, for we are\nyoung, hardy men, and he is getting old, God help him!\u201d\n\n\u201cAye, indeed,\u201d said the second man; \u201che\u2019s as grey as a badger, and\nthere\u2019s no flesh on his bones.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou have a right to ask that,\u201d said she, \u201cand I\u2019ll tell you why I\ndidn\u2019t marry either of you. You are only a pair of tinkers going\nfrom one place to another, and not knowing anything at all of fine\nthings; but himself was walking along the road looking for strange,\nhigh adventures, and it\u2019s a man like that a woman would be wishing\nto marry if he was twice as old as he is. When did either of you go\nout in the daylight looking for a god and you not caring what might\nhappen to you or where you went?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat I\u2019m thinking,\u201d said the second man, \u201cis that if you leave the\ngods alone they\u2019ll leave you alone. It\u2019s no trouble to them to do\nwhatever is right themselves, and what call would men like us have\nto go mixing or meddling with their high affairs?\u201d\n\n\u201cI thought all along that you were a timid man,\u201d said she, \u201cand\nnow I know it.\u201d She turned again to the Philosopher\u2014\u201cTake off your\nboots, Mister Honey, the way you\u2019ll rest easy, and I\u2019ll be making\ndown a soft bed for you in the cart.\u201d\n\nIn order to take off his boots the Philosopher had to stand up, for\nin the cart they were too cramped for freedom. He moved backwards\na space from the fire and took off his boots. He could see the\nwoman stretching sacks and clothes inside the cart, and the two men\nsmoking quietly and handing the big bottle from one to the other.\nThen in his stockinged feet he stepped a little farther from the\nfire, and, after another look, he turned and walked quietly away\ninto the blackness. In a few minutes he heard a shout from behind\nhim, and then a number of shouts and then these died away into a\nplaintive murmur of voices, and next he was alone in the greatest\ndarkness he had ever known.\n\nHe put on his boots and walked onwards. He had no idea where the\nroad lay, and every moment he stumbled into a patch of heather or\nprickly furze. The ground was very uneven with unexpected mounds\nand deep hollows: here and there were water-soaked, soggy places,\nand into these cold ruins he sank ankle deep. There was no longer\nan earth or a sky, but only a black void and a thin wind and a\nfierce silence which seemed to listen to him as he went. Out of\nthat silence a thundering laugh might boom at an instant and stop\nagain while he stood appalled in the blind vacancy.\n\nThe hill began to grow more steep and rocks were lying everywhere\nin his path. He could not see an inch in front, and so he went with\nhis hands out-stretched like a blind man who stumbles painfully\nalong. After a time he was nearly worn out with cold and weariness,\nbut he dared not sit down anywhere; the darkness was so intense\nthat it frightened him, and the overwhelming, crafty silence\nfrightened him also.\n\nAt last, and at a great distance, he saw a flickering, waving\nlight, and he went towards this through drifts of heather, and over\npiled rocks and sodden bogland. When he came to the light he saw it\nwas a torch of thick branches, the flame whereof blew hither and\nthither on the wind. The torch was fastened against a great cliff\nof granite by an iron band. At one side there was a dark opening\nin the rock, so he said: \u201cI will go in there and sleep until the\nmorning comes,\u201d and he went in. At a very short distance the cleft\nturned again to the right, and here there was another torch fixed.\nWhen he turned this corner he stood for an instant in speechless\nastonishment, and then he covered his face and bowed down upon the\nground.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK III. THE TWO GODS\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nCaitilin Ni Murrachu was sitting alone in the little cave behind\nGort na Cloca Mora. Her companion had gone out as was his custom\nto walk in the sunny morning and to sound his pipe in desolate,\ngreen spaces whence, perhaps, the wanderer of his desire might hear\nthe guiding sweetness. As she sat she was thinking. The last few\ndays had awakened her body, and had also awakened her mind, for\nwith the one awakening comes the other. The despondency which had\ntouched her previously when tending her father\u2019s cattle came to her\nagain, but recognizably now. She knew the thing which the wind had\nwhispered in the sloping field and for which she had no name\u2014it was\nHappiness. Faintly she shadowed it forth, but yet she could not see\nit. It was only a pearl-pale wraith, almost formless, too tenuous\nto be touched by her hands, and too aloof to be spoken to. Pan had\ntold her that he was the giver of happiness, but he had given her\nonly unrest and fever and a longing which could not be satisfied.\nAgain there was a want, and she could not formulate, or even\nrealize it with any closeness. Her new-born Thought had promised\neverything, even as Pan, and it had given\u2014she could not say that\nit had given her nothing or anything. Its limits were too quickly\ndivinable. She had found the Tree of Knowledge, but about on every\nside a great wall soared blackly enclosing her in from the Tree of\nLife\u2014a wall which her thought was unable to surmount even while\ninstinct urged that it must topple before her advance; but instinct\nmay not advance when thought has schooled it in the science of\nunbelief; and this wall will not be conquered until Thought and\nInstinct are wed, and the first son of that bridal will be called\nThe Scaler of the Wall.\n\nSo, after the quiet weariness of ignorance, the unquiet weariness\nof thought had fallen upon her. That travail of mind which, through\ncountless generations, has throed to the birth of an ecstasy, the\nprophecy which humanity has sworn must be fulfilled, seeing through\nwhatever mists and doubtings the vision of a gaiety wherein the\ninnocence of the morning will not any longer be strange to our\nmaturity.\n\n[Illustration: A swift shadow darkened the passage]\n\nWhile she was so thinking Pan returned, a little disheartened\nthat he had found no person to listen to his pipings. He had been\nseated but a little time when suddenly, from without, a chorus of\nbirds burst into joyous singing. Limpid and liquid cadenzas, mellow\nflutings, and the sweet treble of infancy met and danced and piped\nin the airy soundings. A round, soft tenderness of song rose and\nfell, broadened and soared, and then the high flight was snatched,\neddied a moment, and was borne away to a more slender and wonderful\nloftiness, until, from afar, that thrilling song turned on the very\napex of sweetness, dipped steeply and flashed its joyous return\nto the exultations of its mates below, rolling an ecstasy of song\nwhich for one moment gladdened the whole world and the sad people\nwho moved thereon; then the singing ceased as suddenly as it began,\na swift shadow darkened the passage, and Angus \u00d3g came into the\ncave.\n\nCaitilin sprang from her seat Frighted, and Pan also made a half\nmovement towards rising, but instantly sank back again to his\nnegligent, easy posture.\n\nThe god was slender and as swift as a wind. His hair swung about\nhis face like golden blossoms. His eyes were mild and dancing and\nhis lips smiled with quiet sweetness. About his head there flew\nperpetually a ring of singing birds, and when he spoke his voice\ncame sweetly from a centre of sweetness.\n\n\u201cHealth to you, daughter of Murrachu,\u201d said he, and he sat down.\n\n\u201cI do not know you, sir,\u201d the terrified girl whispered.\n\n\u201cI cannot be known until I make myself known,\u201d he replied. \u201cI am\ncalled Infinite Joy, O daughter of Murrachu, and I am called Love.\u201d\n\nThe girl gazed doubtfully from one to the other.\n\nPan looked up from his pipes.\n\n\u201cI also am called Love,\u201d said he gently, \u201cand I am called Joy.\u201d\n\nAngus \u00d3g looked for the first time at Pan.\n\n\u201cSinger of the Vine,\u201d said he, \u201cI know your names-they are Desire\nand Fever and Lust and Death. Why have you come from your own place\nto spy upon my pastures and my quiet fields?\u201d\n\nPan replied mildly.\n\n\u201cThe mortal gods move by the Immortal Will, and, therefore, I am\nhere.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd I am here,\u201d said Angus.\n\n\u201cGive me a sign,\u201d said Pan, \u201cthat I must go.\u201d\n\nAngus \u00d3g lifted his hand and from without there came again the\ntriumphant music of the birds.\n\n\u201cIt is a sign,\u201d said he, \u201cthe voice of Dana speaking in the air,\u201d\nand, saying so, he made obeisance to the great mother.\n\nPan lifted his hand, and from afar there came the lowing of the\ncattle and the thin voices of the goats.\n\n\u201cIt is a sign,\u201d said he, \u201cthe voice of Demeter speaking from the\nearth,\u201d and he also bowed deeply to the mother of the world.\n\nAgain Angus \u00d3g lifted his hand, and in it there appeared a spear,\nbright and very terrible.\n\nBut Pan only said, \u201cCan a spear divine the Eternal Will?\u201d and Angus\n\u00d3g put his weapon aside, and he said: \u201cThe girl will choose between\nus, for the Divine Mood shines in the heart of man.\u201d\n\nThen Caitilin Ni Murrachu came forward and sat between the gods,\nbut Pan stretched out his hand and drew her to him, so that she sat\nresting against his shoulder and his arm was about her body.\n\n\u201cWe will speak the truth to this girl,\u201d said Angus \u00d3g.\n\n\u201cCan the gods speak otherwise?\u201d said Pan, and he laughed with\ndelight.\n\n\u201cIt is the difference between us,\u201d replied Angus \u00d3g. \u201cShe will\njudge.\u201d\n\n\u201cShepherd Girl,\u201d said Pan, pressing her with his arm, \u201cyou will\njudge between us. Do you know what is the greatest thing in the\nworld?\u2014because it is of that you will have to judge.\u201d\n\n\u201cI have heard,\u201d the girl replied, \u201ctwo things called the greatest\nthings. You,\u201d she continued to Pan, \u201csaid it was Hunger, and long\nago my father said that Commonsense was the greatest thing in the\nworld.\u201d\n\n\u201cI have not told you,\u201d said Angus \u00d3g, \u201cwhat I consider is the\ngreatest thing in the world.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is your right to speak,\u201d said Pan.\n\n\u201cThe greatest thing in the world,\u201d said Angus \u00d3g, \u201cis the Divine\nImagination.\u201d\n\n\u201cNow,\u201d said Pan, \u201cwe know all the greatest things and we can talk\nof them.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe daughter of Murrachu,\u201d continued Angus \u00d3g, \u201chas told us what\nyou think and what her father thinks, but she has not told us what\nshe thinks herself. Tell us, Caitilin Ni Murrachu, what you think\nis the greatest thing in the world.\u201d\n\nSo Caitilin Ni Murrachu thought for a few moments and then replied\ntimidly.\n\n\u201cI think that Happiness is the greatest thing in the world,\u201d said\nshe.\n\nHearing this they sat in silence for a little time, and then Angus\n\u00d3g spoke again \u201cThe Divine Imagination may only be known through\nthe thoughts of His creatures. A man has said Commonsense and a\nwoman has said Happiness are the greatest things in the world.\nThese things are male and female, for Commonsense is Thought and\nHappiness is Emotion, and until they embrace in Love the will\nof Immensity cannot be fruitful. For, behold, there has been no\nmarriage of humanity since time began. Men have but coupled with\ntheir own shadows. The desire that sprang from their heads they\npursued, and no man has yet known the love of a woman. And women\nhave mated with the shadows of their own hearts, thinking fondly\nthat the arms of men were about them. I saw my son dancing with\nan Idea, and I said to him, \u2018With what do you dance, my son?\u2019 and\nhe replied, \u2018I make merry with the wife of my affection,\u2019 and\ntruly she was shaped as a woman is shaped, but it was an Idea he\ndanced with and not a woman. And presently he went away to his\nlabours, and then his Idea arose and her humanity came upon her so\nthat she was clothed with beauty and terror, and she went apart\nand danced with the servant of my son, and there was great joy of\nthat dancing\u2014for a person in the wrong place is an Idea and not a\nperson. Man is Thought and woman is Intuition, and they have never\nmated. There is a gulf between them and it is called Fear, and what\nthey fear is, that their strengths shall be taken from them and\nthey may no longer be tyrants. The Eternal has made love blind,\nfor it is not by science, but by intuition alone, that he may come\nto his beloved; but desire, which is science, has many eyes and\nsees so vastly that he passes his love in the press, saying there\nis no love, and he propagates miserably on his own delusions. The\nfinger-tips are guided by God, but the devil looks through the\neyes of all creatures so that they may wander in the errors of\nreason and justify themselves of their wanderings. The desire of a\nman shall be Beauty, but he has fashioned a slave in his mind and\ncalled it Virtue. The desire of a woman shall be Wisdom, but she\nhas formed a beast in her blood and called it Courage: but the real\nvirtue is courage, and the real courage is liberty, and the real\nliberty is wisdom, and Wisdom is the son of Thought and Intuition;\nand his names also are Innocence and Adoration and Happiness.\u201d\n\nWhen Angus \u00d3g had said these words he ceased, and for a time there\nwas silence in the little cave. Caitilin had covered her face with\nher hands and would not look at him, but Pan drew the girl closer\nto his side and peered sideways, laughing at Angus.\n\n\u201cHas the time yet come for the girl to judge between us?\u201d said he.\n\n\u201cDaughter of Murrachu,\u201d said Angus \u00d3g, \u201cwill you come away with me\nfrom this place?\u201d\n\nCaitilin then looked at the god in great distress. \u201cI do not know\nwhat to do,\u201d said she. \u201cWhy do you both want me? I have given\nmyself to Pan, and his arms are about me.\u201d\n\n\u201cI want you,\u201d said Angus \u00d3g, \u201cbecause the world has forgotten me.\nIn all my nation there is no remembrance of me. I, wandering on\nthe hills of my country, am lonely indeed. I am the desolate god\nforbidden to utter my happy laughter. I hide the silver of my\nspeech and the gold of my merriment. I live in the holes of the\nrocks and the dark caves of the sea. I weep in the morning because\nI may not laugh, and in the evening I go abroad and am not happy.\nWhere I have kissed a bird has flown; where I have trod a flower\nhas sprung. But Thought has snared my birds in his nets and sold\nthem in the market-places. Who will deliver me from Thought, from\nthe base holiness of Intellect, the maker of chains and traps? Who\nwill save me from the holy impurity of Emotion, whose daughters are\nEnvy and Jealousy and Hatred, who plucks my flowers to ornament\nher lusts and my little leaves to shrivel on the breasts of\ninfamy? Lo, I am sealed in the caves of nonentity until the head\nand the heart shall come together in fruitfulness, until Thought\nhas wept for Love, and Emotion has purified herself to meet her\nlover. Tir-na-n\u00d3g is the heart of a man and the head of a woman.\nWidely they are separated. Self-centred they stand, and between\nthem the seas of space are flooding desolately. No voice can shout\nacross those shores. No eye can bridge them, nor any desire bring\nthem together until the blind god shall find them on the wavering\nstream\u2014not as an arrow searches straightly from a bow, but gently,\nimperceptibly as a feather on the wind reaches the ground on a\nhundred starts; not with the compass and the chart, but by the\nbreath of the Almighty which blows from all quarters without care\nand without ceasing. Night and day it urges from the outside to\nthe inside. It gathers ever to the centre. From the far without\nto the deep within, trembling from the body to the soul until the\nhead of a woman and the heart of a man are filled with the Divine\nImagination. Hymen, Hymen\u00e6a! I sing to the ears that are stopped,\nthe eyes that are sealed, and the minds that do not labour. Sweetly\nI sing on the hillside. The blind shall look within and not\nwithout; the deaf shall hearken to the murmur of their own veins,\nand be enchanted with the wisdom of sweetness; the thoughtless\nshall think without effort as the lightning flashes, that the hand\nof Innocence may reach to the stars, that the feet of Adoration may\ndance to the Father of Joy, and the laugh of Happiness be answered\nby the Voice of Benediction.\u201d\n\nThus Angus \u00d3g sang in the cave, and ere he had ceased Caitilin Ni\nMurrachu withdrew herself from the arms of her desires. But so\nstrong was the hold of Pan upon her that when she was free her body\nbore the marks of his grip, and many days passed away before these\nmarks faded.\n\nThen Pan arose in silence, taking his double reed in his hand, and\nthe girl wept, beseeching him to stay to be her brother and the\nbrother of her beloved, but Pan smiled and said: \u201cYour beloved is\nmy father and my son. He is yesterday and to-morrow. He is the\nnether and the upper millstone, and I am crushed between until I\nkneel again before the throne from whence I came,\u201d and, saying so,\nhe embraced Angus \u00d3g most tenderly and went his way to the quiet\nfields, and across the slopes of the mountains, and beyond the blue\ndistances of space.\n\nAnd in a little time Caitilin Ni Murrachu went with her companion\nacross the brow of the hill, and she did not go with him because\nshe had understood his words, nor because he was naked and\nunashamed, but only because his need of her was very great, and,\ntherefore, she loved him, and stayed his feet in the way, and was\nconcerned lest he should stumble.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK IV. THE PHILOSOPHER\u2019S RETURN\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nWhich is, the Earth or the creatures that move upon it, the more\nimportant? This is a question prompted solely by intellectual\narrogance, for in life there is no greater and no less. The thing\nthat _is_ has justified its own importance by mere existence, for\nthat is the great and equal achievement. If life were arranged\nfor us from without such a question of supremacy would assume\nimportance, but life is always from within, and is modified or\nextended by our own appetites, aspirations, and central activities.\nFrom without we get pollen and the refreshment of space and\nquietude\u2014it is sufficient. We might ask, is the Earth anything more\nthan an extension of our human consciousness, or are we, moving\ncreatures, only projections of the Earth\u2019s antenn\u00e6? But these\nmatters have no value save as a field wherein Thought, like a wise\nlamb, may frolic merrily. And all would be very well if Thought\nwould but continue to frolic, instead of setting up first as _locum\ntenens_ for Intuition and sticking to the job, and afterwards as\nthe counsel and critic of Omnipotence. Everything has two names,\nand everything is twofold. The name of male Thought as it faces\nthe world is Philosophy, but the name it bears in Tir-na-n\u00d3g is\nDelusion. Female Thought is called Socialism on earth, but in\nEternity it is known as Illusion; and this is so because there has\nbeen no matrimony of minds, but only an hermaphroditic propagation\nof automatic ideas, which in their due rotation assume dominance\nand reign severely. To the world this system of thought, because\nit is consecutive, is known as Logic, but Eternity has written\nit down in the Book of Errors as Mechanism: for life may not be\nconsecutive, but explosive and variable, else it is a shackled and\ntimorous slave.\n\nOne of the great troubles of life is that Reason has taken charge\nof the administration of Justice, and by mere identification it has\nachieved the crown and sceptre of its master. But the imperceptible\nusurpation was recorded, and discriminating minds understand\nthe chasm which still divides the pretender Law from the exiled\nKing. In a like manner, and with feigned humility, the Cold Demon\nadvanced to serve Religion, and by guile and violence usurped\nher throne; but the pure in heart still fly from the spectre\nTheology to dance in ecstasy before the starry and eternal goddess.\nStatecraft, also, that tender Shepherd of the Flocks, has been\ndespoiled of his crook and bell, and wanders in unknown desolation\nwhile, beneath the banner of Politics, Reason sits howling over an\nintellectual chaos.\n\nJustice is the maintaining of equilibrium. The blood of Cain must\ncry, not from the lips of the Avenger, but from the aggrieved Earth\nherself who demands that atonement shall be made for a disturbance\nof her consciousness. All justice is, therefore, readjustment. A\nthwarted consciousness has every right to clamour for assistance,\nbut not for punishment. This latter can only be sought by timorous\nand egotistic Intellect, which sees the Earth from which it has\nemerged and into which it must return again in its own despite,\nand so, being self-centred and envious and a renegade from life,\nReason is more cruelly unjust, and more timorous than any other\nmanifestation of the divinely erratic energy\u2014erratic, because, as\nhas been said, \u201cthe crooked roads are the roads of genius.\u201d Nature\ngrants to all her creatures an unrestricted liberty, quickened by\ncompetitive appetite, to succeed or to fail; save only to Reason,\nher Demon of Order, which can do neither, and whose wings she has\nclipped for some reason with which I am not yet acquainted. It may\nbe that an unrestricted mentality would endanger her own intuitive\nperceptions by shackling all her other organs of perception, or\nannoy her by vexatious efforts at creative rivalry.\n\nIt will, therefore, be understood that when the Leprecauns of Gort\nna Cloca Mora acted in the manner about to be recorded, they were\nnot prompted by any lewd passion for revenge, but were merely\nstriving to reconstruct a rhythm which was their very existence,\nand which must have been of direct importance to the Earth. Revenge\nis the vilest passion known to life. It has made Law possible, and\nby doing so it gave to Intellect the first grip at that universal\ndominion which is its ambition. A Leprecaun is of more value to\nthe Earth than is a Prime Minister or a stockbroker, because a\nLeprecaun dances and makes merry, while a Prime Minister knows\nnothing of these natural virtues\u2014consequently, an injury done to a\nLeprecaun afflicts the Earth with misery, and justice is, for these\nreasons, an imperative and momentous necessity.\n\nA community of Leprecauns without a crock of gold is a blighted\nand merriless community, and they are certainly justified in\nseeking sympathy and assistance for the recovery of so essential\na treasure. But the steps whereby the Leprecauns of Gort na Cloca\nMora sought to regain their property must for ever brand their\nmemory with a certain odium. It should be remembered in their\nfavour that they were cunningly and cruelly encompassed. Not only\nwas their gold stolen, but it was buried in such a position as\nplaced it under the protection of their own communal honour, and\nthe household of their enemy was secured against their active and\nrighteous malice, because the Thin Woman of Inis Magrath belonged\nto the most powerful Shee of Ireland. It is in circumstances such\nas these that dangerous alliances are made, and, for the first time\nin history, the elemental beings invoked bourgeois assistance.\n\nThey were loath to do it, and justice must record the fact. They\nwere angry when they did it, and anger is both mental and intuitive\nblindness. It is not the beneficent blindness which prevents one\nfrom seeing without, but it is that desperate darkness which\ncloaks the within, and hides the heart and the brain from each\nother\u2019s husbandry and wifely recognition. But even those mitigating\ncircumstances cannot justify the course they adopted, and the wider\nidea must be sought for, that out of evil good must ultimately\ncome, or else evil is vitiated beyond even the redemption of usage.\nWhen they were able to realize of what they had been guilty,\nthey were very sorry indeed, and endeavoured to publish their\nrepentance in many ways; but, lacking atonement, repentance is only\na post-mortem virtue which is good for nothing but burial.\n\nWhen the Leprecauns of Gort na Cloca Mora found they were unable\nto regain their crock of gold by any means they laid an anonymous\ninformation at the nearest Police Station showing that two dead\nbodies would be found under the hearthstone in the hut of Coille\nDoraca, and the inference to be drawn from their crafty missive was\nthat these bodies had been murdered by the Philosopher for reasons\nvery discreditable to him.\n\nThe Philosopher had been scarcely more than three hours on his\njourney to Angus \u00d3g when four policemen approached the little\nhouse from as many different directions, and without any trouble\nthey effected an entrance. The Thin Woman of Inis Magrath and the\ntwo children heard from afar their badly muffled advance, and\non discovering the character of their visitors they concealed\nthemselves among the thickly clustering trees. Shortly after the\nmen had entered the hut loud and sustained noises began to issue\ntherefrom, and in about twenty minutes the invaders emerged again\nbearing the bodies of the Grey Woman of Dun Gortin and her husband.\nThey wrenched the door off its hinges, and, placing the bodies\non the door, proceeded at a rapid pace through the trees and\ndisappeared in a short time. When they had departed the Thin Woman\nand the children returned to their home and over the yawning hearth\nthe Thin Woman pronounced a long and fervid malediction wherein\npolicemen were exhibited naked before the blushes of Eternity....\n\nWith your goodwill let us now return to the Philosopher.\n\nFollowing his interview with Angus \u00d3g the Philosopher received the\nblessing of the god and returned on his homeward journey. When\nhe left the cave he had no knowledge where he was nor whether he\nshould turn to the right hand or to the left. This alone was his\nguiding idea, that as he had come up the mountain on his first\njourney his home-going must, by mere opposition, be down the\nmountain, and, accordingly, he set his face downhill and trod\nlustily forward. He had stamped up the hill with vigour, he strode\ndown it in ecstasy. He tossed his voice on every wind that went\nby. From the wells of forgetfulness he regained the shining words\nand gay melodies which his childhood had delighted in, and these\nhe sang loudly and unceasingly as he marched. The sun had not yet\nrisen but, far away, a quiet brightness was creeping over the sky.\nThe daylight, however, was near the full, one slender veil only\nremaining of the shadows, and a calm, unmoving quietude brooded\nfrom the grey sky to the whispering earth. The birds had begun to\nbestir themselves but not to sing. Now and again a solitary wing\nfeathered the chill air; but for the most part the birds huddled\ncloser in the swinging nests, or under the bracken, or in the\ntufty grass. Here a faint twitter was heard and ceased. A little\nfarther a drowsy voice called \u201ccheep-cheep\u201d and turned again to\nthe warmth of its wing. The very grasshoppers were silent. The\ncreatures who range in the night time had returned to their cells\nand were setting their households in order, and those who belonged\nto the day hugged their comfort for but one minute longer. Then the\nfirst level beam stepped like a mild angel to the mountain top. The\nslender radiance brightened and grew strong. The grey veil faded\naway. The birds leaped from their nests. The grasshoppers awakened\nand were busy at a stroke. Voice called to voice without ceasing,\nand, momently, a song thrilled for a few wide seconds. But for\nthe most part it was chatter-chatter they went as they soared and\nplunged and swept, each bird eager for its breakfast.\n\nThe Philosopher thrust his hand into his wallet and found there the\nlast broken remnants of his cake, and the instant his hand touched\nthe food he was seized by a hunger so furious that he sat down\nwhere he stopped and prepared to eat.\n\nThe place where he sat was a raised bank under a hedge, and this\nplace directly fronted a clumsy wooden gate leading into a great\nfield. When the Philosopher had seated himself he raised his eyes\nand saw through the gate a small company approaching. There were\nfour men and three women, and each of them carried a metal pail.\nThe Philosopher with a sigh returned the cake to his wallet, saying:\n\n\u201cAll men are brothers, and it may be that these people are as\nhungry as I am.\u201d\n\nIn a short time the strangers came near. The foremost of them was a\nhuge man who was bearded to the eyelids and who moved like a strong\nwind. He opened the gate by removing a piece of wood wherewith it\nwas jammed, and he and his companions passed through, whereupon he\nclosed the gate and secured it. To this man, as being the eldest,\nthe Philosopher approached.\n\n\u201cI am about to breakfast,\u201d said he, \u201cand if you are hungry perhaps\nyou would like to eat with me.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy not,\u201d said the man, \u201cfor the person who would refuse a kind\ninvitation is a dog. These are my three sons and three of my\ndaughters, and we are all thankful to you.\u201d\n\nSaying this he sat down on the bank and his companions, placing\ntheir pails behind them, did likewise. The Philosopher divided his\ncake into eight pieces and gave one to each person.\n\n\u201cI am sorry it is so little,\u201d said he.\n\n\u201cA gift,\u201d said the bearded man, \u201cis never little,\u201d and he\ncourteously ate his piece in three bites although he could have\neasily eaten it in one, and his children also.\n\n\u201cThat was a good, satisfying cake,\u201d said he when he had finished;\n\u201cit was well baked and well shared, but,\u201d he continued, \u201cI am in a\ndifficulty and maybe you could advise me what to do, sir?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat might be your trouble?\u201d said the Philosopher.\n\n\u201cIt is this,\u201d said the man. \u201cEvery morning when we go out to milk\nthe cows the mother of my clann gives to each of us a parcel of\nfood so that we need not be any hungrier than we like; but now\nwe have had a good breakfast with you, what shall we do with the\nfood that we brought with us? The woman of the house would not be\npleased if we carried it back to her, and if we threw food away it\nwould be a sin. If it was not disrespectful to your breakfast the\nboys and girls here might be able to get rid of it by eating it,\nfor, as you know, young people can always eat a bit more, no matter\nhow much they have already eaten.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt would surely be better to eat it than to waste it,\u201d said the\nPhilosopher wistfully.\n\nThe young people produced large parcels of food from their pockets\nand opened them, and the bearded man said, \u201cI have a little one\nmyself also, and it would not be wasted if you were kind enough to\nhelp me to eat it,\u201d and he pulled out his parcel, which was twice\nas big as any of the others.\n\nHe opened the parcel and handed the larger part of its contents to\nthe Philosopher; he then plunged a tin vessel into one of the milk\npails and set this also by the Philosopher, and, instantly, they\nall began to eat with furious appetite.\n\nWhen the meal was finished the Philosopher filled his tobacco pipe\nand the bearded man and his three sons did likewise.\n\n\u201cSir,\u201d said the bearded man, \u201cI would be glad to know why you are\ntravelling abroad so early in the morning, for, at this hour,\nno one stirs but the sun and the birds and the folk who, like\nourselves, follow the cattle?\u201d\n\n\u201cI will tell you that gladly,\u201d said the Philosopher, \u201cif you will\ntell me your name.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy name,\u201d said the bearded man, \u201cis Mac C\u00fal.\u201d\n\n\u201cLast night,\u201d said the Philosopher, \u201cwhen I came from the house of\nAngus \u00d3g in the Caves of the Sleepers of Erinn I was bidden say to\na man named Mac C\u00fal\u2014that the horses had trampled in their sleep and\nthe sleepers had turned on their sides.\u201d\n\n\u201cSir,\u201d said the bearded man, \u201cyour words thrill in my heart like\nmusic, but my head does not understand them.\u201d\n\n\u201cI have learned,\u201d said the Philosopher, \u201cthat the head does not\nhear anything until the heart has listened, and that what the heart\nknows to-day the head will understand to-morrow.\u201d\n\n\u201cAll the birds of the world are singing in my soul,\u201d said the\nbearded man, \u201cand I bless you because you have filled me with hope\nand pride.\u201d\n\nSo the Philosopher shook him by the hand, and he shook the hands\nof his sons and daughters who bowed before him at the mild command\nof their father, and when he had gone a little way he looked\naround again and he saw that group of people standing where he had\nleft them, and the bearded man was embracing his children on the\nhighroad.\n\nA bend in the path soon shut them from view, and then the\nPhilosopher, fortified by food and the freshness of the morning,\nstrode onwards singing for very joy. It was still early, but now\nthe birds had eaten their breakfasts and were devoting themselves\nto each other. They rested side by side on the branches of\nthe trees and on the hedges, they danced in the air in happy\nbrotherhoods and they sang to one another amiable and pleasant\nditties.\n\n[Illustration: A young woman came along the road and stood gazing\nearnestly at this house]\n\nWhen the Philosopher had walked for a long time he felt a little\nweary and sat down to refresh himself in the shadow of a great\ntree. Hard by there was a house of rugged stone. Long years ago\nit had been a castle, and, even now, though patched by time and\nmisfortune its front was warlike and frowning. While he sat a young\nwoman came along the road and stood gazing earnestly at this house.\nHer hair was as black as night and as smooth as still water, but\nher face came so stormily forward that her quiet attitude had yet\nno quietness in it. To her, after a few moments, the Philosopher\nspoke.\n\n\u201cGirl,\u201d said he, \u201cwhy do you look so earnestly at the house?\u201d\n\nThe girl turned her pale face and stared at him.\n\n\u201cI did not notice you sitting under the tree,\u201d said she, and she\ncame slowly forward.\n\n\u201cSit down by me,\u201d said the Philosopher, \u201cand we will talk. If you\nare in any trouble tell it to me, and perhaps you will talk the\nheaviest part away.\u201d\n\n\u201cI will sit beside you willingly,\u201d said the girl, and she did so.\n\n\u201cIt is good to talk trouble over,\u201d he continued. \u201cDo you know that\ntalk is a real thing? There is more power in speech than many\npeople conceive. Thoughts come from God, they are born through the\nmarriage of the head and the lungs. The head moulds the thought\ninto the form of words, then it is borne and sounded on the air\nwhich has been already in the secret kingdoms of the body, which\ngoes in bearing life and come out freighted with wisdom. For\nthis reason a lie is very terrible, because it is turning mighty\nand incomprehensible things to base uses, and is burdening the\nlife-giving element with a foul return for its goodness; but those\nwho speak the truth and whose words are the symbols of wisdom and\nbeauty, these purify the whole world and daunt contagion. The only\ntrouble the body can know is disease. All other miseries come from\nthe brain, and, as these belong to thought, they can be driven\nout by their master as unruly and unpleasant vagabonds; for a\nmental trouble should be spoken to, confronted, reprimanded and\nso dismissed. The brain cannot afford to harbour any but pleasant\nand eager citizens who will do their part in making laughter and\nholiness for the world, for that is the duty of thought.\u201d\n\nWhile the Philosopher spoke the girl had been regarding him\nsteadfastly.\n\n\u201cSir,\u201d said she, \u201cwe tell our hearts to a young man and our heads\nto an old man, and when the heart is a fool the head is bound to\nbe a liar. I can tell you the things I know, but how will I tell\nyou the things I feel when I myself do not understand them? If I\nsay these words to you \u2018I love a man\u2019 I do not say anything at all,\nand you do not hear one of the words which my heart is repeating\nover and over to itself in the silence of my body. Young people are\nfools in their heads and old people are fools in their hearts, and\nthey can only look at each other and pass by in wonder.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are wrong,\u201d said the Philosopher. \u201cAn old person can take\nyour hand like this and say, \u2018May every good thing come to you, my\ndaughter.\u2019 For all trouble there is sympathy, and for love there\nis memory, and these are the head and the heart talking to each\nother in quiet friendship. What the heart knows to-day the head\nwill understand to-morrow, and as the head must be the scholar of\nthe heart it is necessary that our hearts be purified and free from\nevery false thing, else we are tainted beyond personal redemption.\u201d\n\n\u201cSir,\u201d said the girl, \u201cI know of two great follies-they are love\nand speech, for when these are given they can never be taken back\nagain, and the person to whom these are given is not any richer,\nbut the giver is made poor and abashed. I gave my love to a man who\ndid not want it. I told him of my love, and he lifted his eyelids\nat me; that is my trouble.\u201d\n\nFor a moment the Philosopher sat in stricken silence looking on\nthe ground. He had a strange disinclination to look at the girl\nalthough he felt her eyes fixed steadily on him. But in a little\nwhile he did look at her and spoke again.\n\n\u201cTo carry gifts to an ungrateful person cannot be justified and\nneed not be mourned for. If your love is noble why do you treat it\nmeanly? If it is lewd the man was right to reject it.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe love as the wind blows,\u201d she replied.\n\n\u201cThere is a thing,\u201d said the Philosopher, \u201cand it is both the\nbiggest and the littlest thing in the world.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat is that?\u201d said the girl.\n\n\u201cIt is pride,\u201d he answered. \u201cIt lives in an empty house. The head\nwhich has never been visited by the heart is the house pride lives\nin. You are in error, my dear, and not in love. Drive out the knave\npride, put a flower in your hair and walk freely again.\u201d\n\nThe girl laughed, and suddenly her pale face became rosy as the\ndawn and as radiant and lovely as a cloud. She shed warmth and\nbeauty about her as she leaned forward.\n\n\u201cYou are wrong,\u201d she whispered, \u201cbecause he does love me; but he\ndoes not know it yet. He is young and full of fury, and has no\ntime to look at women, but he looked at me. My heart knows it and\nmy head knows it, but I am impatient and yearn for him to look at\nme again. His heart will remember me to-morrow, and he will come\nsearching for me with prayers and tears, with shouts and threats.\nI will be very hard to find to-morrow when he holds out his arms\nto the air and the sky, and is astonished and frightened to find\nme nowhere. I will hide from him to-morrow, and frown at him when\nhe speaks, and turn aside when he follows me: until the day after\nto-morrow when he will frighten me with his anger, and hold me with\nhis furious hands, and make me look at him.\u201d\n\nSaying this the girl arose and prepared to go away.\n\n\u201cHe is in that house,\u201d said she, \u201cand I would not let him see me\nhere for anything in the world.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou have wasted all my time,\u201d said the Philosopher, smiling.\n\n\u201cWhat else is time for?\u201d said the girl, and she kissed the\nPhilosopher and ran swiftly down the road.\n\nShe had been gone but a few moments when a man came out of the\ngrey house and walked quickly across the grass. When he reached\nthe hedge separating the field from the road he tossed his two\narms in the air, swung them down, and jumped over the hedge into\nthe roadway. He was a short, dark youth, and so swift and sudden\nwere his movements that he seemed to look on every side at the one\nmoment although he bore furiously to his own direction.\n\nThe Philosopher addressed him mildly.\n\n\u201cThat was a good jump,\u201d said he.\n\nThe young man spun around from where he stood, and was by the\nPhilosopher\u2019s side in an instant.\n\n\u201cIt would be a good jump for other men,\u201d said he, \u201cbut it is only\na little jump for me. You are very dusty, sir; you must have\ntravelled a long distance to-day.\u201d\n\n\u201cA long distance,\u201d replied the Philosopher. \u201cSit down here, my\nfriend, and keep me company for a little time.\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not like sitting down,\u201d said the young man, \u201cbut I always\nconsent to a request, and I always accept friendship.\u201d And, so\nsaying, he threw himself down on the grass.\n\n\u201cDo you work in that big house?\u201d said the Philosopher.\n\n\u201cI do,\u201d he replied. \u201cI train the hounds for a fat, jovial man, full\nof laughter and insolence.\u201d\n\n\u201cI think you do not like your master.\u201d\n\n\u201cBelieve, sir, that I do not like any master; but this man I hate.\nI have been a week in his service, and he has not once looked on\nme as on a friend. This very day, in the kennel, he passed me as\nthough I were a tree or a stone. I almost leaped to catch him by\nthe throat and say: \u2018Dog, do you not salute your fellow-man?\u2019 But\nI looked after him and let him go, for it would be an unpleasant\nthing to strangle a fat person.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf you are displeased with your master should you not look for\nanother occupation?\u201d said the Philosopher.\n\n\u201cI was thinking of that, and I was thinking whether I ought to\nkill him or marry his daughter. She would have passed me by as\nher father did, but I would not let a woman do that to me: no man\nwould.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat did you do to her?\u201d said the Philosopher.\n\nThe young man chuckled \u201cI did not look at her the first time, and\nwhen she came near me the second time I looked another way, and on\nthe third day she spoke to me, and while she stood I looked over\nher shoulder distantly. She said she hoped I would be happy in my\nnew home, and she made her voice sound pleasant while she said it;\nbut I thanked her and turned away carelessly.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs the girl beautiful?\u201d said the Philosopher.\n\n\u201cI do not know,\u201d he replied; \u201cI have not looked at her yet,\nalthough now I see her everywhere. I think she is a woman who would\nannoy me if I married her.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf you haven\u2019t seen her, how can you think that?\u201d\n\n\u201cShe has tame feet,\u201d said the youth. \u201cI looked at them and they got\nfrightened. Where have you travelled from, sir?\u201d\n\n\u201cI will tell you that,\u201d said the Philosopher, \u201cif you will tell me\nyour name.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is easily told,\u201d he answered; \u201cmy name is MacCulain.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhen I came last night,\u201d said the Philosopher, \u201cfrom the place of\nAngus \u00d3g in the cave of the Sleepers of Erinn I was bidden say to a\nman named MacCulain that The Grey of Macha had neighed in his sleep\nand the sword of Laeg clashed on the floor as he turned in his\nslumber.\u201d\n\nThe young man leaped from the grass.\n\n\u201cSir,\u201d said he in a strained voice, \u201cI do not understand your\nwords, but they make my heart to dance and sing within me like a\nbird.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf you listen to your heart,\u201d said the Philosopher, \u201cyou will\nlearn every good thing, for the heart is the fountain of wisdom\ntossing its thoughts up to the brain which gives them form,\u201d\u2014and,\nso saying, he saluted the youth and went again on his way by the\ncurving road.\n\nNow the day had advanced, noon was long past, and the strong\nsunlight blazed ceaselessly on the world. His path was still on\nthe high mountains, running on for a short distance and twisting\nperpetually to the right hand and to the left. One might scarcely\ncall it a path, it grew so narrow. Sometimes, indeed, it almost\nceased to be a path, for the grass had stolen forward inch by inch\nto cover up the tracks of man. There were no hedges but rough,\ntumbled ground only, which was patched by trailing bushes and\nstretched away in mounds and hummocks beyond the far horizon. There\nwas a deep silence everywhere, not painful, for where the sun\nshines there is no sorrow: the only sound to be heard was the swish\nof long grasses against his feet as he trod, and the buzz of an\noccasional bee that came and was gone in an instant.\n\nThe Philosopher was very hungry, and he looked about on all sides\nto see if there was anything he might eat. \u201cIf I were a goat or a\ncow,\u201d said he, \u201cI could eat this grass and be nourished. If I were\na donkey I could crop the hard thistles which are growing on every\nhand, or if I were a bird I could feed on the caterpillars and\ncreeping things which stir innumerably everywhere. But a man may\nnot eat even in the midst of plenty, because he has departed from\nnature, and lives by crafty and twisted thought.\u201d\n\nSpeaking in this manner he chanced to lift his eyes from the ground\nand saw, far away, a solitary figure which melted into the folding\nearth and reappeared again in a different place. So peculiar and\nerratic were the movements of this figure that the Philosopher had\ngreat difficulty in following it, and, indeed, would have been\nunable to follow, but that the other chanced in his direction. When\nthey came nearer he saw it was a young boy, who was dancing hither\nand thither in any and every direction. A bushy mound hid him for\nan instant, and the next they were standing face to face staring\nat each other. After a moment\u2019s silence the boy, who was about\ntwelve years of age, and as beautiful as the morning, saluted the\nPhilosopher.\n\n\u201cHave you lost your way, sir?\u201d said he.\n\n\u201cAll paths,\u201d the Philosopher replied, \u201care on the earth, and so one\ncan never be lost\u2014but I have lost my dinner.\u201d\n\nThe boy commenced to laugh.\n\n\u201cWhat are you laughing at, my son?\u201d said the Philosopher.\n\n\u201cBecause,\u201d he replied, \u201cI am bringing you your dinner. I wondered\nwhat sent me out in this direction, for I generally go more to the\neast.\u201d\n\n\u201cHave you got my dinner?\u201d said the Philosopher anxiously.\n\n\u201cI have,\u201d said the boy: \u201cI ate my own dinner at home, and I put\nyour dinner in my pocket. I thought,\u201d he explained, \u201cthat I might\nbe hungry if I went far away.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe gods directed you,\u201d said the Philosopher.\n\n\u201cThey often do,\u201d said the boy, and he pulled a small parcel from\nhis pocket.\n\nThe Philosopher instantly sat down, and the boy handed him the\nparcel. He opened this and found bread and cheese.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s a good dinner,\u201d said he, and commenced to eat.\n\n\u201cWould you not like a piece also, my son?\u201d\n\n\u201cI would like a little piece,\u201d said the boy, and he sat down before\nthe Philosopher, and they ate together happily.\n\nWhen they had finished the Philosopher praised the gods, and then\nsaid, more to himself than to the boy:\n\n\u201cIf I had a little drink of water I would want nothing else.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere is a stream four paces from here,\u201d said his companion. \u201cI\nwill get some water in my cap,\u201d and he leaped away.\n\nIn a few moments he came back holding his cap tenderly, and the\nPhilosopher took this and drank the water.\n\n\u201cI want nothing more in the world,\u201d said he, \u201cexcept to talk with\nyou. The sun is shining, the wind is pleasant, and the grass is\nsoft. Sit down beside me again for a little time.\u201d\n\nSo the boy sat down, and the Philosopher lit his pipe.\n\n\u201cDo you live far from here?\u201d said he.\n\n\u201cNot far,\u201d said the boy. \u201cYou could see my mother\u2019s house from this\nplace if you were as tall as a tree, and even from the ground you\ncan see a shape of smoke yonder that floats over our cottage.\u201d\n\nThe Philosopher looked but could see nothing.\n\n\u201cMy eyes are not as good as yours are,\u201d said he, \u201cbecause I am\ngetting old.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat does it feel like to be old?\u201d said the boy.\n\n\u201cIt feels stiff like,\u201d said the Philosopher.\n\n\u201cIs that all?\u201d said the boy.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d the Philosopher replied after a few moments\u2019\nsilence. \u201cCan you tell me what it looks like to be young?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy not?\u201d said the boy, and then a slight look of perplexity\ncrossed his face, and he continued, \u201cI don\u2019t think I can.\u201d\n\n\u201cYoung people,\u201d said the Philosopher, \u201cdo not know what age is, and\nold people forget what youth was. When you begin to grow old always\nthink deeply of your youth, for an old man without memories is a\nwasted life, and nothing is worth remembering but our childhood. I\nwill tell you some of the differences between being old and young,\nand then you can ask me questions, and so we will get at both sides\nof the matter. First, an old man gets tired quicker than a boy.\u201d\n\nThe boy thought for a moment, and then replied:\n\n\u201cThat is not a great difference, for a boy does get very tired.\u201d\n\nThe Philosopher continued:\n\n\u201cAn old man does not want to eat as often as a boy.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is not a great difference either,\u201d the boy replied, \u201cfor they\nboth do eat. Tell me the big difference.\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not know it, my son; but I have always thought there was\na big difference. Perhaps it is that an old man has memories of\nthings which a boy cannot even guess at.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut they both have memories,\u201d said the boy, laughing, \u201cand so it\nis not a big difference.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is true,\u201d said the Philosopher. \u201cMaybe there is not so much\ndifference after all. Tell me things you do, and we will see if I\ncan do them also.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut I don\u2019t know what I do,\u201d he replied.\n\n\u201cYou must know the things you do,\u201d said the Philosopher, \u201cbut you\nmay not understand how to put them in order. The great trouble\nabout any kind of examination is to know where to begin, but there\nare always two places in everything with which we can commence\u2014they\nare the beginning and the end. From either of these points a view\nmay be had which comprehends the entire period. So we will begin\nwith the things you did this morning.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am satisfied with that,\u201d said the boy.\n\nThe Philosopher then continued:\n\n\u201cWhen you awakened this morning and went out of the house what was\nthe first thing you did?\u201d\n\nThe boy thought \u201cI went out, then I picked up a stone and threw it\ninto the field as far as I could.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat then?\u201d said the Philosopher.\n\n\u201cThen I ran after the stone to see could I catch up on it before it\nhit the ground.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said the Philosopher.\n\n\u201cI ran so fast that I tumbled over myself into the grass.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat did you do after that?\u201d\n\n\u201cI lay where I fell and plucked handfuls of the grass with both\nhands and threw them on my back.\u201d\n\n\u201cDid you get up then?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, I pressed my face into the grass and shouted a lot of times\nwith my mouth against the ground, and then I sat up and did not\nmove for a long time.\u201d\n\n\u201cWere you thinking?\u201d said the Philosopher.\n\n\u201cNo, I was not thinking or doing anything.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy did you do all these things?\u201d said the Philosopher.\n\n\u201cFor no reason at all,\u201d said the boy.\n\n\u201cThat,\u201d said the Philosopher triumphantly, \u201cis the difference\nbetween age and youth. Boys do things for no reason, and old people\ndo not. I wonder do we get old because we do things by reason\ninstead of instinct?\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d said the boy, \u201ceverything gets old. Have you\ntravelled very far to-day, sir?\u201d\n\n\u201cI will tell you that if you will tell me your name.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy name,\u201d said the boy, \u201cis MacCushin.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhen I came last night,\u201d said the Philosopher, \u201cfrom the place\nof Angus \u00d3g in the Caste of the Sleepers I was bidden say to one\nnamed MacCushin that a son would be born to Angus \u00d3g and his wife,\nCaitilin, and that the sleepers of Erinn had turned in their\nslumbers.\u201d\n\nThe boy regarded him steadfastly.\n\n\u201cI know,\u201d said he, \u201cwhy Angus \u00d3g sent me that message. He wants me\nto make a poem to the people of Erinn, so that when the Sleepers\narise they will meet with friends.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe Sleepers have arisen,\u201d said the Philosopher. \u201cThey are about\nus on every side. They are walking now, but they have forgotten\ntheir names and the meanings of their names. You are to tell them\ntheir names and their lineage, for I am an old man, and my work is\ndone.\u201d\n\n\u201cI will make a poem some day,\u201d said the boy, \u201cand every man will\nshout when he hears it.\u201d\n\n\u201cGod be with you, my son,\u201d said the Philosopher, and he embraced\nthe boy and went forward on his journey.\n\nAbout half an hour\u2019s easy travelling brought him to a point from\nwhich he could see far down below to the pine trees of Coille\nDoraca. The shadowy evening had crept over the world ere he reached\nthe wood, and when he entered the little house the darkness had\nalready descended.\n\nThe Thin Woman of Inis Magrath met him as he entered, and was about\nto speak harshly of his long absence, but the Philosopher kissed\nher with such unaccustomed tenderness, and spoke so mildly to her,\nthat, first, astonishment enchained her tongue, and then delight\nset it free in a direction to which it had long been a stranger.\n\n\u201cWife,\u201d said the Philosopher, \u201cI cannot say how joyful I am to see\nyour good face again.\u201d\n\nThe Thin Woman was unable at first to reply to this salutation,\nbut, with incredible speed, she put on a pot of stirabout, began\nto bake a cake, and tried to roast potatoes. After a little while\nshe wept loudly, and proclaimed that the world did not contain the\nequal of her husband for comeliness and goodness, and that she was\nherself a sinful person unworthy of the kindness of the gods or of\nsuch a mate.\n\nBut while the Philosopher was embracing Seumas and Brigid Beg, the\ndoor was suddenly burst open with a great noise, four policemen\nentered the little room, and after one dumbfoundered minute they\nretreated again bearing the Philosopher with them to answer a\ncharge of murder.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK V. THE POLICEMEN\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nSome distance down the road the policemen halted. The night\nhad fallen before they effected their capture, and now, in the\ngathering darkness, they were not at ease. In the first place, they\nknew that the occupation upon which they were employed was not a\ncreditable one to a man whatever it might be to a policeman. The\nseizure of a criminal may be justified by certain arguments as to\nthe health of society and the preservation of property, but no\nperson wishes under any circumstances to hale a wise man to prison.\nThey were further distressed by the knowledge that they were in the\nvery centre of a populous fairy country, and that on every side the\nelemental hosts might be ranging, ready to fall upon them with the\nterrors of war or the still more awful scourge of their humour. The\npath leading to their station was a long one, winding through great\nalleys of trees, which in some places overhung the road so thickly\nthat even the full moon could not search out that deep blackness.\nIn the daylight these men would have arrested an Archangel and, if\nnecessary, bludgeoned him, but in the night time a thousand fears\nafflicted and a multitude of sounds shocked them from every quarter.\n\nTwo men were holding the Philosopher, one on either side; the other\ntwo walked one before and one behind him. In this order they were\nproceeding when just in front through the dim light they saw the\nroad swallowed up by one of these groves already spoken of. When\nthey came nigh they halted irresolutely: the man who was in front\n(a silent and perturbed sergeant) turned fiercely to the others\n\u201cCome on, can\u2019t you?\u201d said he; \u201cwhat the devil are you waiting\nfor?\u201d and he strode forward into the black gape.\n\n\u201cKeep a good hold of that man,\u201d said the one behind.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t be talking out of you,\u201d replied he on the right. \u201cHaven\u2019t we\ngot a good grip of him, and isn\u2019t he an old man into the bargain?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, keep a good tight grip of him, anyhow, for if he gave you\nthe slip in there he\u2019d vanish like a weasel in a bush. Them old\nfellows do be slippery customers. Look here, mister,\u201d said he to\nthe Philosopher, \u201cif you try to run away from us I\u2019ll give you a\nclout on the head with my baton; do you mind me now!\u201d\n\nThey had taken only a few paces forward when the sound of hasty\nfootsteps brought them again to a halt, and in a moment the\nsergeant came striding back. He was angry.\n\n\u201cAre you going to stay there the whole night, or what are you going\nto do at all?\u201d said he.\n\n\u201cLet you be quiet now,\u201d said another; \u201cwe were only settling with\nthe man here the way he wouldn\u2019t try to give us the slip in a dark\nplace.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs it thinking of giving us the slip he is?\u201d said the sergeant.\n\u201cTake your baton in your hand, Shawn, and if he turns his head to\none side of him hit him on that side.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll do that,\u201d said Shawn, and he pulled out his truncheon.\n\nThe Philosopher had been dazed by the suddenness of these\noccurrences, and the enforced rapidity of his movements prevented\nhim from either thinking or speaking, but during this brief\nstoppage his scattered wits began to return to their allegiance.\nFirst, bewilderment at his enforcement had seized him, and the four\nmen, who were continually running round him and speaking all at\nonce, and each pulling him in a different direction, gave him the\nimpression that he was surrounded by a great rabble of people, but\nhe could not discover what they wanted. After a time he found that\nthere were only four men, and gathered from their remarks that he\nwas being arrested for murder\u2014this precipitated him into another\nand a deeper gulf of bewilderment. He was unable to conceive why\nthey should arrest him for murder when he had not committed any;\nand, following this, he became indignant.\n\n\u201cI will not go another step,\u201d said he, \u201cunless you tell me where\nyou are bringing me and what I am accused of.\u201d\n\n\u201cTell me,\u201d said the sergeant, \u201cwhat did you kill them with? for\nit\u2019s a miracle how they came to their ends without as much as a\nmark on their skins or a broken tooth itself.\u201d\n\n\u201cWho are you talking about?\u201d the Philosopher demanded.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s mighty innocent you are,\u201d he replied. \u201cWho would I be talking\nabout but the man and woman that used to be living with you beyond\nin the little house? Is it poison you gave them now, or what was\nit? Take a hold of your note-book, Shawn.\u201d\n\n\u201cCan\u2019t you have sense, man?\u201d said Shawn. \u201cHow would I be writing in\nthe middle of a dark place and me without as much as a pencil, let\nalone a book?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, we\u2019ll take it down at the station, and himself can tell us\nall about it as we go along. Move on now, for this is no place to\nbe conversing in.\u201d\n\nThey paced on again, and in another moment they were swallowed up\nby the darkness. When they had proceeded for a little distance\nthere came a peculiar sound in front like the breathing of some\nenormous animal, and also a kind of shuffling noise, and so they\nagain halted.\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s a queer kind of a thing in front of us,\u201d said one of the\nmen in a low voice.\n\n\u201cIf I had a match itself,\u201d said another.\n\nThe sergeant had also halted.\n\n\u201cDraw well into the side of the road,\u201d said he, \u201cand poke your\nbatons in front of you. Keep a tight hold of that man, Shawn.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll do that,\u201d said Shawn.\n\nJust then one of them found a few matches in his pocket, and he\nstruck a light; there was no wind, so that it blazed easily enough,\nand they all peered in front. A big black cart-horse was lying in\nthe middle of the road having a gentle sleep, and when the light\nshone it scrambled to its feet and went thundering away in a panic.\n\n\u201cIsn\u2019t that enough to put the heart crossways in you?\u201d said one of\nthe men, with a great sigh.\n\n\u201cAy,\u201d said another; \u201cif you stepped on that beast in the darkness\nyou wouldn\u2019t know what to be thinking.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t quite remember the way about here,\u201d said the sergeant\nafter a while, \u201cbut I think we should take the first turn to the\nright. I wonder have we passed the turn yet; these criss-cross\nkinds of roads are the devil, and it dark as well. Do any of you\nmen know the way?\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t,\u201d said one voice; \u201cI\u2019m a Cavan man myself.\u201d\n\n\u201cRoscommon,\u201d said another, \u201cis my country, and I wish I was there\nnow, so I do.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, if we walk straight on we\u2019re bound to get somewhere, so step\nit out. Have you got a good hold of that man, Shawn?\u201d\n\n\u201cI have so,\u201d said Shawn.\n\nThe Philosopher\u2019s voice came pealing through the darkness.\n\n\u201cThere is no need to pinch me, sir,\u201d said he.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m not pinching you at all,\u201d said the man.\n\n\u201cYou are so,\u201d returned the Philosopher. \u201cYou have a big lump of\nskin doubled up in the sleeve of my coat, and unless you instantly\nrelease it I will sit down in the road.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs that any better?\u201d said the man, relaxing his hold a little.\n\n\u201cYou have only let out half of it,\u201d replied the Philosopher.\n\u201cThat\u2019s better now,\u201d he continued, and they resumed their journey.\n\nAfter a few minutes of silence the Philosopher began to speak.\n\n\u201cI do not see any necessity in nature for policemen,\u201d said he,\n\u201cnor do I understand how the custom first originated. Dogs and\ncats do not employ these extraordinary mercenaries, and yet their\npolity is progressive and orderly. Crows are a gregarious race with\nsettled habitations and an organized commonwealth. They usually\ncongregate in a ruined tower or on the top of a church, and their\ncivilization is based on mutual aid and tolerance for each other\u2019s\nidiosyncrasies. Their exceeding mobility and hardiness renders them\ndangerous to attack, and thus they are free to devote themselves to\nthe development of their domestic laws and customs. If policemen\nwere necessary to a civilization crows would certainly have\nevolved them, but I triumphantly insist that they have not got any\npolicemen in their republic\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t understand a word you are saying,\u201d said the sergeant.\n\n\u201cIt doesn\u2019t matter,\u201d said the Philosopher. \u201cAnts and bees also live\nin specialized communities and have an extreme complexity both of\nfunction and occupation. Their experience in governmental matters\nis enormous, and yet they have never discovered that a police force\nis at all essential to their well-being\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you know,\u201d said the sergeant, \u201cthat whatever you say now will\nbe used in evidence against you later on?\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not,\u201d said the Philosopher. \u201cIt may be said that these races\nare free from crime, that such vices as they have are organized\nand communal instead of individual and anarchistic, and that,\nconsequently, there is no necessity for policecraft, but I cannot\nbelieve that these large aggregations of people could have attained\ntheir present high culture without an interval of both national and\nindividual dishonesty\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cTell me now, as you are talking,\u201d said the sergeant, \u201cdid you buy\nthe poison at a chemist\u2019s shop, or did you smother the pair of them\nwith a pillow?\u201d\n\n\u201cI did not,\u201d said the Philosopher. \u201cIf crime is a condition\nprecedent to the evolution of policemen, then I will submit that\njackdaws are a very thievish clan\u2014they are somewhat larger than a\nblackbird, and will steal wool off a sheep\u2019s back to line their\nnests with; they have, furthermore, been known to abstract one\nshilling in copper and secrete this booty so ingeniously that it\nhas never since been recovered\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cI had a jackdaw myself,\u201d said one of the men. \u201cI got it from a\nwoman that came to the door with a basket for fourpence. My mother\nstood on its back one day, and she getting out of bed. I split its\ntongue with a threepenny bit the way it would talk, but devil the\nword it ever said for me. It used to hop around letting on it had a\nlame leg, and then it would steal your socks.\u201d\n\n\u201cShut up!\u201d roared the sergeant.\n\n\u201cIf,\u201d said the Philosopher, \u201cthese people steal both from sheep and\nfrom men, if their peculations range from wool to money, I do not\nsee how they can avoid stealing from each other, and consequently,\nif anywhere, it is amongst jackdaws one should look for the growth\nof a police force, but there is no such force in existence. The\nreal reason is that they are a witty and thoughtful race who look\ntemperately on what is known as crime and evil\u2014one eats, one\nsteals; it is all in the order of things, and therefore not to be\nquarrelled with. There is no other view possible to a philosophical\npeople\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat the devil is he talking about?\u201d said the sergeant.\n\n\u201cMonkeys are gregarious and thievish and semi-human. They inhabit\nthe equatorial latitudes and eat nuts\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you know what he is saying, Shawn?\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not,\u201d said Shawn.\n\n\u201c\u2014they ought to have evolved professional thief-takers, but it is\ncommon knowledge that they have not done so. Fishes, squirrels,\nrats, beavers, and bison have also abstained from this singular\ngrowth\u2014therefore, when I insist that I see no necessity for\npolicemen and object to their presence, I base that objection on\nlogic and facts, and not on any immediate petty prejudice.\u201d\n\n\u201cShawn,\u201d said the sergeant, \u201chave you got a good grip on that man?\u201d\n\n\u201cI have,\u201d said Shawn.\n\n\u201cWell, if he talks any more hit him with your baton.\u201d\n\n\u201cI will so,\u201d said Shawn.\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s a speck of light down yonder, and, maybe, it\u2019s a candle in\na window\u2014we\u2019ll ask the way at that place.\u201d\n\nIn about three minutes they came to a small house which was\noverhung by trees. If the light had not been visible they would\nundoubtedly have passed it in the darkness. As they approached the\ndoor the sound of a female voice came to them scoldingly.\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s somebody up anyhow,\u201d said the sergeant, and he tapped at\nthe door.\n\nThe scolding voice ceased instantly. After a few seconds he tapped\nagain; then a voice was heard from just behind the door.\n\n\u201cTomas,\u201d said the voice, \u201cgo and bring up the two dogs with you\nbefore I take the door off the chain.\u201d\n\nThe door was then opened a few inches and a face peered out \u201cWhat\nwould you be wanting at this hour of the night?\u201d said the woman.\n\n\u201cNot much, ma\u2019am,\u201d said the sergeant; \u201conly a little direction\nabout the road, for we are not sure whether we\u2019ve gone too far or\nnot far enough.\u201d\n\nThe woman noticed their uniforms.\n\n\u201cIs it policemen ye are? There\u2019s no harm in your coming in, I\nsuppose, and if a drink of milk is any good to ye I have plenty of\nit.\u201d\n\n\u201cMilk\u2019s better than nothing,\u201d said the sergeant with a sigh.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ve a little sup of spirits,\u201d said she, \u201cbut it wouldn\u2019t be\nenough to go around.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, well,\u201d said he, looking sternly at his comrades, \u201ceverybody\nhas to take their chance in this world,\u201d and he stepped into the\nhouse followed by his men.\n\nThe women gave him a little sup of whisky from a bottle, and to\neach of the other men she gave a cup of milk.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019ll wash the dust out of our gullets, anyhow,\u201d said one of them.\n\nThere were two chairs, a bed, and a table in the room. The\nPhilosopher and his attendants sat on the bed. The sergeant sat\non the table, the fourth man took a chair, and the woman dropped\nwearily into the remaining chair from which she looked with pity at\nthe prisoner.\n\n\u201cWhat are you taking the poor man away for?\u201d she asked.\n\n\u201cHe\u2019s a bad one, ma\u2019am,\u201d said the sergeant. \u201cHe killed a man and\na woman that were staying with him and he buried their corpses\nunderneath the hearthstone of his house. He\u2019s a real malefactor,\nmind you.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs it hanging him you\u2019ll be, God help us?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou never know, and I wouldn\u2019t be a bit surprised if it came to\nthat. But you were in trouble yourself, ma\u2019am, for we heard your\nvoice lamenting about something as we came along the road.\u201d\n\n\u201cI was, indeed,\u201d she replied, \u201cfor the person that has a son in her\nhouse has a trouble in her heart.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you tell me now\u2014What did he do on you?\u201d and the sergeant bent a\nlook of grave reprobation on a young lad who was standing against\nthe wall between two dogs.\n\n\u201cHe\u2019s a good boy enough in some ways,\u201d said she, \u201cbut he\u2019s too fond\nof beasts. He\u2019ll go and lie in the kennel along with them two dogs\nfor hours at a time, petting them and making a lot of them, but if\nI try to give him a kiss, or to hug him for a couple of minutes\nwhen I do be tired after the work, he\u2019ll wriggle like an eel till\nI let him out\u2014it would make a body hate him, so it would. Sure,\nthere\u2019s no nature in him, sir, and I\u2019m his mother.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou ought to be ashamed of yourself, you young whelp,\u201d said the\nsergeant very severely.\n\n\u201cAnd then there\u2019s the horse,\u201d she continued. \u201cMaybe you met it down\nthe road a while ago?\u201d\n\n\u201cWe did, ma\u2019am,\u201d said the sergeant.\n\n\u201cWell, when he came in Tomas went to tie him up, for he\u2019s a caution\nat getting out and wandering about the road, the way you\u2019d break\nyour neck over him if you weren\u2019t minding. After a while I told the\nboy to come in, but he didn\u2019t come, so I went out myself, and there\nwas himself and the horse with their arms round each other\u2019s necks\nlooking as if they were moonstruck.\u201d\n\n\u201cFaith, he\u2019s the queer lad!\u201d said the sergeant. \u201cWhat do you be\nmaking love to the horse for, Tomas?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt was all I could do to make him come in,\u201d she continued, \u201cand\nthen I said to him, \u2018Sit down alongside of me here, Tomas, and\nkeep me company for a little while\u2019\u2014for I do be lonely in the\nnight time\u2014but he wouldn\u2019t stay quiet at all. One minute he\u2019d\nsay, \u2018Mother, there\u2019s a moth flying round the candle and it\u2019ll be\nburnt,\u2019 and then, \u2018There was a fly going into the spider\u2019s web in\nthe corner,\u2019 and he\u2019d have to save it, and after that, \u2018There\u2019s a\ndaddy-long-legs hurting himself on the window-pane,\u2019 and he\u2019d have\nto let it out; but when I try to kiss him he pushes me away. My\nheart is tormented, so it is, for what have I in the world but him?\u201d\n\n\u201cIs his father dead, ma\u2019am?\u201d said the sergeant kindly.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll tell the truth,\u201d said she. \u201cI don\u2019t know whether he is or\nnot, for a long time ago, when we used to live in the city of\nBla\u2019 Cliah, he lost his work one time and he never came back to\nme again. He was ashamed to come home I\u2019m thinking, the poor man,\nbecause he had no money; as if I would have minded whether he had\nany money or not\u2014sure, he was very fond of me, sir, and we could\nhave pulled along somehow. After that I came back to my father\u2019s\nplace here; the rest of the children died on me, and then my father\ndied, and I\u2019m doing the best I can by myself. It\u2019s only that I\u2019m a\nlittle bit troubled with the boy now and again.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s a hard case, ma\u2019am,\u201d said the sergeant, \u201cbut maybe the boy is\nonly a bit wild not having his father over him, and maybe it\u2019s just\nthat he\u2019s used to yourself, for there isn\u2019t a child at all that\ndoesn\u2019t love his mother. Let you behave yourself now, Tomas; attend\nto your mother, and leave the beasts and the insects alone, like a\ndecent boy, for there\u2019s no insect in the world will ever like you\nas well as she does. Could you tell me, ma\u2019am, if we have passed\nthe first turn on this road, or is it in front of us still, for we\nare lost altogether in the darkness?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s in front of you still,\u201d she replied, \u201cabout ten minutes down\nthe road; you can\u2019t miss it, for you\u2019ll see the sky where there is\na gap in the trees, and that gap is the turn you want.\u201d\n\n\u201cThank you, ma\u2019am,\u201d said the sergeant; \u201cwe\u2019d better be moving on,\nfor there\u2019s a long tramp in front of us before we get to sleep this\nnight.\u201d\n\nHe stood up and the men rose to follow him when, suddenly, the boy\nspoke in a whisper.\n\n\u201cMother,\u201d said he, \u201cthey are going to hang the man,\u201d and he burst\ninto tears.\n\n\u201cOh, hush, hush,\u201d said the woman, \u201csure, the men can\u2019t help it.\u201d\nShe dropped quickly on her knees and opened her arms, \u201cCome over to\nyour mother, my darling.\u201d\n\nThe boy ran to her.\n\n\u201cThey are going to hang him,\u201d he cried in a high, thin voice, and\nhe plucked at her arm violently.\n\n\u201cNow, then, my young boy-o,\u201d said the sergeant, \u201cnone of that\nviolence.\u201d\n\nThe boy turned suddenly and flew at him with astonishing ferocity.\nHe hurled himself against the sergeant\u2019s legs and bit, and kicked,\nand struck at him. So furiously sudden was his attack that the\nman went staggering back against the wall, then he plucked at the\nboy and whirled him across the room. In an instant the two dogs\nleaped at him snarling with rage\u2014one of these he kicked into a\ncorner, from which it rebounded again bristling and red-eyed; the\nother dog was caught by the woman, and after a few frantic seconds\nshe gripped the first dog also. To a horrible chorus of howls and\nsnapping teeth the men hustled outside and slammed the door.\n\n\u201cShawn,\u201d the sergeant bawled, \u201chave you got a good grip of that\nman?\u201d\n\n\u201cI have so,\u201d said Shawn.\n\n\u201cIf he gets away I\u2019ll kick the belly out of you; mind that now!\nCome along with you and no more of your slouching.\u201d\n\nThey marched down the road in a tingling silence.\n\n\u201cDogs,\u201d said the Philosopher, \u201care a most intelligent race of\npeople\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cPeople, my granny!\u201d said the sergeant.\n\n\u201cFrom the earliest ages their intelligence has been observed and\nrecorded, so that ancient literatures are bulky with references to\ntheir sagacity and fidelity\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cWill you shut your old jaw?\u201d said the sergeant.\n\n\u201cI will not,\u201d said the Philosopher. \u201cElephants also are credited\nwith an extreme intelligence and devotion to their masters, and\nthey will build a wall or nurse a baby with equal skill and\nhappiness. Horses have received high recommendations in this\nrespect, but crocodiles, hens, beetles, armadillos, and fish do not\nevince any remarkable partiality for man\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cI wish,\u201d said the sergeant bitterly, \u201cthat all them beasts were\nstuffed down your throttle the way you\u2019d have to hold your prate.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt doesn\u2019t matter,\u201d said the Philosopher. \u201cI do not know why these\nanimals should attach themselves to men with gentleness and love\nand yet be able to preserve intact their initial bloodthirstiness,\nso that while they will allow their masters to misuse them in\nany way they will yet fight most willingly with each other, and\nare never really happy saving in the conduct of some private and\nnonsensical battle of their own. I do not believe that it is fear\nwhich tames these creatures into mildness, but that the most savage\nanimal has a capacity for love which has not been sufficiently\nnoted, and which, if more intelligent attention had been directed\nupon it, would have raised them to the status of intellectual\nanimals as against intelligent ones, and, perhaps, have opened\nto us a correspondence which could not have been other than\nbeneficial.\u201d\n\n\u201cKeep your eyes out for that gap in the trees, Shawn,\u201d said the\nsergeant.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m doing that,\u201d said Shawn.\n\nThe Philosopher continued:\n\n\u201cWhy can I not exchange ideas with a cow? I am amazed at the\nincompleteness of my growth when I and a fellow-creature stand\ndumbly before each other without one glimmer of comprehension,\nlocked and barred from all friendship and intercourse\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cShawn,\u201d cried the sergeant.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t interrupt,\u201d said the Philosopher; \u201cyou are always\ntalking.\u2014The lower animals, as they are foolishly called, have\nabilities at which we can only wonder. The mind of an ant is one\nto which I would readily go to school. Birds have atmospheric and\nlevitational information which millions of years will not render\naccessible to us; who that has seen a spider weaving his labyrinth,\nor a bee voyaging safely in the trackless air, can refuse to credit\nthat a vivid, trained intelligence animates these small enigmas?\nand the commonest earthworm is the heir to a culture before which I\nbow with the profoundest veneration\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cShawn,\u201d said the sergeant, \u201csay something for goodness\u2019 sake to\ntake the sound of that man\u2019s clack out of my ear.\u201d\n\n\u201cI wouldn\u2019t know what to be talking about,\u201d said Shawn, \u201cfor I\nnever was much of a hand at conversation, and, barring my prayers,\nI got no education\u2014I think myself that he was making a remark about\na dog. Did you ever own a dog, sergeant?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are doing very well, Shawn,\u201d said the sergeant, \u201ckeep it up\nnow.\u201d\n\n\u201cI knew a man had a dog would count up to a hundred for you. He won\nlots of money in bets about it, and he\u2019d have made a fortune, only\nthat I noticed one day he used to be winking at the dog, and when\nhe\u2019d stop winking the dog would stop counting. We made him turn his\nback after that, and got the dog to count sixpence, but he barked\nfor more than five shillings, he did so, and he would have counted\nup to a pound, maybe, only that his master turned round and hit\nhim a kick. Every person that ever paid him a bet said they wanted\ntheir money back, but the man went away to America in the night,\nand I expect he\u2019s doing well there for he took the dog with him. It\nwas a wire-haired terrier bitch, and it was the devil for having\npups.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is astonishing,\u201d said the Philosopher, \u201con what slender\ncompulsion people will go to America\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cKeep it up, Shawn,\u201d said the sergeant, \u201cyou are doing me a favour.\u201d\n\n\u201cI will so,\u201d said Shawn. \u201cI had a cat one time and it used to have\nkittens every two months.\u201d\n\nThe Philosopher\u2019s voice arose:\n\n\u201cIf there was any periodicity about these migrations one could\nunderstand them. Birds, for example, migrate from their homes in\nthe late autumn and seek abroad the sustenance and warmth which\nthe winter would withhold if they remained in their native lands.\nThe salmon also, a dignified fish with a pink skin, emigrates from\nthe Atlantic Ocean, and betakes himself inland to the streams and\nlakes, where he recuperates for a season, and is often surprised by\nnet, angle, or spear\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cCut in now, Shawn,\u201d said the sergeant anxiously.\n\nShawn began to gabble with amazing speed and in a mighty voice:\n\n\u201cCats sometimes eat their kittens, and sometimes they don\u2019t. A cat\nthat eats its kittens is a heartless brute. I knew a cat used to\neat its kittens\u2014it had four legs and a long tail, and it used to\nget the head-staggers every time it had eaten its kittens. I killed\nit myself one day with a hammer for I couldn\u2019t stand the smell it\nmade, so I couldn\u2019t\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cShawn,\u201d said the sergeant, \u201ccan\u2019t you talk about something else\nbesides cats and dogs?\u201d\n\n\u201cSure, I don\u2019t know what to talk about,\u201d said Shawn. \u201cI\u2019m sweating\nthis minute trying to please you, so I arm. If you\u2019ll tell me what\nto talk about I\u2019ll do my endeavours.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou\u2019re a fool,\u201d said the sergeant sorrowfully; \u201cyou\u2019ll never make\na constable. I\u2019m thinking that I would sooner listen to the man\nhimself than to you. Have you got a good hold of him now?\u201d\n\n\u201cI have so,\u201d said Shawn.\n\n\u201cWell, step out and maybe we\u2019ll reach the barracks this night,\nunless this is a road that there isn\u2019t any end to at all. What was\nthat? Did you hear a noise?\u201d\n\n\u201cI didn\u2019t hear a thing,\u201d said Shawn.\n\n\u201cI thought,\u201d said another man, \u201cthat I heard something moving in\nthe hedge at the side of the road.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s what I heard,\u201d said the sergeant. \u201cMaybe it was a weasel.\nI wish to the devil that we were out of this place where you can\u2019t\nsee as much as your own nose. Now did you hear it, Shawn?\u201d\n\n\u201cI did so,\u201d said Shawn; \u201cthere\u2019s some one in the hedge, for a\nweasel would make a different kind of a noise if it made any at\nall.\u201d\n\n\u201cKeep together, men,\u201d said the sergeant, \u201cand march on; if there\u2019s\nanybody about they\u2019ve no business with us.\u201d\n\nHe had scarcely spoken when there came a sudden pattering of feet,\nand immediately the four men were surrounded and were being struck\nat on every side with sticks and hands and feet.\n\n\u201cDraw your batons,\u201d the sergeant roared; \u201ckeep a good grip of that\nman, Shawn.\u201d\n\n\u201cI will so,\u201d said Shawn.\n\n\u201cStand round him, you other men, and hit anything that comes near\nyou.\u201d\n\nThere was no sound of voices from the assailants, only a rapid\nscuffle of feet, the whistle of sticks as they swung through the\nair or slapped smartly against a body or clashed upon each other,\nand the quick breathing of many people; but from the four policemen\nthere came noise and to spare as they struck wildly on every side,\ncursing the darkness and their opposers with fierce enthusiasm.\n\n\u201cLet out,\u201d cried Shawn suddenly. \u201cLet out or I\u2019ll smash your nut\nfor you. There\u2019s some one pulling at the prisoner, and I\u2019ve dropped\nmy baton.\u201d\n\nThe truncheons of the policemen had been so ferociously exercised\nthat their antagonists departed as swiftly and as mysteriously as\nthey came. It was just two minutes of frantic, aimless conflict,\nand then the silent night was round them again, without any sound\nbut the slow creaking of branches, the swish of leaves as they\nswung and poised, and the quiet croon of the wind along the road.\n\n\u201cCome on, men,\u201d said the sergeant, \u201cwe\u2019d better be getting out of\nthis place as quick as we can. Are any of ye hurted?\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ve got one of the enemy,\u201d said Shawn, panting.\n\n\u201cYou\u2019ve got what?\u201d said the sergeant.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ve got one of them, and he is wriggling like an eel on a pan.\u201d\n\n\u201cHold him tight,\u201d said the sergeant excitedly.\n\n\u201cI will so,\u201d said Shawn. \u201cIt\u2019s a little one by the feel of it. If\none of ye would hold the prisoner, I\u2019d get a better grip on this\none. Aren\u2019t they dangerous villains now?\u201d\n\nAnother man took hold of the Philosopher\u2019s arm, and Shawn got both\nhands on his captive.\n\n\u201cKeep quiet, I\u2019m telling you,\u201d said he, \u201cor I\u2019ll throttle you, I\nwill so. Faith, it seems like a little boy by the feel of it!\u201d\n\n\u201cA little boy!\u201d said the sergeant.\n\n\u201cYes, he doesn\u2019t reach up to my waist.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt must be the young brat from the cottage that set the dogs on\nus, the one that loves beasts. Now then, boy, what do you mean by\nthis kind of thing? You\u2019ll find yourself in gaol for this, my young\nbuck-o. Who was with you, eh? Tell me that now?\u201d and the sergeant\nbent forward.\n\n\u201cHold up your head, sonny, and talk to the sergeant,\u201d said Shawn.\n\u201cOh!\u201d he roared, and suddenly he made a little rush forward. \u201cI\u2019ve\ngot him,\u201d he gasped; \u201che nearly got away. It isn\u2019t a boy at all,\nsergeant; there\u2019s whiskers on it!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat do you say?\u201d said the sergeant.\n\n\u201cI put my hand under its chin and there\u2019s whiskers on it. I nearly\nlet him out with the surprise, I did so.\u201d\n\n\u201cTry again,\u201d said the sergeant in a low voice; \u201cyou are making a\nmistake.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t like touching them,\u201d said Shawn. \u201cIt\u2019s a soft whisker like\na billy-goat\u2019s. Maybe you\u2019d try yourself, sergeant, for I tell you\nI\u2019m frightened of it.\u201d\n\n\u201cHold him over here,\u201d said the sergeant, \u201cand keep a good grip of\nhim.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll do that,\u201d said Shawn, and he hauled some reluctant object\ntowards his superior.\n\nThe sergeant put out his hand and touched a head.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s only a boy\u2019s size to be sure,\u201d said he, then he slid his hand\ndown the face and withdrew it quickly.\n\n\u201cThere are whiskers on it,\u201d said he soberly. \u201cWhat the devil can\nit be? I never met whiskers so near the ground before. Maybe they\nare false ones, and it\u2019s just the boy yonder trying to disguise\nhimself.\u201d He put out his hand again with an effort, felt his way to\nthe chin, and tugged.\n\nInstantly there came a yell, so loud, so sudden, that every man of\nthem jumped in a panic.\n\n\u201cThey are real whiskers,\u201d said the sergeant with a sigh. \u201cI wish I\nknew what it is. His voice is big enough for two men, and that\u2019s a\nfact. Have you got another match on you?\u201d\n\n\u201cI have two more in my waistcoat pocket,\u201d said one of the men.\n\n\u201cGive me one of them,\u201d said the sergeant; \u201cI\u2019ll strike it myself.\u201d\n\nHe groped about until he found the hand with the match.\n\n\u201cBe sure and hold him tight, Shawn, the way we can have a good look\nat him, for this is like to be a queer miracle of a thing.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019m holding him by the two arms,\u201d said Shawn, \u201che can\u2019t stir\nanything but his head, and I\u2019ve got my chest on that.\u201d\n\nThe sergeant struck the match, shading it for a moment with his\nhand, then he turned it on their new prisoner.\n\nThey saw a little man dressed in tight green clothes; he had a\nbroad pale face with staring eyes, and there was a thin fringe of\ngrey whisker under his chin\u2014then the match went out.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s a Leprecaun,\u201d said the sergeant.\n\nThe men were silent for a full couple of minutes\u2014at last Shawn\nspoke.\n\n\u201cDo you tell me so?\u201d said he in a musing voice; \u201cthat\u2019s a queer\nmiracle altogether.\u201d\n\n\u201cI do,\u201d said the sergeant. \u201cDoesn\u2019t it stand to reason that it\ncan\u2019t be anything else? You saw it yourself.\u201d\n\nShawn plumped down on his knees before his captive.\n\n[Illustration: \u201cTell me where the money is?\u201d he hissed]\n\n\u201cTell me where the money is?\u201d he hissed. \u201cTell me where the money\nis or I\u2019ll twist your neck off.\u201d\n\nThe other men also gathered eagerly around, shouting threats and\ncommands at the Leprecaun.\n\n\u201cHold your whist,\u201d said Shawn fiercely to them. \u201cHe can\u2019t answer\nthe lot of you, can he?\u201d and he turned again to the Leprecaun and\nshook him until his teeth chattered.\n\n\u201cIf you don\u2019t tell me where the money is at once I\u2019ll kill you, I\nwill so.\u201d\n\n\u201cI haven\u2019t got any money at all, sir,\u201d said the Leprecaun.\n\n\u201cNone of your lies,\u201d roared Shawn. \u201cTell the truth now or it\u2019ll be\nworse for you.\u201d\n\n\u201cI haven\u2019t got any money,\u201d said the Leprecaun, \u201cfor Meehawl\nMacMurrachu of the Hill stole our crock a while back, and he buried\nit under a thorn bush. I can bring you to the place if you don\u2019t\nbelieve me.\u201d\n\n\u201cVery good,\u201d said Shawn. \u201cCome on with me now, and I\u2019ll clout you\nif you as much as wriggle; do you mind me?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat would I wriggle for?\u201d said the Leprecaun: \u201csure I like being\nwith you.\u201d\n\nHereupon the sergeant roared at the top of his voice.\n\n\u201cAttention,\u201d said he, and the men leaped to position like automata.\n\n\u201cWhat is it you are going to do with your prisoner, Shawn?\u201d said he\nsarcastically. \u201cDon\u2019t you think we\u2019ve had enough tramping of these\nroads for one night, now? Bring up that Leprecaun to the barracks\nor it\u2019ll be the worse for you\u2014do you hear me talking to you?\u201d\n\n\u201cBut the gold, sergeant,\u201d said Shawn sulkily.\n\n\u201cIf there\u2019s any gold it\u2019ll be treasure trove, and belong to the\nCrown. What kind of a constable are you at all, Shawn? Mind what\nyou are about now, my man, and no back answers. Step along there.\nBring that murderer up at once, whichever of you has him.\u201d\n\nThere came a gasp from the darkness.\n\n\u201cOh, Oh, Oh!\u201d said a voice of horror.\n\n\u201cWhat\u2019s wrong with you?\u201d said the sergeant: \u201care you hurted?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe prisoner!\u201d he gasped, \u201che, he\u2019s got away!\u201d\n\n\u201cGot away?\u201d and the sergeant\u2019s voice was a blare of fury.\n\n\u201cWhile we were looking at the Leprecaun,\u201d said the voice of woe, \u201cI\nmust have forgotten about the other one\u2014I, I haven\u2019t got him\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cYou gawm!\u201d gritted the sergeant.\n\n\u201cIs it my prisoner that\u2019s gone?\u201d said Shawn in a deep voice. He\nleaped forward with a curse and smote his negligent comrade so\nterrible a blow in the face, that the man went flying backwards,\nand the thud of his head on the road could have been heard anywhere.\n\n\u201cGet up,\u201d said Shawn, \u201cget up till I give you another one.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat will do,\u201d said the sergeant, \u201cwe\u2019ll go home. We\u2019re the\nlaughing-stock of the world. I\u2019ll pay you out for this some time,\nevery damn man of ye. Bring that Leprecaun along with you, and\nquick march.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh!\u201d said Shawn in a strangled tone.\n\n\u201cWhat is it now?\u201d said the sergeant testily.\n\n\u201cNothing,\u201d replied Shawn.\n\n\u201cWhat did you say \u2018Oh!\u2019 for then, you block-head?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s the Leprecaun, sergeant,\u201d said Shawn in a whisper\u2014\u201che\u2019s\ngot away\u2014when I was hitting the man there I forgot all about the\nLeprecaun: he must have run into the hedge. Oh, sergeant, dear,\ndon\u2019t say anything to me now\u2014!\u201d\n\n\u201cQuick march,\u201d said the sergeant, and the four men moved on through\nthe darkness in a silence, which was only skin deep.\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\nBy reason of the many years which he had spent in the gloomy pine\nwood, the Philosopher could see a little in the darkness, and when\nhe found there was no longer any hold on his coat he continued his\njourney quietly, marching along with his head sunken on his breast\nin a deep abstraction. He was meditating on the word \u201cMe,\u201d and\nendeavouring to pursue it through all its changes and adventures.\nThe fact of \u201cme-ness\u201d was one which startled him. He was amazed at\nhis own being. He knew that the hand which he held up and pinched\nwith another hand was not him and the endeavour to find out what\nwas him was one which had frequently exercised his leisure. He had\nnot gone far when there came a tug at his sleeve and looking down\nhe found one of the Leprecauns of the Gort trotting by his side.\n\n\u201cNoble Sir,\u201d said the Leprecaun, \u201cyou are terrible hard to get into\nconversation with. I have been talking to you for the last long\ntime and you won\u2019t listen.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am listening now,\u201d replied the Philosopher.\n\n\u201cYou are, indeed,\u201d said the Leprecaun heartily. \u201cMy brothers are on\nthe other side of the road over there beyond the hedge, and they\nwant to talk to you: will you come with me, Noble Sir?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy wouldn\u2019t I go with you?\u201d said the Philosopher, and he turned\naside with the Leprecaun.\n\nThey pushed softly through a gap in the hedge and into a field\nbeyond.\n\n\u201cCome this way, sir,\u201d said his guide, and the Philosopher followed\nhim across the field. In a few minutes they came to a thick bush\namong the leaves of which the other Leprecauns were hiding. They\nthronged out to meet the Philosopher\u2019s approach and welcomed him\nwith every appearance of joy. With them was the Thin Woman of Inis\nMagrath, who embraced her husband tenderly and gave thanks for his\nescape.\n\n\u201cThe night is young yet,\u201d remarked one of the Leprecauns. \u201cLet us\nsit down here and talk about what should be done.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am tired enough,\u201d said the Philosopher, \u201cfor I have been\ntravelling all yesterday, and all this day and the whole of this\nnight I have been going also, so I would be glad to sit down\nanywhere.\u201d\n\nThey sat down under the bush and the Philosopher lit his pipe. In\nthe open space where they were there was just light enough to see\nthe smoke coming from his pipe, but scarcely more. One recognized\na figure as a deeper shadow than the surrounding darkness; but as\nthe ground was dry and the air just touched with a pleasant chill,\nthere was no discomfort. After the Philosopher had drawn a few\nmouthfuls of smoke he passed his pipe on to the next person, and in\nthis way his pipe made the circuit of the party.\n\n\u201cWhen I put the children to bed,\u201d said the Thin Woman, \u201cI came down\nthe road in your wake with a basin of stirabout, for you had no\ntime to take your food, God help you! and I was thinking you must\nhave been hungry.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is so,\u201d said the Philosopher in a very anxious voice: \u201cbut I\ndon\u2019t blame you, my dear, for letting the basin fall on the road\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cWhile I was going along,\u201d she continued, \u201cI met these good people\nand when I told them what happened they came with me to see if\nanything could be done. The time they ran out of the hedge to\nfight the policemen I wanted to go with them, but I was afraid the\nstirabout would be spilt.\u201d\n\nThe Philosopher licked his lips.\n\n\u201cI am listening to you, my love,\u201d said he.\n\n\u201cSo I had to stay where I was with the stirabout under my shawl\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cDid you slip then, dear wife?\u201d\n\n\u201cI did not, indeed,\u201d she replied: \u201cI have the stirabout with me\nthis minute. It\u2019s rather cold, I\u2019m thinking, but it is better than\nnothing at all,\u201d and she placed the bowl in his hands.\n\n\u201cI put sugar in it,\u201d said she shyly, \u201cand currants, and I have a\nspoon in my pocket.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt tastes well,\u201d said the Philosopher, and he cleaned the basin so\nspeedily that his wife wept because of his hunger.\n\nBy this time the pipe had come round to him again and it was\nwelcomed.\n\n\u201cNow we can talk,\u201d said he, and he blew a great cloud of smoke into\nthe darkness and sighed happily.\n\n\u201cWe were thinking,\u201d said the Thin Woman, \u201cthat you won\u2019t be able\nto come back to our house for a while yet: the policemen will\nbe peeping about Coille Doraca for a long time, to be sure; for\nisn\u2019t it true that if there is a good thing coming to a person,\nnobody takes much trouble to find him, but if there is a bad thing\nor a punishment in store for a man, then the whole world will be\nsearched until he be found?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is a true statement,\u201d said the Philosopher.\n\n\u201cSo what we arranged was this\u2014that you should go to live with these\nlittle men in their house under the yew tree of the Gort. There is\nnot a policeman in the world would find you there; or if you went\nby night to the Brugh of the Boyne, Angus \u00d3g himself would give you\na refuge.\u201d\n\nOne of the Leprecauns here interposed.\n\n\u201cNoble Sir,\u201d said he, \u201cthere isn\u2019t much room in our house but\nthere\u2019s no stint of welcome in it. You would have a good time with\nus travelling on moonlit nights and seeing strange things, for we\noften go to visit the Shee of the Hills and they come to see us;\nthere is always something to talk about, and we have dances in the\ncaves and on the tops of the hills. Don\u2019t be imagining now that we\nhave a poor life for there is fun and plenty with us and the Brugh\nof Angus Mac an \u00d3g is hard to be got at.\u201d\n\n\u201cI would like to dance, indeed,\u201d returned the Philosopher, \u201cfor I\ndo believe that dancing is the first and last duty of man. If we\ncannot be gay what can we be? Life is not any use at all unless we\nfind a laugh here and there\u2014but this time, decent men of the Gort,\nI cannot go with you, for it is laid on me to give myself up to the\npolice.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou would not do that,\u201d exclaimed the Thin Woman pitifully: \u201cYou\nwouldn\u2019t think of doing that now!\u201d\n\n\u201cAn innocent man,\u201d said he, \u201ccannot be oppressed, for he is\nfortified by his mind and his heart cheers him. It is only on\na guilty person that the rigour of punishment can fall, for he\npunishes himself. This is what I think, that a man should always\nobey the law with his body and always disobey it with his mind. I\nhave been arrested, the men of the law had me in their hands, and I\nwill have to go back to them so that they may do whatever they have\nto do.\u201d\n\nThe Philosopher resumed his pipe, and although the others reasoned\nwith him for a long time they could not by any means remove him\nfrom his purpose. So, when the pale glimmer of dawn had stolen over\nthe sky, they arose and went downwards to the cross-roads and so to\nthe Police Station.\n\nOutside the village the Leprecauns bade him farewell and the Thin\nWoman also took her leave of him, saying she would visit Angus \u00d3g\nand implore his assistance on behalf of her husband, and then the\nLeprecauns and the Thin Woman returned again the way they came, and\nthe Philosopher walked on to the barracks.\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\nWhen he knocked at the barracks door it was opened by a man with\ntousled, red hair, who looked as though he had just awakened from\nsleep.\n\n\u201cWhat do you want at this hour of the night?\u201d said he.\n\n\u201cI want to give myself up,\u201d said the Philosopher. The policeman\nlooked at him \u201cA man as old as you are,\u201d said he, \u201coughtn\u2019t to be\na fool. Go home now, I advise you, and don\u2019t say a word to any one\nwhether you did it or not. Tell me this now, was it found out, or\nare you only making a clean breast of it?\u201d\n\n\u201cSure I must give myself up,\u201d said the Philosopher.\n\n\u201cIf you must, you must, and that\u2019s an end of it. Wipe your feet on\nthe rail there and come in\u2014I\u2019ll take your deposition.\u201d\n\n\u201cI have no deposition for you,\u201d said the Philosopher, \u201cfor I didn\u2019t\ndo a thing at all.\u201d\n\nThe policeman stared at him again.\n\n\u201cIf that\u2019s so,\u201d said he, \u201cyou needn\u2019t come in at all, and you\nneedn\u2019t have wakened me out of my sleep either. Maybe, tho\u2019, you\nare the man that fought the badger on the Naas Road\u2014Eh?\u201d\n\n\u201cI am not,\u201d replied the Philosopher: \u201cbut I was arrested for\nkilling my brother and his wife, although I never touched them.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs that who you are?\u201d said the policeman; and then, briskly,\n\u201cYou\u2019re as welcome as the cuckoo, you are so. Come in and make\nyourself comfortable till the men awaken, and they are the lads\nthat\u2019ll be glad to see you. I couldn\u2019t make head or tail of what\nthey said when they came in last night, and no one else either, for\nthey did nothing but fight each other and curse the banshees and\ncluricauns of Leinster. Sit down there on the settle by the fire\nand, maybe, you\u2019ll be able to get a sleep; you look as if you were\ntired, and the mud of every county in Ireland is on your boots.\u201d\n\nThe Philosopher thanked him and stretched out on the settle. In a\nshort time, for he was very weary, he fell asleep.\n\nMany hours later he was awakened by the sound of voices, and found\non rising, that the men who had captured him on the previous\nevening were standing by the bed. The sergeant\u2019s face beamed with\njoy. He was dressed only in his trousers and shirt. His hair was\nsticking up in some places and sticking out in others which gave\na certain wild look to him, and his feet were bare. He took the\nPhilosopher\u2019s two hands in his own and swore if ever there was\nanything he could do to comfort him he would do that and more.\nShawn, in a similar state of unclothedness, greeted the Philosopher\nand proclaimed himself his friend and follower for ever. Shawn\nfurther announced that he did not believe the Philosopher had\nkilled the two people, that if he had killed them they must have\nrichly deserved it, and that if he was hung he would plant flowers\non his grave; for a decenter, quieter, and wiser man he had never\nmet and never would meet in the world.\n\nThese professions of esteem comforted the Philosopher, and he\nreplied to them in terms which made the red-haired policeman gape\nin astonishment and approval.\n\nHe was given a breakfast of bread and cocoa which he ate with his\nguardians, and then, as they had to take up their outdoor duties,\nhe was conducted to the backyard and informed he could walk about\nthere and that he might smoke until he was black in the face. The\npolicemen severally presented him with a pipe, a tin of tobacco,\ntwo boxes of matches and a dictionary, and then they withdrew,\nleaving him to his own devices.\n\nThe garden was about twelve feet square, having high, smooth walls\non every side, and into it there came neither sun nor wind. In\none corner a clump of rusty-looking sweet-pea was climbing up\nthe wall\u2014every leaf of this plant was riddled with holes, and\nthere were no flowers on it. Another corner was occupied by dwarf\nnasturtiums, and on this plant, in despite of every discouragement,\ntwo flowers were blooming, but its leaves also were tattered and\ndejected. A mass of ivy clung to the third corner, its leaves were\nbig and glossy at the top, but near the ground there was only grey,\nnaked stalks laced together by cobwebs. The fourth wall was clothed\nin a loose Virginia creeper every leaf of which looked like an\ninsect that could crawl if it wanted to. The centre of this small\nplot had used every possible artifice to cover itself with grass,\nand in some places it had wonderfully succeeded, but the pieces of\nbroken bottles, shattered jampots, and sections of crockery were so\nnumerous that no attempt at growth could be other than tentative\nand unpassioned.\n\nHere, for a long time, the Philosopher marched up and down. At one\nmoment he examined the sweet-pea and mourned with it on a wretched\nexistence. Again he congratulated the nasturtium on its two\nbright children; but he thought of the gardens wherein they might\nhave bloomed and the remembrance of that spacious, sunny freedom\nsaddened him.\n\n\u201cIndeed, poor creatures!\u201d said he, \u201cye also are in gaol.\u201d\n\nThe blank, soundless yard troubled him so much that at last he\ncalled to the red-haired policeman and begged to be put into a\ncell in preference; and to the common cell he was, accordingly,\nconducted.\n\nThis place was a small cellar built beneath the level of the\nground. An iron grating at the top of the wall admitted one\nblanched wink of light, but the place was bathed in obscurity. A\nwooden ladder led down to the cell from a hole in the ceiling, and\nthis hole also gave a spark of brightness and some little air to\nthe room. The walls were of stone covered with plaster, but the\nplaster had fallen away in many places leaving the rough stones\nvisible at every turn of the eye.\n\nThere were two men in the cell, and these the Philosopher saluted;\nbut they did not reply, nor did they speak to each other. There was\na low, wooden form fixed to the wall, running quite round the room,\nand on this, far apart from each other, the two men were seated,\nwith their elbows resting on their knees, their heads propped upon\ntheir hands, and each of them with an unwavering gaze fixed on the\nfloor between his feet.\n\nThe Philosopher walked for a time up and down the little cell, but\nsoon he also sat down on the low form, propped his head on his\nhands and lapsed to a melancholy dream.\n\nSo the day passed. Twice a policeman came down the ladder bearing\nthree portions of food, bread and cocoa; and by imperceptible\ngradations the light faded away from the grating and the darkness\ncame. After a great interval the policeman again approached\ncarrying three mattresses and three rough blankets, and these he\nbundled through the hole. Each of the men took a mattress and a\nblanket and spread them on the floor, and the Philosopher took his\nshare also.\n\nBy this time they could not see each other and all their operations\nwere conducted by the sense of touch alone. They laid themselves\ndown on the beds and a terrible, dark silence brooded over the room.\n\nBut the Philosopher could not sleep, he kept his eyes shut, for\nthe darkness under his eyelids was not so dense as that which\nsurrounded him; indeed, he could at will illuminate his own\ndarkness and order around him the sunny roads or the sparkling\nsky. While his eyes were closed he had the mastery of all pictures\nof light and colour and warmth, but an irresistible fascination\ncompelled him every few minutes to reopen them, and in the sad\nspace around he could not create any happiness. The darkness\nweighed very sadly upon him so that in a short time it did creep\nunder his eyelids and drowned his happy pictures until a blackness\npossessed him both within and without \u201cCan one\u2019s mind go to prison\nas well as one\u2019s body?\u201d said he.\n\nHe strove desperately to regain his intellectual freedom, but he\ncould not. He could conjure up no visions but those of fear. The\ncreatures of the dark invaded him, fantastic terrors were thronging\non every side: they came from the darkness into his eyes and beyond\ninto himself, so that his mind as well as his fancy was captured,\nand he knew he was, indeed, in gaol.\n\nIt was with a great start that he heard a voice speaking from the\nsilence\u2014a harsh, yet cultivated voice, but he could not imagine\nwhich of his companions was speaking. He had a vision of that man\ntormented by the mental imprisonment of the darkness, trying to get\naway from his ghosts and slimy enemies, goaded into speech in his\nown despite lest he should be submerged and finally possessed by\nthe abysmal demons. For a while the voice spoke of the strangeness\nof life and the cruelty of men to each other\u2014disconnected\nsentences, odd words of selfpity and self-encouragement, and then\nthe matter became more connected and a story grew in the dark cell\n\u201cI knew a man,\u201d said the voice, \u201cand he was a clerk. He had thirty\nshillings a week, and for five years he had never missed a day\ngoing to his work. He was a careful man, but a person with a wife\nand four children cannot save much out of thirty shillings a week.\nThe rent of a house is high, a wife and children must be fed, and\nthey have to get boots and clothes, so that at the end of each week\nthat man\u2019s thirty shillings used to be all gone. But they managed\nto get along somehow\u2014the man and his wife and the four children\nwere fed and clothed and educated, and the man often wondered how\nso much could be done with so little money; but the reason was\nthat his wife was a careful woman . . . and then the man got sick.\nA poor person cannot afford to get sick, and a married man cannot\nleave his work. If he is sick he has to be sick; but he must go\nto his work all the same, for if he stayed away who would pay the\nwages and feed his family? and when he went back to work he might\nfind that there was nothing for him to do. This man fell sick, but\nhe made no change in his way of life: he got up at the same time\nand went to the office as usual, and he got through the day somehow\nwithout attracting his employer\u2019s attention. He didn\u2019t know what\nwas wrong with him: he only knew that he was sick. Sometimes he had\nsharp, swift pains in his head, and again there would be long hours\nof languor when he could scarcely bear to change his position or\nlift a pen. He would commence a letter with the words \u2018Dear Sir,\u2019\nforming the letter \u2018D\u2019 with painful, accurate slowness, elaborating\nand thickening the up and down strokes, and being troubled when he\nhad to leave that letter for the next one; he built the next letter\nby hair strokes and would start on the third with hatred. The end\nof a word seemed to that man like the conclusion of an event\u2014it was\na surprising, isolated, individual thing, having no reference to\nanything else in the world, and on starting a new word he seemed\nbound, in order to preserve its individuality, to write it in a\ndifferent handwriting. He would sit with his shoulders hunched up\nand his pen resting on the paper, staring at a letter until he\nwas nearly mesmerized, and then come to himself with a sense of\nfear, which started him working like a madman, so that he might\nnot be behind with his business. The day seemed to be so long. It\nrolled on rusty hinges that could scarcely move. Each hour was like\na great circle swollen with heavy air, and it droned and buzzed\ninto an eternity. It seemed to the man that his hand in particular\nwanted to rest. It was luxury not to work with it. It was good to\nlay it down on a sheet of paper with the pen sloping against his\nfinger, and then watch his hand going to sleep\u2014it seemed to the\nman that it was his hand and not himself wanted to sleep, but it\nalways awakened when the pen slipped. There was an instinct in him\nsomewhere not to let the pen slip, and every time the pen moved\nhis hand awakened, and began to work languidly. When he went home\nat night he lay down at once and stared for hours at a fly on the\nwall or a crack on the ceiling. When his wife spoke to him he heard\nher speaking as from a great distance, and he answered her dully as\nthough he was replying through a cloud. He only wanted to be let\nalone, to be allowed to stare at the fly on the wall, or the crack\non the ceiling.\n\n\u201cOne morning he found that he couldn\u2019t get up, or rather, that\nhe didn\u2019t want to get up. When his wife called him he made no\nreply, and she seemed to call him every ten seconds\u2014the words,\n\u2018get up, get up,\u2019 were crackling all round him; they were bursting\nlike bombs on the right hand and on the left of him: they were\nscattering from above and all around him, bursting upwards from the\nfloor, swirling, swaying, and jostling each other. Then the sounds\nceased, and one voice only said to him \u2018You are late!\u2019 He saw these\nwords like a blur hanging in the air, just beyond his eyelids, and\nhe stared at the blur until he fell asleep.\u201d\n\nThe voice in the cell ceased speaking for a few minutes, and then\nit went on again.\n\n\u201cFor three weeks the man did not leave his bed\u2014he lived faintly\nin a kind of trance, wherein great forms moved about slowly and\nimmense words were drumming gently for ever. When he began to\ntake notice again everything in the house was different. Most of\nthe furniture, paid for so hardly, was gone. He missed a thing\neverywhere\u2014chairs, a mirror, a table: wherever he looked he missed\nsomething; and downstairs was worse\u2014there, everything was gone. His\nwife had sold all her furniture to pay for doctors, for medicine,\nfor food and rent. And she was changed too: good things had gone\nfrom her face; she was gaunt, sharp-featured, miserable\u2014but she was\ncomforted to think he was going back to work soon.\n\n\u201cThere was a flurry in his head when he went to his office. He\ndidn\u2019t know what his employer would say for stopping away. He\nmight blame him for being sick\u2014he wondered would his employer pay\nhim for the weeks he was absent. When he stood at the door he was\nfrightened. Suddenly the thought of his master\u2019s eye grew terrible\nto him: it was a steady, cold, glassy eye; but he opened the door\nand went in. His master was there with another man and he tried to\nsay \u2018Good morning, sir,\u2019 in a natural and calm voice; but he knew\nthat the strange man had been engaged instead of himself, and this\nknowledge posted itself between his tongue and his thought. He\nheard himself stammering, he felt that his whole bearing had become\ndrooping and abject. His master was talking swiftly and the other\nman was looking at him in an embarrassed, stealthy, and pleading\nmanner: his eyes seemed to be apologising for having supplanted\nhim\u2014so he mumbled \u2018Good day, sir,\u2019 and stumbled out.\n\n\u201cWhen he got outside he could not think where to go. After a while\nhe went in the direction of the little park in the centre of the\ncity. It was quite near and he sat down on an iron bench facing\na pond. There were children walking up and down by the water\ngiving pieces of bread to the swans. Now and again a labouring\nman or a messenger went by quickly; now and again a middleaged,\nslovenly-dressed man drooped past aimlessly: sometimes a tattered,\nself-intent woman with a badgered face flopped by him. When he\nlooked at these dull people the thought came to him that they\nwere not walking there at all; they were trailing through hell,\nand their desperate eyes saw none but devils around them. He saw\nhimself joining these battered strollers . . . and he could not\nthink what he would tell his wife when he went home. He rehearsed\nto himself the terms of his dismissal a hundred times. How his\nmaster looked, what he had said: and then the fine, ironical things\nhe had said to his master. He sat in the park all day, and when\nevening fell he went home at his accustomed hour.\n\n\u201cHis wife asked him questions as to how he had got on, and wanted\nto know was there any chance of being paid for the weeks of\nabsence; the man answered her volubly, ate his supper and went to\nbed: but he did not tell his wife that he had been dismissed and\nthat there would be no money at the end of the week. He tried to\ntell her, but when he met her eye he found that he could not say\nthe words\u2014he was afraid of the look that might come into her face\nwhen she heard it\u2014she, standing terrified in those dismantled\nrooms...!\n\n\u201cIn the morning he ate his breakfast and went out again\u2014to work,\nhis wife thought. She bid him ask the master about the three weeks\u2019\nwages, or to try and get an advance on the present week\u2019s wages,\nfor they were hardly put to it to buy food. He said he would do his\nbest, but he went straight to the park and sat looking at the pond,\nlooking at the passers-by and dreaming. In the middle of the day he\nstarted up in a panic and went about the city asking for work in\noffices, shops, warehouses, everywhere, but he could not get any.\nHe trailed back heavy-footed again to the park and sat down.\n\n\u201cHe told his wife more lies about his work that night and what his\nmaster had said when he asked for an advance. He couldn\u2019t bear the\nchildren to touch him. After a little time he sneaked away to his\nbed.\n\n\u201cA week went that way. He didn\u2019t look for work any more. He sat in\nthe park, dreaming, with his head bowed into his hands. The next\nday would be the day he should have been paid his wages. The next\nday! What would his wife say when he told her he had no money? She\nwould stare at him and flush and say\u2014\u2019Didn\u2019t you go out every day\nto work?\u2019\u2014How would he tell her then so that she could understand\nquickly and spare him words?\n\n\u201cMorning came and the man ate his breakfast silently. There was no\nbutter on the bread, and his wife seemed to be apologising to him\nfor not having any. She said, \u2018We\u2019ll be able to start fair from\nto-morrow,\u2019 and when he snapped at her angrily she thought it was\nbecause he had to eat dry bread.\n\n\u201cHe went to the park and sat there for hours. Now and again he got\nup and walked into a neighbouring street, but always, after half an\nhour or so, he came back. Six o\u2019clock in the evening was his hour\nfor going home. When six o\u2019clock came he did not move, he still sat\nopposite the pond with his head bowed down into his arms. Seven\no\u2019clock passed. At nine o\u2019clock a bell was rung and every one had\nto leave. He went also. He stood outside the gates looking on this\nside and on that. Which way would he go? All roads were alike to\nhim, so he turned at last and walked somewhere. He did not go home\nthat night. He never went home again. He never was heard of again\nanywhere in the wide world.\u201d\n\nThe voice ceased speaking and silence swung down again upon the\nlittle cell. The Philosopher had been listening intently to this\nstory, and after a few minutes he spoke \u201cWhen you go up this road\nthere is a turn to the left and all the path along is bordered with\ntrees\u2014there are birds in the trees, Glory be to God! There is only\none house on that road, and the woman in it gave us milk to drink.\nShe has but one son, a good boy, and she said the other children\nwere dead; she was speaking of a husband who went away and left\nher\u2014\u2018Why should he have been afraid to come home?\u2019 said she\u2014\u2018sure,\nI loved him.\u2019\u201d\n\nAfter a little interval the voice spoke again \u201cI don\u2019t know what\nbecame of the man I was speaking of. I am a thief, and I\u2019m well\nknown to the police everywhere. I don\u2019t think that man would get a\nwelcome at the house up here, for why should he?\u201d\n\nAnother, a different, querulous kind of voice came from the\nsilence \u201cIf I knew a place where there was a welcome I\u2019d go there\nas quickly as I could, but I don\u2019t know a place and I never will,\nfor what good would a man of my age be to any person? I am a thief\nalso. The first thing I stole was a hen out of a little yard. I\nroasted it in a ditch and ate it, and then I stole another one and\nate it, and after that I stole everything I could lay my hands on.\nI suppose I will steal as long as I live, and I\u2019ll die in a ditch\nat the heel of the hunt. There was a time, not long ago, and if\nany one had told me then that I would rob, even for hunger, I\u2019d\nhave been insulted: but what does it matter now? And the reason I\nam a thief is because I got old without noticing it. Other people\nnoticed it, but I did not. I suppose age comes on one so gradually\nthat it is seldom observed. If there are wrinkles on one\u2019s face we\ndo not remember when they were not there: we put down all kind of\nlittle infirmities to sedentary living, and you will see plenty of\nyoung people bald. If a man has no occasion to tell any one his\nage, and if he never thinks of it himself, he won\u2019t see ten years\u2019\ndifference between his youth and his age, for we live in slow,\nquiet times, and nothing ever happens to mark the years as they go\nby, one after the other, and all the same.\n\n\u201cI lodged in a house for a great many years, and a little girl grew\nup there, the daughter of my landlady. She used to slide down the\nbannisters very well, and she used to play the piano very badly.\nThese two things worried me many a time. She used to bring me my\nmeals in the morning and the evening, and often enough she\u2019d stop\nto talk with me while I was eating. She was a very chatty girl and\nI was a talkative person myself. When she was about eighteen years\nof age I got so used to her that if her mother came with the food\nI would be worried for the rest of the day. Her face was as bright\nas a sunbeam, and her lazy, careless ways, big, free movements,\nand girlish chatter were pleasant to a man whose loneliness was\nonly beginning to be apparent to him through her company. I\u2019ve\nthought of it often since, and I suppose that\u2019s how it began. She\nused to listen to all my opinions and she\u2019d agree with them because\nshe had none of her own yet. She was a good girl, but lazy in her\nmind and body; childish, in fact. Her talk was as involved as her\nactions: she always seemed to be sliding down mental bannisters;\nshe thought in kinks and spoke in spasms, hopped mentally from one\nsubject to another without the slightest difficulty, and could use\na lot of language in saying nothing at all. I could see all that\nat the time, but I suppose I was too pleased with my own sharp\nbusiness brains, and sick enough, although I did not know it, of my\nsharp-brained, business companions\u2014dear Lord! I remember them well.\nIt\u2019s easy enough to have brains as they call it, but it is not so\neasy to have a little gaiety or carelessness or childishness or\nwhatever it was she had. It is good, too, to feel superior to some\none, even a girl.\n\n\u201cOne day this thought came to me\u2014\u2018It is time that I settled down.\u2019\nI don\u2019t know where the idea came from; one hears it often enough\nand it always seems to apply to some one else, but I don\u2019t know\nwhat brought it to roost with me. I was foolish, too: I bought ties\nand differently shaped collars, and took to creasing my trousers\nby folding them under the bed and lying on them all night\u2014It never\nstruck me that I was more than three times her age. I brought home\nsweets for her and she was delighted. She said she adored sweets,\nand she used to insist on my eating some of them with her; she\nliked to compare notes as to how they tasted while eating them.\nI used to get a toothache from them, but I bore with it although\nat that time I hated toothache almost as much as I hated sweets.\nThen I asked her to come out with me for a walk. She was willing\nenough and it was a novel experience for me. Indeed, it was rather\nexciting. We went out together often after that, and sometimes we\u2019d\nmeet people I knew, young men from my office or from other offices.\nI used to be shy when some of these people winked at me as they\nsaluted. It was pleasant, too, telling the girl who they were,\ntheir business and their salaries: for there was little I didn\u2019t\nknow. I used to tell her of my own position in the office and what\nthe chief said to me through the day. Sometimes we talked of the\nthings that had appeared in the evening papers. A murder perhaps,\nsome phase of a divorce case, the speech a political person had\nmade, or the price of stock. She was interested in anything so long\nas it was talk. And her own share in the conversation was good\nto hear. Every lady that passed us had a hat that stirred her to\nthe top of rapture or the other pinnacle of disgust. She told me\nwhat ladies were frights and what were ducks. Under her scampering\ntongue I began to learn something of humanity, even though she saw\nmost people as delightfully funny clowns or superb, majestical\nprinces, but I noticed that she never said a bad word of a man,\nalthough many of the men she looked after were ordinary enough.\nUntil I went walking with her I never knew what a shop window was.\nA jeweller\u2019s window especially: there were curious things in it.\nShe told me how a tiara should be worn, and a pendant, and she\nexplained the kind of studs I should wear myself; they were made of\ngold and had red stones in them; she showed me the ropes of pearl\nor diamonds that she thought would look pretty on herself: and one\nday she said that she liked me very much. I was pleased and excited\nthat day, but I was a business man and I said very little in reply.\nI never liked a pig in a poke.\n\n\u201cShe used to go out two nights in the week, Monday and Thursday,\ndressed in her best clothes. I didn\u2019t know where she went, and I\ndidn\u2019t ask\u2014I thought she visited an acquaintance, a girl friend or\nsome such. The time went by and I made up my mind to ask her to\nmarry me. I had watched her long enough and she was always kind\nand bright. I liked the way she smiled, and I liked her obedient,\nmannerly bearing. There was something else I liked, which I did\nnot recognise then, something surrounding all her movements, a\ngraciousness, a spaciousness: I did not analyse it; but I know now\nthat it was her youth. I remember that when we were out together\nshe walked slowly, but in the house she would leap up and down the\nstairs\u2014she moved furiously, but I didn\u2019t.\n\n\u201cOne evening she dressed to go out as usual, and she called at my\ndoor to know had I everything I wanted. I said I had something to\ntell her when she came home, something important. She promised to\ncome in early to hear it, and I laughed at her and she laughed back\nand went sliding down the bannisters. I don\u2019t think I have had any\nreason to laugh since that night. A letter came for me after she\nhad gone, and I knew by the shape and the handwriting that it was\nfrom the office. It puzzled me to think why I should be written to.\nI didn\u2019t like opening it somehow.... It was my dismissal on account\nof advancing age, and it hoped for my future welfare politely\nenough. It was signed by the Senior. I didn\u2019t grip it at first, and\nthen I thought it was a hoax. For a long time I sat in my room with\nan empty mind. I was watching my mind: there were immense distances\nin it that drowsed and buzzed; large, soft movements seemed to be\nmade in my mind, and although I was looking at the letter in my\nhand I was really trying to focus those great, swinging spaces\nin my brain, and my ears were listening for a movement of some\nkind. I can see back to that time plainly. I went walking up and\ndown the room. There was a dull, subterranean anger in me. I\nremember muttering once or twice, \u2018Shameful!\u2019 and again I said,\n\u2018Ridiculous!\u2019 At the idea of age I looked at my face in the glass,\nbut I was looking at my mind, and it seemed to go grey, there was a\nheaviness there also. I seemed to be peering from beneath a weight\nat something strange. I had a feeling that I had let go a grip\nwhich I had held tightly for a long time, and I had a feeling that\nthe letting go was a grave disaster . . . that strange face in the\nglass! how wrinkled it was! there were only a few hairs on the head\nand they were grey ones. There was a constant twitching of the lips\nand the eyes were deep-set, little and dull. I left the glass and\nsat down by the window, looking out. I saw nothing in the street: I\njust looked into a blackness. My mind was as blank as the night and\nas soundless. There was a swirl outside the window, rain tossed by\nthe wind; without noticing, I saw it, and my brain swung with the\nrain until it heaved in circles, and then a feeling of faintness\nawakened me to myself. I did not allow my mind to think, but now\nand again a word swooped from immense distances through my brain,\nswinging like a comet across a sky and jarring terribly when it\nstruck: \u2018Sacked\u2019 was one word, \u2018Old\u2019 was another word.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know how long I sat watching the flight of these dreadful\nwords and listening to their clanking impact, but a movement in\nthe street aroused me. Two people, the girl and a young, slender\nman, were coming slowly up to the house. The rain was falling\nheavily, but they did not seem to mind it. There was a big puddle\nof water close to the kerb, and the girl, stepping daintily as a\ncat, went round this, but the young man stood for a moment beyond\nit. He raised both arms, clenched his fists, swung them, and jumped\nover the puddle. Then he and the girl stood looking at the water,\napparently measuring the jump. I could see them plainly by a street\nlamp. They were bidding each other good-bye. The girl put her hand\nto his neck and settled the collar of his coat, and while her hand\nrested on him the young man suddenly and violently flung his arms\nabout her and hugged her; then they kissed and moved apart. The\nman walked to the rain puddle and stood there with his face turned\nback laughing at her, and then he jumped straight into the middle\nof the puddle and began to dance up and down in it, the muddy\nwater splashing up to his knees. She ran over to him crying \u2018Stop,\nsilly!\u2019 When she came into the house, I bolted my door and I gave\nno answer to her knock.\n\n\u201cIn a few months the money I had saved was spent. I couldn\u2019t get\nany work, I was too old; they put it that they wanted a younger\nman. I couldn\u2019t pay my rent. I went out into the world again,\nlike a baby, an old baby in a new world. I stole food, food, food\nanywhere and everywhere. At first I was always caught. Often I was\nsent to gaol; sometimes I was let go; sometimes I was kicked; but I\nlearned to live like a wolf at last. I am not often caught now when\nI steal food. But there is something happening every day, whether\nit is going to gaol or planning how to steal a hen or a loaf of\nbread. I find that it is a good life, much better than the one I\nlived for nearly sixty years, and I have time to think over every\nsort of thing....\u201d\n\nWhen the morning came the Philosopher was taken on a car to the big\nCity in order that he might be put on his trial and hanged. It was\nthe custom.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK VI. THE THIN WOMAN\u2019S JOURNEY AND THE HAPPY MARCH\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII\n\nThe ability of the Thin Woman of Inis Magrath for anger was\nunbounded. She was not one of those limited creatures who are swept\nclean by a gust of wrath and left placid and smiling after its\npassing. She could store her anger in those caverns of eternity\nwhich open into every soul, and which are filled with rage and\nviolence until the time comes when they may be stored with wisdom\nand love; for, in the genesis of life, love is at the beginning\nand the end of things. First, like a laughing child, love came to\nlabour minutely in the rocks and sands of the heart, opening the\nfirst of those roads which lead inwards for ever, and then, the\nlabour of his day being done, love fled away and was forgotten.\nFollowing came the fierce winds of hate to work like giants and\ngnomes among the prodigious debris, quarrying the rocks and\nlevelling the roads which soar inwards; but when that work is\ncompleted love will come radiantly again to live for ever in the\nhuman heart, which is Eternity.\n\nBefore the Thin Woman could undertake the redemption of her husband\nby wrath, it was necessary that she should be purified by the\nperformance of that sacrifice which is called the Forgiveness of\nEnemies, and this she did by embracing the Leprecauns of the Gort\nand in the presence of the sun and the wind remitting their crime\nagainst her husband. Thus she became free to devote her malice\nagainst the State of Punishment, while forgiving the individuals\nwho had but acted in obedience to the pressure of their infernal\nenvironment, which pressure is Sin.\n\nThis done she set about baking the three cakes against her journey\nto Angus \u00d3g.\n\nWhile she was baking the cakes, the children, Seumas and Brigid\nBeg, slipped away into the wood to speak to each other and to\nwonder over this extraordinary occurrence.\n\nAt first their movements were very careful, for they could not be\nquite sure that the policemen had really gone away, or whether they\nwere hiding in dark places waiting to pounce on them and carry\nthem away to captivity. The word \u201cmurder\u201d was almost unknown to\nthem, and its strangeness was rendered still more strange by reason\nof the nearness of their father to the term. It was a terrible\nword and its terror was magnified by their father\u2019s unthinkable\nimplication. What had he done? Almost all his actions and habits\nwere so familiar to them as to be commonplace, and yet, there was a\ndark something to which he was a party and which dashed before them\nas terrible and ungraspable as a lightning-flash. They understood\nthat it had something to do with that other father and mother whose\nbodies had been snatched from beneath the hearthstone, but they\nknew the Philosopher had done nothing in that instance, and, so,\nthey saw murder as a terrible, occult affair which was quite beyond\ntheir mental horizons.\n\nNo one jumped out on them from behind the trees, so in a little\ntime their confidence returned and they walked less carefully.\nWhen they reached the edge of the pine wood the brilliant sunshine\ninvited them to go farther, and after a little hesitation they did\nso. The good spaces and the sweet air dissipated their melancholy\nthoughts, and very soon they were racing each other to this\npoint and to that. Their wayward flights had carried them in the\ndirection of Meehawl MacMurrachu\u2019s cottage, and here, breathlessly,\nthey threw themselves under a small tree to rest. It was a thorn\nbush, and as they sat beneath it the cessation of movement gave\nthem opportunity to again consider the terrible position of their\nfather. With children thought cannot be separated from action for\nvery long. They think as much with their hands as with their heads.\nThey have to do the thing they speak of in order to visualise the\nidea, and, consequently, Seumas Beg was soon reconstructing the\nearlier visit of the policemen to their house in grand pantomime.\nThe ground beneath the thorn bush became the hearthstone of their\ncottage; he and Brigid became four policemen, and in a moment he\nwas digging furiously with a broad piece of wood to find the two\nhidden bodies. He had digged for only a few minutes when the piece\nof wood struck against something hard. A very little time sufficed\nto throw the soil off this, and their delight was great when they\nunearthed a beautiful little earthen crock filled to the brim with\nshining, yellow dust. When they lifted this they were astonished\nat its great weight. They played for a long time with it, letting\nthe heavy, yellow shower slip through their fingers and watching\nit glisten in the sunshine. After they tired of this they decided\nto bring the crock home, but by the time they reached the Gort\nna Cloca Mora they were so tired that they could not carry it\nany farther, and they decided to leave it with their friends the\nLeprecauns. Seumas Beg gave the taps on the tree trunk which they\nhad learned, and in a moment the Leprecaun whom they knew came up.\n\n[Illustration: He . . . wept in so loud a voice that his comrades\nswarmed up to see what had happened to him]\n\n\u201cWe have brought this, sir,\u201d said Seumas. But he got no further,\nfor the instant the Leprecaun saw the crock he threw his arms\naround it and wept in so loud a voice that his comrades swarmed\nup to see what had happened to him, and they added their laughter\nand tears to his, to which chorus the children subjoined their\nsympathetic clamour, so that a noise of great complexity rang\nthrough all the Gort.\n\nBut the Leprecauns\u2019 surrender to this happy passion was short.\nHard on their gladness came remembrance and consternation; and\nthen repentance, that dismal virtue, wailed in their ears and\ntheir hearts. How could they thank the children whose father and\nprotector they had delivered to the unilluminated justice of\nhumanity? that justice which demands not atonement but punishment;\nwhich is learned in the Book of Enmity but not in the Book of\nFriendship; which calls hatred Nature, and Love a conspiracy; whose\nlaw is an iron chain and whose mercy is debility and chagrin; the\nblind fiend who would impose his own blindness; that unfruitful\nloin which curses fertility; that stony heart which would petrify\nthe generations of man; before whom life withers away appalled and\ndeath would shudder again to its tomb. Repentance! they wiped the\ninadequate ooze from their eyes and danced joyfully for spite. They\ncould do no more, so they fed the children lovingly and carried\nthem home.\n\nThe Thin Woman had baked three cakes. One of these she gave to each\nof the children and one she kept herself, whereupon they set out\nupon their journey to Angus \u00d3g.\n\nIt was well after midday when they started. The fresh gaiety of the\nmorning was gone, and a tyrannous sun, whose majesty was almost\ninsupportable, lorded it over the world. There was but little shade\nfor the travellers, and, after a time, they became hot and weary\nand thirsty\u2014that is, the children did, but the Thin Woman, by\nreason of her thinness, was proof against every elemental rigour,\nexcept hunger, from which no creature is free.\n\nShe strode in the centre of the road, a very volcano of silence,\nthinking twenty different thoughts at the one moment, so that\nthe urgency of her desire for utterance kept her terribly quiet;\nbut against this crust of quietude there was accumulating a mass\nof speech which must at the last explode or petrify. From this\ncongestion of thought there arose the first deep rumblings,\nprecursors of uproar, and another moment would have heard the\nthunder of her varied malediction, but that Brigid Beg began to\ncry: for, indeed, the poor child was both tired and parched to\ndistraction, and Seumas had no barrier against a similar surrender,\nbut two minutes\u2019 worth of boyish pride. This discovery withdrew the\nThin Woman from her fiery contemplations, and in comforting the\nchildren she forgot her own hardships.\n\nIt became necessary to find water quickly: no difficult thing,\nfor the Thin Woman, being a Natural, was like all other creatures\nable to sense the whereabouts of water, and so she at once led the\nchildren in a slightly different direction. In a few minutes they\nreached a well by the road-side, and here the children drank deeply\nand were comforted. There was a wide, leafy tree growing hard by\nthe well, and in the shade of this tree they sat down and ate their\ncakes.\n\nWhile they rested the Thin Woman advised the children on many\nimportant matters. She never addressed her discourse to both of\nthem at once, but spoke first to Seumas on one subject and then\nto Brigid on another subject; for, as she said, the things which\na boy must learn are not those which are necessary to a girl. It\nis particularly important that a man should understand how to\ncircumvent women, for this and the capture of food forms the basis\nof masculine wisdom, and on this subject she spoke to Seumas. It\nis, however, equally urgent that a woman should be skilled to\nkeep a man in his proper place, and to this thesis Brigid gave an\nundivided attention.\n\nShe taught that a man must hate all women before he is able to\nlove a woman, but that he is at liberty, or rather he is under\nexpress command, to love all men because they are of his kind.\nWomen also should love all other women as themselves, and they\nshould hate all men but one man only, and him they should seek to\nturn into a woman, because women, by the order of their beings,\nmust be either tyrants or slaves, and it is better they should\nbe tyrants than slaves. She explained that between men and women\nthere exists a state of unremitting warfare, and that the endeavour\nof each sex is to bring the other to subjection; but that women\nare possessed by a demon called Pity which severely handicaps\ntheir battle and perpetually gives victory to the male, who is\nthus constantly rescued on the very ridges of defeat. She said\nto Seumas that his fatal day would dawn when he loved a woman,\nbecause he would sacrifice his destiny to her caprice, and she\nbegged him for love of her to beware of all that twisty sex. To\nBrigid she revealed that a woman\u2019s terrible day is upon her when\nshe knows that a man loves her, for a man in love submits only to\na woman, a partial, individual and temporary submission, but a\nwoman who is loved surrenders more fully to the very god of love\nhimself, and so she becomes a slave, and is not alone deprived of\nher personal liberty, but is even infected in her mental processes\nby this crafty obsession. The fates work for man, and therefore,\nshe averred, woman must be victorious, for those who dare to war\nagainst the gods are already assured of victory: this being the law\nof life, that only the weak shall conquer. The limit of strength\nis petrifaction and immobility, but there is no limit to weakness,\nand cunning or fluidity is its counsellor. For these reasons, and\nin order that life might not cease, women should seek to turn their\nhusbands into women; then they would be tyrants and their husbands\nwould be slaves, and life would be renewed for a further period.\n\nAs the Thin Woman proceeded with this lesson it became at last so\nextremely complicated that she was brought to a stand by the knots,\nso she decided to resume their journey and disentangle her argument\nwhen the weather became cooler.\n\nThey were repacking the cakes in their wallets when they observed a\nstout, comely female coming towards the well. This woman, when she\ndrew near, saluted the Thin Woman, and her the Thin Woman saluted\nagain, whereupon the stranger sat down.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s hot weather, surely,\u201d said she, \u201cand I\u2019m thinking it\u2019s as\nmuch as a body\u2019s life is worth to be travelling this day and the\nsun the way it is. Did you come far, now, ma\u2019am, or is it that you\nare used to going the roads and don\u2019t mind it?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot far,\u201d said the Thin Woman.\n\n\u201cFar or near,\u201d said the stranger, \u201ca perch is as much as I\u2019d like\nto travel this time of the year. That\u2019s a fine pair of children you\nhave with you now, ma\u2019am.\u201d\n\n\u201cThey are,\u201d said the Thin Woman.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ve ten of them myself,\u201d the other continued, \u201cand I often\nwondered where they came from. It\u2019s queer to think of one woman\nmaking ten new creatures and she not getting a penny for it, nor\nany thanks itself.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is,\u201d said the Thin Woman.\n\n\u201cDo you ever talk more than two words at the one time, ma\u2019am?\u201d said\nthe stranger.\n\n\u201cI do,\u201d said the Thin Woman.\n\n\u201cI\u2019d give a penny to hear you,\u201d replied the other angrily, \u201cfor a\nmore bad-natured, cross-grained, cantankerous person than yourself\nI never met among womankind. It\u2019s what I said to a man only\nyesterday, that thin ones are bad ones, and there isn\u2019t any one\ncould be thinner than you are yourself.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe reason you say that,\u201d said the Thin Woman calmly, \u201cis because\nyou are fat and you have to tell lies to yourself to hide your\nmisfortune, and let on that you like it. There is no one in the\nworld could like to be fat, and there I leave you, ma\u2019am. You can\npoke your finger in your own eye, but you may keep it out of mine\nif you please, and, so, good-bye to you; and if I wasn\u2019t a quiet\nwoman I\u2019d pull you by the hair of the head up a hill and down a\nhill for two hours, and now there\u2019s an end of it. I\u2019ve given you\nmore than two words; let you take care or I\u2019ll give you two more\nthat will put blisters on your body for ever. Come along with me\nnow, children, and if ever you see a woman like that woman you\u2019ll\nknow that she eats until she can\u2019t stand, and drinks until she\ncan\u2019t sit, and sleeps until she is stupid; and if that sort of\nperson ever talks to you remember that two words are all that\u2019s due\nto her, and let them be short ones, for a woman like that would be\na traitor and a thief, only that she\u2019s too lazy to be anything but\na sot, God help her I and, so, good-bye.\u201d\n\nThereupon the Thin Woman and the children arose, and having saluted\nthe stranger they went down the wide path; but the other woman\nstayed where she was sitting, and she did not say a word even to\nherself.\n\nAs she strode along the Thin Woman lapsed again to her anger, and\nbecame so distant in her aspect that the children could get no\ncompanionship from her; so, after a while, they ceased to consider\nher at all and addressed themselves to their play. They danced\nbefore and behind and around her. They ran and doubled, shouted\nand laughed and sang. Sometimes they pretended they were husband\nand wife, and then they plodded quietly side by side, making wise,\noccasional remarks on the weather, or the condition of their\nhealth, or the state of the fields of rye. Sometimes one was a\nhorse and the other was a driver, and then they stamped along the\nroad with loud, fierce snortings and louder and fiercer commands.\nAt another moment one was a cow being driven with great difficulty\nto market by a driver whose temper had given way hours before; or\nthey both became goats and with their heads jammed together they\npushed and squealed viciously; and these changes lapsed into one\nanother so easily that at no moment were they unoccupied. But\nas the day wore on to evening the immense surrounding quietude\nbegan to weigh heavily upon them. Saving for their own shrill\nvoices there was no sound, and this unending, wide silence at last\ncommanded them to a corresponding quietness. Little by little they\nceased their play. The scamper became a trot, each run was more and\nmore curtailed in its length, the race back became swifter than the\nrun forth, and, shortly, they were pacing soberly enough one on\neither side of the Thin Woman sending back and forth a few quiet\nsentences. Soon even these sentences trailed away into the vast\nsurrounding stillness. Then Brigid Beg clutched the Thin Woman\u2019s\nright hand, and not long after Seumas gently clasped her left hand,\nand these mute appeals for protection and comfort again released\nher from the valleys of fury through which she had been so fiercely\ncareering.\n\nAs they went gently along they saw a cow lying in a field, and,\nseeing this animal, the Thin Woman stopped thoughtfully.\n\n\u201cEverything,\u201d said she, \u201cbelongs to the wayfarer,\u201d and she crossed\ninto the field and milked the cow into a vessel which she had.\n\n\u201cI wonder,\u201d said Seumas, \u201cwho owns that cow.\u201d\n\n\u201cMaybe,\u201d said Brigid Beg, \u201cnobody owns her at all.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe cow owns herself,\u201d said the Thin Woman, \u201cfor nobody can own a\nthing that is alive. I am sure she gives her milk to us with great\ngoodwill, for we are modest, temperate people without greed or\npretension.\u201d\n\nOn being released the cow lay down again in the grass and resumed\nits interrupted cud. As the evening had grown chill the Thin Woman\nand the children huddled close to the warm animal. They drew pieces\nof cake from their wallets, and ate these and drank happily from\nthe vessel of milk. Now and then the cow looked benignantly over\nits shoulder bidding them a welcome to its hospitable flanks. It\nhad a mild, motherly eye, and it was very fond of children. The\nyoungsters continually deserted their meal in order to put their\narms about the cow\u2019s neck to thank and praise her for her goodness,\nand to draw each other\u2019s attention to various excellences in its\nappearance.\n\n\u201cCow,\u201d said Brigid Beg in an ecstasy, \u201cI love you.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo do I,\u201d said Seumas. \u201cDo you notice the kind of eyes it has?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy does a cow have horns?\u201d said Brigid.\n\nSo they asked the cow that question, but it only smiled and said\nnothing.\n\n\u201cIf a cow talked to you,\u201d said Brigid, \u201cwhat would it say?\u201d\n\n\u201cLet us be cows,\u201d replied Seumas, \u201cand then, maybe, we will find\nout.\u201d\n\nSo they became cows and ate a few blades of grass, but they found\nthat when they were cows they did not want to say anything but\n\u201cmoo,\u201d and they decided that cows did not want to say anything more\nthan that either, and they became interested in the reflection\nthat, perhaps, nothing else was worth saying.\n\nA long, thin, yellow-coloured fly was going in that direction on a\njourney, and he stopped to rest himself on the cow\u2019s nose.\n\n\u201cYou are welcome,\u201d said the cow.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s a great night for travelling,\u201d said the fly, \u201cbut one gets\ntired alone. Have you seen any of my people about?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d replied the cow, \u201cno one but beetles to-night, and they\nseldom stop for a talk. You\u2019ve rather a good kind of life, I\nsuppose, flying about and enjoying yourself.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe all have our troubles,\u201d said the fly in a melancholy voice, and\nhe commenced to clean his right wing with his leg.\n\n\u201cDoes any one ever lie against your back the way these people are\nlying against mine, or do they steal your milk?\u201d\n\n\u201cThere are too many spiders about,\u201d said the fly.\n\n\u201cNo corner is safe from them; they squat in the grass and pounce on\nyou. I\u2019ve got a twist, my eye trying to watch them. They are ugly,\nvoracious people without manners or neighbourliness, terrible,\nterrible creatures.\u201d\n\n\u201cI have seen them,\u201d said the cow, \u201cbut they never done me any harm.\nMove up a little bit please, I want to lick my nose: it\u2019s queer\nhow itchy my nose gets\u201d\u2014the fly moved up a bit. \u201cIf,\u201d the cow\ncontinued, \u201cyou had stayed there, and if my tongue had hit you, I\ndon\u2019t suppose you would ever have recovered.\u201d\n\n\u201cYour tongue couldn\u2019t have hit me,\u201d said the by. \u201cI move very\nquickly you know.\u201d\n\nHereupon the cow slily whacked her tongue across her nose. She did\nnot see the fly move, but it was hovering safely half an inch over\nher nose.\n\n\u201cYou see,\u201d said the fly.\n\n\u201cI do,\u201d replied the cow, and she bellowed so sudden and furious a\nsnort of laughter that the fly was blown far away by that gust and\nnever came back again.\n\nThis amused the cow exceedingly, and she chuckled and sniggered\nto herself for a long time. The children had listened with great\ninterest to the conversation, and they also laughed delightedly,\nand the Thin Woman admitted that the fly had got the worse of\nit; but, after a while, she said that the part of the cow\u2019s back\nagainst which she was resting was bonier than anything she had ever\nleaned upon before, and that while thinness was a virtue no one had\nany right to be thin in lumps, and that on this count the cow was\nnot to be commended. On hearing this the cow arose, and without\nanother look at them it walked away into the dusky field. The Thin\nWoman told the children afterwards that she was sorry she had said\nanything, but she was unable to bring her self to apologise to the\ncow, and so they were forced to resume their journey in order to\nkeep themselves warm.\n\nThere was a sickle moon in the sky, a tender sword whose radiance\nstayed in its own high places and did not at all illumine the heavy\nworld below; the glimmer of infrequent stars could also be seen\nwith spacious, dark solitudes between them; but on the earth the\ndarkness gathered in fold on fold of misty veiling, through which\nthe trees uttered an earnest whisper, and the grasses lifted their\nlittle voices, and the wind crooned its thrilling, stern lament.\n\nAs the travellers walked on, their eyes, flinching from the\ndarkness, rested joyfully on the gracious moon, but that joy lasted\nonly for a little time. The Thin Woman spoke to them curiously\nabout the moon, and, indeed, she might speak with assurance on that\nsubject, for her ancestors had sported in the cold beam through\ncountless dim generations.\n\n\u201cIt is not known,\u201d said she, \u201cthat the fairies seldom dance for\njoy, but for sadness that they have been expelled from the sweet\ndawn, and therefore their midnight revels are only ceremonies\nto remind them of their happy state in the morning of the world\nbefore thoughtful curiosity and self-righteous moralities drove\nthem from the kind face of the sun to the dark exile of midnight.\nIt is strange that we may not be angry while looking on the moon.\nIndeed, no mere appetite or passion of any kind dare become\nimperative in the presence of the Shining One; and this, in a more\nlimited degree, is true also of every form of beauty; for there\nis something in an absolute beauty to chide away the desires of\nmateriality and yet to dissolve the spirit in ecstasies of fear and\nsadness. Beauty has no liking for Thought, but will send terror\nand sorrow on those who look upon her with intelligent eyes. We\nmay neither be angry nor gay in the presence of the moon, nor may\nwe dare to think in her bailiwick, or the Jealous One will surely\nafflict us. I think that she is not benevolent but malign, and\nthat her mildness is a cloak for many shy infamies. I think that\nbeauty tends to become frightful as it becomes perfect, and that,\nif we could see it comprehendingly, the extreme of beauty is a\ndesolating hideousness, and that the name of ultimate, absolute\nbeauty is Madness. Therefore men should seek loveliness rather\nthan beauty, and so they would always have a friend to go beside\nthem, to understand and to comfort them, for that is the business\nof loveliness: but the business of beauty\u2014there is no person\nat all knows what that is. Beauty is the extreme which has not\nyet swung to and become merged in its opposite. The poets have\nsung of this beauty and the philosophers have prophesied of it,\nthinking that the beauty which passes all understanding is also\nthe peace which passeth understanding; but I think that whatever\npasses understanding, which is imagination, is terrible, standing\naloof from humanity and from kindness, and that this is the sin\nagainst the Holy Ghost, the great Artist. An isolated perfection\nis a symbol of terror and pride, and it is followed only by the\nhead of man, but the heart winces from it aghast, cleaving to\nthat loveliness which is modesty and righteousness. Every extreme\nis bad, in order that it may swing to and fertilize its equally\nhorrible opposite.\u201d\n\nThus, speaking more to herself than to the children, the Thin Woman\nbeguiled the way. The moon had brightened as she spoke, and on\neither side of the path, wherever there was a tree or a rise in the\nground, a black shadow was crouching tensely watchful, seeming as\nif it might spring into terrible life at a bound. Of these shadows\nthe children became so fearful that the Thin Woman forsook the path\nand adventured on the open hillside, so that in a short time the\nroad was left behind and around them stretched the quiet slopes in\nthe full shining of the moon.\n\nWhen they had walked for a long time the children became sleepy;\nthey were unused to being awake in the night, and as there was no\nplace where they could rest, and as it was evident that they could\nnot walk much further, the Thin Woman grew anxious. Already Brigid\nhad made a tiny, whimpering sound, and Seumas had followed this\nwith a sigh, the slightest prolongation of which might have trailed\ninto a sob, and when children are overtaken by tears they do not\nunderstand how to escape from them until they are simply bored by\nmuch weeping.\n\n[Illustration: When they topped a slight incline they saw a light\nshining some distance away]\n\nWhen they topped a slight incline they saw a light shining some\ndistance away, and toward this the Thin Woman hurried. As they drew\nnear she saw it was a small fire, and around this some figures were\nseated. In a few minutes she came into the circle of the firelight,\nand here she halted suddenly. She would have turned and fled, but\nfear loosened her knees so that they would not obey her will;\nalso the people by the fire had observed her, and a great voice\ncommanded that she should draw near.\n\nThe fire was made of branches of heather, and beside it three\nfigures sat. The Thin Woman, hiding her perturbation as well as\nshe could, came nigh and sat down by the fire. After a low word of\ngreeting she gave some of her cake to the children, drew them close\nto her, wrapped her shawl about their heads and bade them sleep.\nThen, shrinkingly, she looked at her hosts.\n\nThey were quite naked, and each of them gazed on her with intent\nearnestness. The first was so beautiful that the eye failed upon\nhim, flinching aside as from a great brightness. He was of mighty\nstature, and yet so nobly proportioned, so exquisitely slender and\ngraceful, that no idea of gravity or bulk went with his height.\nHis face was kingly and youthful and of a terrifying serenity. The\nsecond man was of equal height, but broad to wonderment. So broad\nwas he that his great height seemed diminished. The tense arm on\nwhich he leaned was knotted and ridged with muscle, and his hand\ngripped deeply into the ground. His face seemed as though it had\nbeen hammered from hard rock, a massive, blunt face as rigid as\nhis arm. The third man can scarcely be described. He was neither\nshort nor tall. He was muscled as heavily as the second man. As he\nsat he looked like a colossal toad squatting with his arms about\nhis knees, and upon these his chin rested. He had no shape nor\nswiftness, and his head was flattened down and was scarcely wider\nthan his neck. He had a protruding dog-like mouth that twitched\noccasionally, and from his little eyes there glinted a horrible\nintelligence. Before this man the soul of the Thin Woman grovelled.\nShe felt herself crawling to him. The last terrible abasement of\nwhich humanity is capable came upon her: a fascination which would\nhave drawn her to him in screaming adoration. Hardly could she look\naway from him, but her arms were about the children, and love,\nmightiest of the powers, stirred fiercely in her heart.\n\nThe first man spoke to her.\n\n\u201cWoman,\u201d said he, \u201cfor what purpose do you go abroad on this night\nand on this hill?\u201d\n\n\u201cI travel, sir,\u201d said the Thin Woman, \u201csearching for the Brugh of\nAngus the son of the Dagda M\u00f3r.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe are all children of the Great Father,\u201d said he. \u201cDo you know\nwho we are?\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not know that,\u201d said she.\n\n\u201cWe are the Three Absolutes, the Three Redeemers, the three\nAlembics\u2014the Most Beautiful Man, the Strongest Man and the Ugliest\nMan. In the midst of every strife we go unhurt. We count the slain\nand the victors and pass on laughing, and to us in the eternal\norder come all the peoples of the world to be regenerated for ever.\nWhy have you called to us?\u201d\n\n\u201cI did not call to you, indeed,\u201d said the Thin Woman; \u201cbut why do\nyou sit in the path so that travellers to the House of the Dagda\nare halted on their journey?\u201d\n\n\u201cThere are no paths closed to us,\u201d he replied; \u201ceven the gods seek\nus, for they grow weary in their splendid desolation\u2014saving Him who\nliveth in all things and in us; Him we serve and before His awful\nfront we abase ourselves. You, O Woman, who are walking in the\nvalleys of anger, have called to us in your heart, therefore we are\nwaiting for you on the side of the hill. Choose now one of us to be\nyour mate, and do not fear to choose, for our kingdoms are equal\nand our powers are equal.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy would I choose one of you,\u201d replied the Thin Woman, \u201cwhen I am\nwell married already to the best man in the world?\u201d\n\n\u201cBeyond us there is no best man,\u201d said he, \u201cfor we are the best in\nbeauty, and the best in strength, and the best in ugliness; there\nis no excellence which is not contained in us three. If you are\nmarried what does that matter to us who are free from the pettiness\nof jealousy and fear, being at one with ourselves and with every\nmanifestation of nature.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf,\u201d she replied, \u201cyou are the Absolute and are above all\npettiness, can you not be superior to me also and let me pass\nquietly on my road to the Dagda!\u201d\n\n\u201cWe are what all humanity desire,\u201d quoth he, \u201cand we desire all\nhumanity. There is nothing, small or great, disdained by our\nimmortal appetites. It is not lawful, even for the Absolute, to\noutgrow Desire, which is the breath of God quick in his creatures\nand not to be bounded or surmounted by any perfection.\u201d\n\nDuring this conversation the other great figures had leaned forward\nlistening intently but saying nothing. The Thin Woman could feel\nthe children like little, terrified birds pressing closely and very\nquietly to her sides.\n\n\u201cSir,\u201d said she, \u201ctell me what is Beauty and what is Strength and\nwhat is Ugliness? for, although I can see these things, I do not\nknow what they are.\u201d\n\n\u201cI will tell you that,\u201d he replied\u2014\u201cBeauty is Thought and Strength\nis Love and Ugliness is Generation. The home of Beauty is the head\nof man. The home of Strength is the heart of man, and in the loins\nUgliness keeps his dreadful state. If you come with me you shall\nknow all delight. You shall live unharmed in the flame of the\nspirit, and nothing that is gross shall bind your limbs or hinder\nyour thought. You shall move as a queen amongst all raging passions\nwithout torment or despair. Never shall you be driven or ashamed,\nbut always you will choose your own paths and walk with me in\nfreedom and contentment and beauty.\u201d\n\n\u201cAll things,\u201d said the Thin Woman, \u201cmust act according to the order\nof their being, and so I say to Thought, if you hold me against my\nwill presently I will bind you against your will, for the holder\nof an unwilling mate becomes the guardian and the slave of his\ncaptive.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is true,\u201d said he, \u201cand against a thing that is true I cannot\ncontend; therefore, you are free from me, but from my brethren you\nare not free.\u201d\n\nThe Thin Woman turned to the second man.\n\n\u201cYou are Strength?\u201d said she.\n\n\u201cI am Strength and Love,\u201d he boomed, \u201cand with me there is safety\nand peace; my days have honour and my nights quietness. There is\nno evil thing walks near my lands, nor is any sound heard but the\nlowing of my cattle, the songs of my birds and the laughter of my\nhappy children. Come then to me who gives protection and happiness\nand peace, and does not fail or grow weary at any time.\u201d\n\n\u201cI will not go with you,\u201d said the Thin Woman, \u201cfor I am a mother\nand my strength cannot be increased; I am a mother and my love\ncannot be added to. What have I further to desire from thee, thou\ngreat man?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are free of me,\u201d said the second man, \u201cbut from my brother you\nare not free.\u201d\n\nThen to the third man the Thin Woman addressed herself in terror,\nfor to that hideous one something cringed within her in an ecstasy\nof loathing. That repulsion which at its strongest becomes\nattraction gripped her. A shiver, a plunge, and she had gone, but\nthe hands of the children withheld her while in woe she abased\nherself before him.\n\nHe spoke, and his voice came clogged and painful as though it urged\nfrom the matted pores of the earth itself.\n\n\u201cThere is none left to whom you may go but me only. Do not be\nafraid, but come to me and I will give you these wild delights\nwhich have been long forgotten. All things which are crude and\nriotous, all that is gross and without limit is mine. You shall\nnot think and suffer any longer; but you shall feel so surely that\nthe heat of the sun will be happiness: the taste of food, the wind\nthat blows upon you, the ripe ease of your body\u2014these things will\namaze you who have forgotten them. My great arms about you will\nmake you furious and young again; you shall leap on the hillside\nlike a young goat and sing for joy as the birds sing. Leave this\ncrabbed humanity that is barred and chained away from joy and come\nwith me, to whose ancient quietude at the last both Strength and\nBeauty will come like children tired in the evening, returning to\nthe freedom of the brutes and the birds, with bodies sufficient for\ntheir pleasure and with no care for Thought or foolish curiosity.\u201d\n\nBut the Thin Woman drew back from his hand, saying \u201cIt is not\nlawful to turn again when the journey is commenced, but to go\nforward to whatever is appointed; nor may we return to your meadows\nand trees and sunny places who have once departed from them. The\ntorments of the mind may not be renounced for any easement of\nthe body until the smoke that blinds us is blown away, and the\ntormenting flame has fitted us for that immortal ecstasy which is\nthe bosom of God. Nor is it lawful that ye great ones should beset\nthe path of travellers, seeking to lure them away with cunning\npromises. It is only at the cross-roads ye may sit where the\ntraveller will hesitate and be in doubt, but on the highway ye have\nno power.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are free of me,\u201d said the third man, \u201cuntil you are ready\nto come to me again, for I only of all things am steadfast\nand patient, and to me all return in their seasons. There are\nbrightnesses in my secret places in the woods, and lamps in my\ngardens beneath the hills, tended by the angels of God, and behind\nmy face there is another face not hated by the Bright Ones.\u201d\n\nSo the three Absolutes arose and strode mightily away; and as they\nwent their thunderous speech to each other boomed against the\nclouds and the earth like a gusty wind, and, even when they had\ndisappeared, that great rumble could be heard dying gently away in\nthe moonlit distances.\n\nThe Thin Woman and the children went slowly forward on the rugged,\nsloping way. Far beyond, near the distant summit of the hill there\nwas a light gleaming.\n\n\u201cYonder,\u201d said the Thin Woman, \u201cis the Brugh of Angus Mac an \u00d3g,\nthe son of the Dagda M\u00f3r,\u201d and toward this light she assisted the\nweary children.\n\nIn a little she was in the presence of the god and by him refreshed\nand comforted. She told him all that had happened to her husband\nand implored his assistance. This was readily accorded, for the\nchief business of the gods is to give protection and assistance\nto such of their people as require it; but (and this is their\nlimitation) they cannot give any help until it is demanded, the\nfreewill of mankind being the most jealously guarded and holy\nprinciple in life; therefore, the interference of the loving gods\ncomes only on an equally loving summons.\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII\n\nCaitilin Ni Murrachu sat alone in the Brugh of Angus much as she\nhad sat on the hillside and in the cave of Pan, and again she was\nthinking. She was happy now. There was nothing more she could\ndesire, for all that the earth contained or the mind could describe\nwas hers. Her thoughts were no longer those shy, subterranean\ngropings which elude the hand and the understanding. Each thought\nwas a thing or a person, visible in its own radiant personal life,\nand to be seen or felt, welcomed or repulsed, as was its due. But\nshe had discovered that happiness is not laughter or satisfaction,\nand that no person can be happy for themselves alone. So she had\ncome to understand the terrible sadness of the gods, and why Angus\nwept in secret; for often in the night she had heard him weeping,\nand she knew that his tears were for those others who were unhappy,\nand that he could not be comforted while there was a woeful person\nor an evil deed hiding in the world. Her own happiness also had\nbecome infected with this alien misery, until she knew that nothing\nwas alien to her, and that in truth all persons and all things were\nher brothers and sisters and that they were living and dying in\ndistress; and at the last she knew that there was not any man but\nmankind, nor any human being but only humanity. Never again could\nthe gratification of a desire give her pleasure for her sense of\noneness was destroyed\u2014she was not an individual only; she was also\npart of a mighty organism ordained, through whatever stress, to\nachieve its oneness, and this great being was threefold, comprising\nin its mighty units God and Man and Nature\u2014the immortal trinity.\nThe duty of life is the sacrifice of self: it is to renounce the\nlittle ego that the mighty ego may be freed; and, knowing this,\nshe found at last that she knew Happiness, that divine discontent\nwhich cannot rest nor be at ease until its bourne is attained and\nthe knowledge of a man is added to the gaiety of a child. Angus\nhad told her that beyond this there lay the great ecstasy which\nis Love and God and the beginning and the end of all things; for\neverything must come from the Liberty into the Bondage, that it may\nreturn again to the Liberty comprehending all things and fitted for\nthat fiery enjoyment. This cannot be until there are no more fools\nliving, for until the last fool has grown wise wisdom will totter\nand freedom will still be invisible. Growth is not by years but by\nmultitudes, and until there is a common eye no one person can see\nGod, for the eye of all nature will scarcely be great enough to\nlook upon that majesty. We shall greet Happiness by multitudes, but\nwe can only greet Him by starry systems and a universal love.\n\nShe was so thinking when Angus \u00d3g came to her from the fields. The\ngod was very radiant, smiling like the young morn when the buds\nawake, and to his lips song came instead of speech.\n\n\u201cMy beloved,\u201d said he, \u201cwe will go on a journey to-day.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy delight is where you go,\u201d said Caitilin.\n\n\u201cWe will go down to the world of men\u2014from our quiet dwelling among\nthe hills to the noisy city and the multitude of people. This will\nbe our first journey, but on a time not distant we will go to them\nagain, and we will not return from that journey, for we will live\namong our people and be at peace.\u201d\n\n\u201cMay the day come soon,\u201d said she.\n\n\u201cWhen thy son is a man he will go before us on that journey,\u201d said\nAngus, and Caitilin shivered with a great delight, knowing that a\nson would be born to her.\n\n[Illustration: Caitilin danced in uncontrollable gaiety]\n\nThen Angus \u00d3g put upon his bride glorious raiment, and they went\nout to the sunlight. It was the early morning, the sun had just\nrisen and the dew was sparkling on the heather and the grass. There\nwas a keen stir in the air that stung the blood to joy, so that\nCaitilin danced in uncontrollable gaiety, and Angus, with a merry\nvoice, chanted to the sky and danced also. About his shining head\nthe birds were flying; for every kiss he gave to Caitilin became a\nbird, the messengers of love and wisdom, and they also burst into\ntriumphant melody, so that the quiet place rang with their glee.\nConstantly from the circling birds one would go flying with great\nspeed to all quarters of space. These were his messengers flying to\nevery fort and d\u00fan, every rath and glen and valley of Eir\u00e9 to raise\nthe Sluaige Shee (the Fairy Host). They were birds of love that\nflew, for this was a hosting of happiness, and, therefore the Shee\nwould not bring weapons with them.\n\nIt was towards Kilmasheogue their happy steps were directed, and\nsoon they came to the mountain.\n\nAfter the Thin Woman of Inis Magrath had left the god she visited\nall the fairy forts of Kilmasheogue, and directed the Shee who\nlived there to be in waiting at the dawn on the summit of the\nmountain; consequently, when Angus and Caitilin came up the hill,\nthey found the six clans coming to receive them, and with these\nwere the people of the younger Shee, members of the Tuatha da\nDanaan, tall and beautiful men and women who had descended to the\nquiet underworld when the pressure of the sons of Milith forced\nthem with their kind enchantments and invincible valour to the\ncountry of the gods.\n\nOf those who came were Aine Ni Eog\u00e1il of Cnoc Aine and Ivil of\nCraglea, the queens of North and South Munster, and Una the queen\nof Ormond; these, with their hosts, sang upon the summit of the\nhill welcoming the god. There came the five guardians of Ulster,\nthe fomentors of combat:\u2014Brier Mac Belgan of Dromona Breg, Redg\nRotbill from the slopes of Magh-Itar, Tinnel the son of Boclacthna\nof Slieve Edlicon, Grici of Cruach\u00e1n-Aigle, a goodly name, and\nGulban Glas Mac Grici, whose d\u00fan is in the Ben of Gulban. These\nfive, matchless in combat, marched up the hill with their tribes,\nshouting as they went. From north and south they came, and from\neast and west, bright and happy beings, a multitude, without fear,\nwithout distraction, so that soon the hill was gay with their\nvoices and their noble raiment.\n\nAmong them came the people of the Lupra, the ancient Leprecauns\nof the world, leaping like goats among the knees of the heroes.\nThey were headed by their king Ud\u00e1n Mac Audain and Beg Mac Beg his\ntanist, and, following behind, was Glomhar O\u2019Glomrach of the sea,\nthe strongest man of their people, dressed in the skin of a weasel;\nand there were also the chief men of that clan, well known of old,\nConan Mac Rihid, Gaerku Mac Gairid, Mether Mac Mintan and Esirt\nMac Beg, the son of Bueyen, born in a victory. This king was that\nsame Ud\u00e1n the chief of the Lupra who had been placed under bonds\nto taste the porridge in the great cauldron of Emania, into which\npot he fell, and was taken captive with his wife, and held for five\nweary years, until he surrendered that which he most valued in the\nworld, even his boots: the people of the hills laugh still at the\nstory, and the Leprecauns may still be mortified by it.\n\nThere came Bove Derg, the Fiery, seldom seen, and his harper the\nson of Trogain, whose music heals the sick and makes the sad heart\nmerry; Rochy Mac Elathan, Dagda M\u00f3r, the Father of Stars, and his\ndaughter from the Cave of Cruach\u00e1n; Credh Mac Aedh of Raghery and\nCas Corach son of the great Ollav; Mananaan Mac Lir came from his\nwide waters shouting louder than the wind, with his daughters\nCliona and Aoife and Etain Fair-Hair; and Coll and Cecht and Mac\nGreina, the Plough, the Hazel, and the Sun came with their wives,\nwhose names are not forgotten, even Banba and Fodla and Eir\u00e9, names\nof glory. Lugh of the Long-Hand, filled with mysterious wisdom,\nwas not absent, whose father was sadly avenged on the sons of\nTurann\u2014these with their hosts.\n\nAnd one came also to whom the hosts shouted with mighty love, even\nthe Serene One, Dana, the Mother of the gods, steadfast for ever.\nHer breath is on the morning, her smile is summer. From her hand\nthe birds of the air take their food. The mild ox is her friend,\nand the wolf trots by her friendly side; at her voice the daisy\npeeps from her cave and the nettle couches his lance. The rose\narrays herself in innocence, scattering abroad her sweetness with\nthe dew, and the oak tree laughs to her in the air. Thou beautiful!\nthe lambs follow thy footsteps, they crop thy bounty in the meadows\nand are not thwarted: the weary men cling to thy bosom everlasting.\nThrough thee all actions and the deeds of men, through thee all\nvoices come to us, even the Divine Promise and the breath of the\nAlmighty from afar laden with goodness.\n\nWith wonder, with delight, the daughter of Murrachu watched the\nhosting of the Shee. Sometimes her eyes were dazzled as a jewelled\nforehead blazed in the sun, or a shoulder-torque of broad gold\nflamed like a torch. On fair hair and dark the sun gleamed: white\narms tossed and glanced a moment and sank and reappeared. The eyes\nof those who did not hesitate nor compute looked into her eyes,\nnot appraising, not questioning, but mild and unafraid. The voices\nof free people spoke in her ears and the laughter of happy hearts,\nunthoughtful of sin or shame, released from the hard bondage of\nselfhood. For these people, though many, were one. Each spoke to\nthe other as to himself, without reservation or subterfuge. They\nmoved freely each in his personal whim, and they moved also with\nthe unity of one being: for when they shouted to the Mother of the\ngods they shouted with one voice, and they bowed to her as one man\nbows. Through the many minds there went also one mind, correcting,\ncommanding, so that in a moment the interchangeable and fluid\nbecame locked, and organic with a simultaneous understanding, a\ncollective action-which was freedom.\n\nWhile she looked the dancing ceased, and they turned their faces\nwith one accord down the mountain. Those in the front leaped\nforward, and behind them the others went leaping in orderly\nprogression.\n\nThen Angus \u00d3g ran to where she stood, his bride of Beauty \u201cCome, my\nbeloved,\u201d said he, and hand in hand they raced among the others,\nlaughing as they ran.\n\nHere there was no green thing growing; a carpet of brown turf\nspread to the edge of sight on the sloping plain and away to\nwhere another mountain soared in the air. They came to this and\ndescended. In the distance, groves of trees could be seen, and,\nvery far away, the roofs and towers and spires of the Town of the\nFord of Hurdles, and the little roads that wandered everywhere; but\non this height there was only prickly furze growing softly in the\nsunlight; the bee droned his loud song, the birds flew and sang\noccasionally, and the little streams grew heavy with their falling\nwaters. A little further and the bushes were green and beautiful,\nwaving their gentle leaves in the quietude, and beyond again,\nwrapped in sunshine and peace, the trees looked on the world from\ntheir calm heights, having no complaint to make of anything.\n\nIn a little they reached the grass land and the dance began. Hand\nsought for hand, feet moved companionably as though they loved each\nother; quietly intimate they tripped without faltering, and, then,\nthe loud song arose\u2014they sang to the lovers of gaiety and peace,\nlong defrauded \u201cCome to us, ye who do not know where ye are\u2014ye who\nlive among strangers in the house of dismay and self-righteousness.\nPoor, awkward ones! How bewildered and bedevilled ye go! Amazed ye\nlook and do not comprehend, for your eyes are set upon a star and\nyour feet move in the blessed kingdoms of the Shee Innocents! in\nwhat prisons are ye flung? To what lowliness are ye bowed? How are\nye ground between the laws and the customs? The dark people of the\nFomor have ye in thrall; and upon your minds they have fastened a\nband of lead, your hearts are hung with iron, and about your loins\na cincture of brass impressed, woeful! Believe it, that the sun\ndoes shine, the flowers grow, and the birds sing pleasantly in the\ntrees. The free winds are everywhere, the water tumbles on the\nhills, the eagle calls aloud through the solitude, and his mate\ncomes speedily. The bees are gathering honey in the sunlight, the\nmidges dance together, and the great bull bellows across the river.\nThe crow says a word to his brethren, and the wren snuggles her\nyoung in the hedge.... Come to us, ye lovers of life and happiness.\nHold out thy hand\u2014a brother shall seize it from afar. Leave the\nplough and the cart for a little time: put aside the needle and the\nawl\u2014Is leather thy brother, O man?... Come away! come away! from\nthe loom and the desk, from the shop where the carcasses are hung,\nfrom the place where raiment is sold and the place where it is sewn\nin darkness: O bad treachery! Is it for joy you sit in the broker\u2019s\nden, thou pale man? Has the attorney enchanted thee?... Come away!\nfor the dance has begun lightly, the wind is sounding over the\nhill, the sun laughs down into the valley, and the sea leaps upon\nthe shingle, panting for joy, dancing, dancing, dancing for joy....\u201d\n\nThey swept through the goat tracks and the little boreens and the\ncurving roads. Down to the city they went dancing and singing;\namong the streets and the shops telling their sunny tale; not\nheeding the malignant eyes and the cold brows as the sons of Balor\nlooked sidewards. And they took the Philosopher from his prison,\neven the Intellect of Man they took from the hands of the doctors\nand lawyers, from the sly priests, from the professors whose mouths\nare gorged with sawdust, and the merchants who sell blades of\ngrass\u2014the awful people of the Fomor . . . and then they returned\nagain, dancing and singing, to the country of the gods....","title":"The Crock of Gold","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":56039}