{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_18824/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_18824","id":"gutenberg_18824","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/18824","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Folklore","Folklore -- Ireland"],"text":"Produced by David Garcia, Sankar Viswanathan, and the\nOnline Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net\n(This file was produced from images generously made\navailable by The Kentuckiana Digital Library)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                           [Illustration: ]\n\n\n                           FAIRIES AND FOLK\n\n                              OF IRELAND\n\n\n\n                                  BY\n\n                         WILLIAM HENRY FROST\n\n\n\n               ILLUSTRATED BY SYDNEY RICHMOND BURLEIGH\n\n\n\n\n                               NEW YORK\n\n                       CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS\n\n                                 1900\n\n\n\n\n                         COPYRIGHT, 1900, BY\n\n                       CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTo\n\nJane Grey Allen and Elizabeth Allen\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\nI.    O'DONOGHUE\n\nII.   THE BIG POOR PEOPLE\n\nIII.  THE LITTLE GOOD PEOPLE\n\nIV.   THE CLEVERNESS OF MORTALS\n\nV.    THE TIME FOR NAGGENEEN'S PLAN\n\nVI.   LITTLE KATHLEEN AND LITTLE TERENCE\n\nVII.  A CHAPTER THAT YOU CAN SKIP\n\nVIII. THE STARS IN THE WATER\n\nIX.   A YEAR AND A DAY\n\nX.    THE IRON CRUCIFIX\n\nXI.   THE OLD KING COMES BACK\n\n\n\n\nLIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\n\"'IS IT TIME?' THE WARRIOR SAID\"            _Frontispiece_\n\n\"THROUGH THE FLYING WATER I SAW THE OLD KING\"\n\n\"'BLESSED DAYS THERE WERE.' SHE SAID\"\n\n\"THEY WERE CHANGED INTO FOUR BEAUTIFUL WHITE SWANS\"\n\n\"WILL YOU HAVE A LIGHT FOR YOUR PIPE, YOUR MAJESTY?\"\n\n\"I WAS SITTIN' THERE, WID A SPIGGOT OVER ME SHOULDER\"\n\n\"THE HORSE WAS NOTHING BUT THE BEAM OF A PLOUGH\"\n\n\"WHERE ARE YOU BOUND IN THAT SHIP?\"\n\n\"HERE'S THE POPE'S BULL FOR THAT SAME\"\n\n\"SHE KNEW THAT THERE WERE GOOD PEOPLE HERE\"\n\n\"'PAT,' SAYS HE, 'BRING ME A PIPE'\"\n\n\"PLUMP DOWN HE FELL THROUGH THE QUILT\"\n\n\"AND THEN DONALD WENT HOME\"\n\n\"THERE'S A BLESSING ON THIS SAME SACK\"\n\n\"THERE WAS A WOMAN LYING ON A GOLD COUCH\"\n\n\"HE FORGOT THE PSALM THAT HE HAD BEEN READING\"\n\n\"HOLD THE SPEAR STRAIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU\"\n\n\"THE NET WAS PULLED AWAY FROM HIM\"\n\n\"HE SAYS THAT I AM NEVER TO BE AFRAID OF THEM\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\n\"SHOULD YOU ASK ME, WHENCE THESE STORIES?\"\n\n\nThe story which runs through and makes up the bulk of this book is my\nown. The intention has been, however, to make it conform to the laws\ngoverning certain beings commonly regarded in this country as\nmythical, as those laws are revealed in the folk-lore of many peoples,\nand particularly of the Irish people. Almost every incident in which\nthe fairies are concerned might occur, and very many of them do\nactually occur, in Irish folk-lore. But in a real folk-tale there are\nusually only two or three, or, at any rate, only a few, of the\ncharacteristic incidents, while this story attempts to combine many of\nthem.\n\nThe shorter stories wherewith the main story is interspersed are all,\nto the best of my information and belief, genuine Irish folk-tales. I\nhave told them in my own way, of course. I have sometimes condensed\nand sometimes elaborated them, but I have seldom, if ever, I think,\nmaterially changed their substance. I have never had the opportunity\nto collect such stories as these for myself, and if I had, I should\nprobably find that I had not the ability. I have therefore had to turn\nfor the substance of these tales to collections made by others--men\nwhose patient and affectionate care and labor have preserved a great\nmass of the beautiful Irish legends, which, without them, might have\ndied.\n\nIt seems hardly right to give to any one of these collectors a\npreference over the others by naming him first. But when I count up my\nindebtedness, I find that the book to which I owe more stories than to\nany other is Patrick Kennedy's \"Legendary Fictions of the Irish\nCelts.\" From this book I have borrowed, as to their substance, the\nstory of Earl Gerald, in Chapter II. of my own book; the story of the\nchildren of Lir, in the same chapter; the account of the changeling\nwho was tempted by the bagpipes, which Naggeneen tells of himself, in\nChapter V.; the changeling story which Mrs. O'Brien tells, in Chapter\nVI.; and the most of the story of Oisin, in Chapter IX., besides part\nof the story of the fairies' tune, in Chapter VII. With respect to\nOisin I got a little help from an article on \"The Neo-Latin Fay,\" by\nHenry Charles Coote, in \"The Folk-Lore Record,\" Vol. II. The story of\nthe fairies' tune is in part derived from T. Crofton Croker's \"Fairy\nLegends and Traditions of the South of Ireland.\" This delightful book\nas well deserves the first place in my list as does Kennedy's, for it\ngave me one of my most important stories, that of O'Donoghue, in\nChapter I., and it gave me Naggeneen. Him I first saw, with Mr.\nCroker's help, sitting on the cask of port in the cellar of old\nMacCarthy of Ballinacarthy, as he himself describes in Chapter III. It\nis not enough to say that after that he came readily into my story; he\nsimply could not be kept out of it. The tale of the fairies who wanted\nto question a priest, in Chapter X., is also from Croker. Mrs.\nO'Brien's method of getting rid of a changeling is founded on one of\nCroker's stories, and a story almost exactly like it is told by Grimm.\nThere is also a form of it in Brittany. Two books by W.B. Yeats have\nbeen of much value--\"Irish Fairy and Folk Tales\" and \"The Celtic\nTwilight.\" Of the former Mr. Yeats is the editor, rather than, in a\nstrict sense, the author, though it contains some of his own work, and\nhis introduction, notes, and other comments are of great interest.\nFrom this book I have the story of Hudden, Dudden, and Donald, in\nChapter VII. Mr. Yeats reproduces it from an old chap-book. A version\nof it is also found in Samuel Lover's \"Legends and Stories of\nIreland.\" Those who like to compare the stories which they find in\nvarious places will not fail to note its likeness to Hans Christian\nAndersen's \"Big Claus and Little Claus.\" The story of the monk and the\nbird, in Chapter IX., Mr. Yeats reproduces from Croker, though not\nfrom the work of his which has already been mentioned. I could not\nresist the temptation to better the story, as I thought, by the\naddition of an incident from a German version of it, and everybody\nwill remember the beautiful form in which it appears in Longfellow's\n\"The Golden Legend.\" From Mr. Yeats's \"The Celtic Twilight\" I have the\nlittle story of the conversation between the diver and the conger, in\nChapter II. It is a pleasure to refer to two such fine and scholarly\nworks as Dr. Douglas Hyde's \"Beside the Fire\" and William Larminie's\n\"West Irish Folk-Tales and Romances.\" From the former of these I have\nborrowed the substance of the story of Guleesh na Guss Dhu, in Chapter\nIV., and from the latter that of the ghost and his wives, in Chapter\nVII.\n\nHaving thus confessed my indebtedness, it would seem that my next duty\nwas to pay it. I fear that I can pay it only with thanks. I have not\ntaken a story from the work of any living collector without his\npermission. It thus becomes my pleasure, no less than my duty, to\nexpress my gratitude to Mr. Yeats for permission to use the stories in\n\"Irish Fairy and Folk Tales\" and \"The Celtic Twilight;\" to Dr. Hyde\nfor his permission to take what I chose from \"Beside the Fire,\" and to\nMr. Larminie and his publisher, Elliott Stock, for the same permission\nwith regard to his \"West Irish Folk-Tales and Romances.\" My thanks are\nequally due to Macmillan & Co., Limited, for permission to take\nstories from Kennedy's \"Legendary Fictions of the Irish Celts,\" the\nrights to which they own. I wish to say also that in each of these\ncases the permission asked has been given with a readiness and a\ncordiality no less pleasing than the permission itself.\n\nI have learned much concerning the ways of Irish fairies from Lady\nWilde's \"Ancient Legends, Mystic Charms, and Superstitions of Ireland\"\nand \"Ancient Cures, Charms, and Usages of Ireland,\" and I have gained\nnot a little from the books of William Carleton, especially his\n\"Traits and Stories of the Irish Peasantry,\" but from none of these\nhave I taken any considerable part of a story. Indeed I have found\nhelp, greater or less, in more books than I can name here.\n\nIt may seem by this time that I am like the lawyer who conceded this\nand that to his opponent till the judge said: \"Do not concede any\nmore; you conceded your whole case long ago.\" But I have not conceded\nmy whole case. I have used the threads which others have spun, but I\nhave done my own weaving. The shorter stories have been told before,\nbut they have never been put together in this way before, and, as I\nsaid at first, the main story is my own.\n\nW.H.F.\n\nNEW YORK, September 1, 1900.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nFAIRIES AND FOLK OF IRELAND\n\n[Illustration:]\n\nI\n\nO'DONOGHUE\n\n\nIt was in a poor little cabin somewhere in Ireland. It does not matter\nwhere. The walls were of rough stone, the roof was of thatch, and the\nfloor was the hard earth. There was very little furniture. Poor as it\nwas, the whole place was clean. It is right to tell this, because,\nunhappily, a good many cabins in Ireland are not clean. What furniture\nthere was had been rubbed smooth and spotless, and the few dishes that\nthere were fairly shone. The floor was as carefully swept as if the\nQueen were expected.\n\nThe three persons who lived in the cabin had eaten their supper of\npotatoes and milk and were sitting before the turf fire. It had been a\npoor supper, yet a little of it that was left--a few potatoes, a\nlittle milk, and a dish of fresh water--had been placed on a bench\noutside the door. There was no light except that of the fire. There\nwas no need of any other, and there was no money to spend on candles\nthat were not needed.\n\nThe three who sat before the fire, and needed no other light, were a\nyoung man, a young woman, and an elderly woman. She did not like to be\ncalled old, for she said, and quite truly, that sixty was not old for\nanybody who felt as young as she did. This woman was Mrs. O'Brien. The\nyoung man was her son, John, and the young-woman was his wife, Kitty.\n\n\"Kitty,\" said John, \"it's not well you're lookin' to-night. Are ye\nfeelin' anyways worse than common?\"\n\n\"It's only a bit tired I am,\" said Kitty, \"wid the work I was afther\ndoin' all day. I'll be as well as ever in the morning.\"\n\n\"It's a shame, that it is,\" said John, \"that ye have to be workin'\nthat way, day afther day, and you not sthrong at all. It's a shame\nthat I can't do enough for the three of us, and the more, maybe, that\nthere'll be, but you must be at it, too, all the time.\"\n\n\"What nonsinse ye're talkin', John,\" Kitty answered. \"What would I be\ndoin', settin' up here like a lady, doin' nothin', and you and mother\nworkin' away like you was my servants? Did you think it was a duchess\nor the daughter of the Lord Lieutenant ye was marryin', that ye're\ntalkin' that way?\"\n\n\"And it'll be worse a long time before it's betther,\" John went on.\n\"Wid the three of us workin' all the time, we just barely get along.\nAnd it's the end of the summer now. What we'll do at all when the\nwinter comes, I dunno.\"\n\nThe older woman listened to the others and said nothing. Perhaps she\nhad heard such talk as this so many times that she did not care to\njoin in it again, or perhaps she was waiting to be asked to speak. For\nit was to her that these younger people always turned when they were\nin trouble. It was her advice and her opinion that they always asked\nwhen they felt that they needed a better opinion than their own. The\nthree sat silent now for a time, and then John broke out, as if the\ntalk had been going on in his mind all the while: \"What's the good of\nus tryin' to live at all?\" he said. \"Is livin' any use to us? We do\nnothin' but work all day, and eat a little to give us the strength to\nwork the next day, and then we sleep all night, if we can sleep. And\nit's that and nothing else all the year through. Are we any better\nwhen the year ends than we were when it began? If we've paid the\nrent, we've done well. We never do more.\"\n\n\"John,\" the old woman answered, \"it's not for us to say why we're here\nor what for we're living. It's God that put us here, and He'll keep us\nhere till it's our time to go. He has made it the way of all His\ncreatures to provide for themselves and for their own, and to keep\nthemselves alive while they can. When He's ready for us to die, we\ndie. That's all we know. The rest is with Him.\"\n\n\"I know all that's true, mother,\" said John; \"but what is there for us\nto hope for, that we'ld wish to live? It's nothing but work to keep\nthe roof over us. We don't even eat for any pleasure that's in\nit--only so that we can work. If we rested for a day, we'ld be driven\nout of our house. If we rested for another day, we'ld starve. Is there\nany good to be hoped for such as us? Will there ever be any good times\nfor Ireland? I mean for all the people in it.\"\n\n\"There will,\" the old woman said. \"Everything has an end, and so these\ntroubles of ours will end, and all the troubles of Ireland will end,\ntoo.\"\n\n\"And why should we believe that?\" John asked again. \"Wasn't Ireland\nalways the poor, unhappy country, and all the people in it, only the\nlandlords and the agents, and why should we think it will ever be\nbetter?\"\n\n\"Everything has an end,\" the old woman repeated. \"Ireland was not\nalways the unhappy country. It was happy once and it will be happy\nagain. It's not you, John O'Brien, that ought to be forgetting the\ngood days of Ireland, long ago though they were. For you yourself are\nthe descendant of King Brian Boru, and you know well, for it's many\ntimes I've told you, how in his days the country was happy and\npeaceful and blessed. He drove out the heathen and saved the country\nfor his people. He had strict laws, and the people obeyed them. In his\ndays a lovely girl, dressed all in fine silk and gold and jewels,\nwalked alone the length of Ireland, and there was no one to rob her or\nto harm her, because of the good King and the love the people had for\nhim and for his laws. And you, that are descended from King Brian, ask\nif Ireland wasn't always the poor, unhappy country.\"\n\n\"But all that was so long ago,\" said John; \"near a thousand years, was\nit not? Since then it's been nothing but sorrow for the country and\nfor the people. What good is it to us that the country was happy in\nKing Brian's time? Will that help us pay the rent? And how we'll pay\nthe rent when the winter comes, I dunno, and if we don't pay it we'll\nbe evicted.\"\n\n\"Shaun,\" said his mother, calling him by the Irish name that she used\nsometimes--\"Shaun, we'll not be evicted; never fear that. Things are\nbad, and they may be worse, but take my word, whatever comes, we'll\nnot be evicted.\"\n\n\"Mother,\" said the young man, \"you never spoke the word, so far as I\nknow, that wasn't true, but I dunno how it'll be this time. We've been\nworkin' all we can and we only just manage to pay the rent and live,\nand here's the summer over and the winter coming, and how will we pay\nthe rent then?\"\n\nThe mother did not answer this question directly. She began talking in\na way that did not seem to have anything to do with the rent, though\nit really had something to do with it, in her own mind, and perhaps in\nher son's mind too.\n\n\"It's over-tired that you are with your hard day's work, Shaun,\" she\nsaid, \"and that and seeing Kitty so tired, too, has maybe made you\nlook at things a little worse than they are. We've never been so bad\noff as many of our neighbors; you know that. And yet I know it's been\nworse of late and harder for you than it might have been, and you\ncan't remember the better times that our family had, and that's why\nyou forget that the times were ever better. No, you wasn't born then,\nbut the time was when good luck seemed to follow your father and me\neverywhere and always. Yes, and the good luck has not all left us\nyet, though we had the bad luck to lose your father so long ago. We\ncould not hope to be rich or happy while the whole country was in such\ndistress as it's been sometimes, yet there were always many that were\nworse off than we, and when I think of those days of '47 and '48 it\nmakes the sorrows seem light that we're suffering now. And I always\nknow that whatever comes, there'll be some good for me and mine while\nI live. I've told you how I know that, but you always forget, and I\nmust tell you again.\"\n\nThey had not forgotten. They knew the story that was coming by heart,\nbut they knew that the old woman liked to tell it, so they let her go\non and said not a word.\n\nFor a little while, too, the old woman said not a word. She sat with\nher eyes closed, and smiling, as if she were in a dream. Then she\nbegan to speak softly, as if she were still only just waking out of a\ndream. \"Blessed days there were,\" she said--\"blessed days for Ireland\nonce--long ago--many hundreds of years. O'Donoghue--it was he was the\ngood King, and happy were his people. A fierce warrior he was to guard\nthem from their enemies, and a just ruler to those who minded his\nlaws. It was in the West that he ruled, by the beautiful Lakes of\nKillarney. The rich and the poor among his people were alike in one\nthing--they all had justice. He punished even his own son when he did\nwrong, as if he had been a poor man and a stranger.\n\n\"He gave grand feasts to his friends, and the greatest and the best\nmen of all Erin came to sit at his table and to hear the wise words\nthat he spoke. And the greatest bards of all Erin came to sing before\nhim and his guests of the brave deeds of the heroes of old days and of\nthe greatness and the goodness of O'Donoghue himself. At one of these\nfeasts, after a bard had been singing of the noble days of Erin long\nago, O'Donoghue began to speak of the years that were to come for\nIreland. He told of much good and of much evil. He told how true and\nbrave and noble men would live and work and fight and die for their\ncountry, and how cowards would betray her. He told of glory and he\ntold of shame. He spoke of riches and honor, and poetry and beauty; he\nspoke of want and disgrace, and degradation and sorrow.\n\n\"Those who sat at his table listened to him in wonder. Sometimes their\nhearts swelled with pride at the noble lives and deeds of those who\nwere to come after them, sometimes they wept at the sufferings that\ntheir children were to feel, and sometimes they hid their faces from\neach other in shame at the tales of cowardice and of treachery.\n\n[Illustration: \"'BLESSED DAYS THERE WERE,' SHE SAID.\"]\n\n\"As he finished speaking he rose from the table, crossed the hall,\nand walked out at the door and down to the shore of the lake. The\nothers followed him and watched him, full of wonder. They saw him go\nto the edge of the lake and then walk out upon it, as if the water had\nbeen firm ground under his feet. He walked far and far out on the\nbright lake as they stood and gazed at him. Then he turned toward\nthem, he waved his hand in farewell, and he was gone. They saw him no\nmore.\"\n\nThe old woman paused for a moment and the dreaming look came back to\nher face. Then she went on. \"They saw him no more--but others saw\nhim--and I have seen him. Every year, on the 1st of May, just as the\nsun is rising, he rides across the lake on his beautiful white horse.\nHe is not always seen, but sometimes a few can see him. And it always\nbrings good luck to see O'Donoghue riding across the lake on May\nmorning. And I saw him.\"\n\nAgain there was a pause, but she had no look of dreaming now. Her eyes\nwere open and she seemed to be looking at something wonderful and\nbeautiful that was far off. Slowly and softly she began speaking\nagain. \"I was a girl then. My father lived by the Lakes of Killarney.\nOn that May morning I was standing at the door as the sun was rising.\nI was looking out upon the lake, far away to the east. The first that\nI saw was that the water, far off toward the sun, was ruffled, and\nthen all at once a great, white-crested wave rose, as if a strong wind\nhad struck the water, only all the air was still, and no wind ever\nraises such a wave as that on the lake. The wave came swiftly toward\nme, and I drew back, in a kind of dread, though I knew that it could\nnot reach me where I stood. But still I looked--and then I saw him.\n\n\"Through the flying water and foam and mist I saw the old King, on his\nwhite horse, following the great wave across the lake. The sun made\nall his armor gleam like the silver of the lake itself, and the plume\nof his helmet streamed away behind him like the spray that a strong\nwind blows back from the crest of a breaker. After him came a train of\nglowing, beautiful forms--spirits of the lake or of the air, or some\nof the Good People--I do not know. They wore soft, flowing garments,\nthat were like the morning mists; they carried chains of pearls and\nthey scattered other pearls about them, that glistened like the drops\nof a shower when the sun is shining through it. They had garlands of\nflowers, and they plucked the flowers out and threw them high in the\nair, so that they fell before the King. They looked like flecks of\nfoam from the waves, turned rosy and violet by the rising sun, but\nthey were flowers. And there was a sound of sweet, soft music, like\nharps and mellow horns.\n\n\"The King and his train came nearer and I saw them plainer, and the\nmusic sounded louder. Then they passed me and moved far away again on\nthe lake. The sight of them grew dim and the music grew faint, and I\nstrained my eyes and my ears for the last of them, and they were gone.\nThen I could move and speak and breathe again, for it had seemed to me\nthat I could not do any one of these things while the King was\npassing, and I knew that I had seen O'Donoghue.\"\n\nThe old woman stopped, as if the story were ended, but the younger\npeople did not speak, for they knew that she had something else to\ntell. \"O'Donoghue had passed and was gone,\" she said, \"but he always\nleaves good luck behind him, and he left the good luck with me. That\nsummer some rich young ladies came from Dublin to see the Lakes of\nKillarney. They heard the story of O'Donoghue, and the people told\nthem that I was the last who had seen him. They came to my father's\nhouse and asked me to tell them what I had seen. They seemed pleased\nwith what I told them, or with something that they saw in me, and they\nasked my father to let them take me back to the city with them, for a\nlady's maid. He did not like to let me go, but they said that they\nwould pay me well and would have me taught better than I could be at\nhome. He was poor, there were others at home who needed all that he\ncould earn, I wished to go, and at last he said I might.\n\n\"So I went to Dublin and lived in a grand house, among grand people. I\ntried to do my duties well, and they were kind to me. They kept the\npromise that they had made to my father. They gave me books and\nallowed me time to study them, and they helped me in things that I\ncould not well have learned by myself, even with the books. I was\nquick at study, and in the little time that I had, I learned all that\nI could. Three times they took me to London with them, and I saw still\ngrander people and grander life.\n\n\"Those were happy days, but happier came. Your father came, Shaun. He\nwas a servant of the family, like myself--a coachman. But he was wiser\nthan I, and he talked with me and showed me that there was something\nbetter for us than to be servants always. We saved all the money that\nwe could, and when we had enough we came here, where your father had\nlived before, and took a little farm. The luck of O'Donoghue was\nalways with us. We had a good landlord, who asked a fair rent. We both\nworked hard, we saved more money and took more land, and all our\nneighbors thought that we were prosperous, and so we were.\n\n\"Then came '47. Nobody could be prosperous then. Nobody that had a\nheart in him at all could even keep what he had saved then. What we\nhad and what our neighbors had belonged to all, and little enough\nthere was of it. It is well for you young people to talk of these\ntimes being hard. Harder than some they may be, but good and easy\ncompared with those days of '47 and '48. You talk of injustice and\nwrong to Ireland! What think you of those times, when every day great\nships sailed away from Ireland loaded down with food--corn and bacon,\nand beef and butter--and Ireland's own people left without the bit of\nfood to keep the life in them? All summer long was the horrible wet\nweather, and the potatoes rotting in the ground before they'ld be\nripe, and never fit to eat. To add to all that was the fever, that\nkilled its thousands, and then the cold. And when the days came again\nthat the crops would grow, many and many of the people were so weak\nwith the hunger and the sickness that they could not work in the\nfields. Ah! and you call these hard times!\n\n\"Those were the bad days for Ireland, those days of '47. Not even the\nluck of O'Donoghue could make us prosper or give us comforts then. But\nwe lived through the time, as many others did. The poor helped those\nwho were poorer than themselves; the sick tended those who were\nsicker; the cold gave clothes and fire to those who were colder. The\nlittle money that we had saved helped us and some of our neighbors.\nAnd we lived through it all.\n\n\"Better times came, though never again so good as the old. We worked\nagain and we saved a trifle. Then you were born to us, John. We had a\nworse landlord now. He was of the kind that cared nothing for his\ntenants and nothing for his land, but to get the last penny off it.\nThe rent was raised, and we never could have paid it but for the care\nand the skill and the hard work of your father. And then, John, you\nknow that when you were hardly old enough to take his place with the\nwork, let alone knowing how to work as well as he, he died and left\nus--Heaven rest his soul!\"\n\nFor a long time the old woman said no more, and neither of the others\nspoke. Then she said: \"John, the country is in trouble enough and the\ntimes are hard enough for you and for Kitty, here, and for all of us,\nI know. But don't be cast down. There have been worse days than these;\nthere have been better days, too, and there will be better again.\"\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: ]\n\nII\n\nTHE BIG POOR PEOPLE\n\n\nThere was a knock at the door, and John opened it. \"God save all here\nexcept the cat!\" said a voice outside.\n\n\"God save you kindly!\" John answered.\n\nA young man and a young woman came in. They were neighbors--Peter\nSullivan and his wife, Ellen. \"Good avenin' to you, Pether,\" said\nJohn; \"you're lookin' fine and hearty, and it's like a rose you're\nlookin', Ellen.\"\n\n\"It's more like nettles than roses we're feelin',\" Ellen answered,\n\"but something with prickles anyway, wid the bother we have every day\nand all day.\"\n\n\"Thrue for you, it's hard times,\" said John; \"we was speaking about\nthem just the minute before you came in; but we all have to bear them.\nIt's not you ought to complain, as long as you've good health; now\nhere's Kitty--I dunno how--\"\n\n\"It's not the hard times I'm speakin' of now,\" said Ellen; \"they're\nbad enough, goodness knows; but it's the bother we have all the time,\nand we can't tell how or why. Half the time the cow gives no milk, and\nwhen she does, you can make no butther wid it. The pig, the crathur,\nwon't get fat; he ates everything he can reach, and still he looks\nlike a basket wid a skin over it. The smoke of the fire comes down the\nchimney, the dishes are thrown on the floor, wid nobody near them, and\nsuch noises are goin' on all night long that never a wink of sleep can\na body get. What we'll do at all if it goes on, I dunno.\"\n\n\"By all the books that ever was opened and shut,\" Peter added, \"it's\nall thrue what she says, and more. What wid all that and what wid the\nthroubles that's on the whole counthry, if I only had the money saved\nto do it, I'ld lave it all to-morrow and go to the States--I would\nso.\"\n\n\"Leave off the things you do that make you all these troubles,\" said\nthe older Mrs. O'Brien, \"and you'll have no more need to go to the\nStates than others.\"\n\n\"What things are them that we do?\" Ellen asked.\n\n\"Haven't I told you before this,\" said Mrs. O'Brien, \"that it's the\nGood People that trouble you? If you'ld treat them well, as we do,\nthey'ld never bother you. If you'ld even take good care never to harm\nthem, it's likely they'ld never come near you.\"\n\n\"It's the fairies you're speakin' of,\" said Peter. \"Sure I don't\nbelieve in them at all. It's old woman's nonsense that your head's\nfull of, savin' your presence, Mrs. O'Brien. There's no fairies at\nall. Don't talk to me.\"\n\n\"You'ld better be more respectful to them, Peter,\" Mrs. O'Brien\nanswered. \"Say less about not believing in them and don't call them by\nthat name, that they don't like. Call them 'the Good People' or 'the\ngentry.' They don't like the name that you called them, any more than\nthey like those who disbelieve in them or those who try to know too\nmuch about them. Speak well about them and treat them well, as we do,\nand they'll not trouble you; maybe they'll even help you. Didn't you\nsee, as you came in, how we left something for them to eat and drink\noutside the door there? We've not much, but they like fresh milk and\nclean water, and we always give them these, and they hold nothing but\nfriendliness for us. Look and see now if they've taken what we left\nthere for them after supper.\"\n\nPeter went to the door and looked. \"There's nothing in the dishes\nthere,\" he said; \"but how do we know it wasn't the pig that ate it, or\nsome poor dog, maybe?\"\n\n\"You don't know,\" said Mrs. O'Brien, \"only as I tell you, and you'ld\nbetter be attending to them that know more than yourself. If you did\nchance to give a meal to some poor dog, instead of to the Good People,\nthere'ld be no great harm done, but it's the Good People that get what\nwe put there. We always leave it for them and they always come and\ntake it, and it's that makes them friendly, and so they would be to\nyou, if you did the same. But you do nothing for them, because you say\nyou don't believe in them, and you do worse than nothing. Didn't I see\nEllen the other evening throwing out some dirty water and never saying\n'Take care of the water?'\"\n\n\"And what if I did?\" said Ellen. \"Can't I throw out wather when I\nplase, widout talkin' about it?\"\n\n\"You can if you like,\" said the old woman, \"but when you throw out\nwater without warning, it's as likely as not some of the Good People\nmay be passing, and they don't like dirty water to be thrown on them;\nand so after that your cow gives no milk, your pig is thin, and your\ndishes are thrown around the room. Do as you like with your water, or\nwith anything else, but if you anger the Good People, be sure they'll\ndo you harm.\"\n\n\"It's superstitious you are. Mrs. O'Brien,\" said Peter; \"I dunno what\nit is that's throubling us, but there's no fairies at all.\"\n\n\"Superstitious, is it?\" said the old woman. \"And so you're not\nsuperstitious at all, and you don't believe in the Good People! Now\ntell me, Peter Sullivan, when you came to that door just now and said\n'God save all here,' like a decent man, why did you add 'except the\ncat?' What did you mean by those words 'except the cat?' Tell me that\nnow.\"\n\n\"Why, sure, Mrs. O'Brien,\" Peter answered, just a bit confused, \"sure,\nwe're told that cats is avil spirits, so we mustn't put blessings on\nthem, and when we say 'God save all here,' we add onto it 'except the\ncat,' so as not to be calling down a blessing on an avil spirit.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" said Mrs. O'Brien, \"it's not the likes of you that's\nsuperstitious. You can't put a blessing on the poor cat, when you're\nblessing everybody and everything else in the house, for fear you'ld\nbe putting it on an evil spirit; but you're not superstitions, and so\nyou throw dirty water on the Good People as they're passing, and you\ncall them by names that they don't like, and then you wonder what it\nis that's troubling you.\"\n\n\"No, Mrs. O'Brien,\" said Peter, again, \"I dunno what it is at all. It\nmay be the avil spirits themselves, for what I know, and whatever it\nis. I'ld go away and leave it and leave the country, if I had the\nmoney to get to the States. I heard once of a man that was druv out of\nthe counthry by a monsther that I suppose was maybe something like\nthe fairies--like them in making trouble for the man, anyway. It was a\ngreat conger that lived in a hole in the Sligo River, and I suppose he\nwas ten yards long, and the man was a diver. He was gettin' stones out\nof the bottom of the river, and the conger says to him, 'What are you\nafther there?' says he. 'Stones, sor,' says the diver. 'Hadn't you\nbetther be goin?' says the conger. 'I think so, sor,' says the diver,\nand afther that he never stopped goin' till he got to the States.\"\n\n\"That's you, Peter,\" said the old woman; \"you don't believe in the\nGood People or strange monsters or anything of the sort, but you want\nto run away from them.\"\n\nIf Peter had been quite honest about it, he could scarcely have said,\neven to himself, whether he believed that there were any fairies or\nnot; but he was really afraid of them, though he put on such a bold\nfront and said that he did not believe in them, to make people think\nthat he was uncommonly knowing. \"Mrs. O'Brien,\" he said, \"do you think\nit's true, what they say, that in the States you can pick up goold\neverywhere in the streets?\"\n\n\"What good would it do you if it was true?\" she asked.\n\n\"What good would it do me? Are ye askin' what good would goold do me?\nSure, then, wouldn't I pick up all of it I could carry, and wouldn't I\ntake land wid it and pay rent and buy stock for a big farm and grow as\nrich as Damer? What good would goold be? Ha! Ha! What couldn't you do\nin a country where ye could be pickin' up goold in the street?\"\n\n\"There's no gold to be picked up in the streets there, any more than\nhere,\" said the old woman, \"and if there was, it would be no use to\nyou. Only suppose, now, that you had picked up all the gold you could\ncarry, and that you wanted to buy a loaf of bread with it. And suppose\nyou went into a baker's shop and chose even the smallest loaf of bread\nyou could find, and threw down a whole gold sovereign for it--aye, or\na hundred gold sovereigns. Would the baker sell you the bread for your\ngold, do you think? Wouldn't he say to you: 'Go on out of this, for\nthe silly Irishman that you are! What for would I be giving you good\nbread for that gold of yours, when I can pick up as much and as good\nas that any minute here before my own door and keep my bread as well?'\nIf you could find gold in the street, it would be worth no more than\nthe stones that you find there.\"\n\n\"I don't know how that is, Mrs. O'Brien,\" said Peter, \"but I can't see\nwhy goold wouldn't be goold, wherever you could find it.\"\n\n\"It's not sensible,\" said John, \"to be talkin' of findin' gold in the\nstreets, but there's a deal in what Peter says, for all that, and it's\noften I've thought, too, that I'ld go to the States and be away from\nall these throubles, if only we could save up the money to take us all\nthere. It's not any gold or any riches I'm thinkin' about, but what I\nwant to know, mother, is this: Could a man in the States, if he was\nstrong and if he worked hard--and if he didn't drink a great\ndeal--could he make enough to keep himself and his wife both, so that\nshe needn't work too hard--not so that she would sit idle, I don't\nmean, but so that she needn't be doin' hard work and doin' it all the\ntime--could he do that?\"\n\n\"That's the sensible and the honest talk,\" said his mother; \"he could\ndo that. Those that do nothing get nothing, in the States the same as\nanywhere else. But I've talked with them that know, and they tell me\nthat in the States those that will work are paid for their work, and\nthose that are strong and industrious and honest can keep their\nfamilies from want, and that's more than some can do here, God help\nthem!\"\n\n\"It would be a great thing,\" said John, speaking slowly, as if he were\ntrying to make himself believe this dream of a land where a man's work\ncould make his wife and his children sure of a home and food--\"a great\nthing. And do you think, mother--but no, no--I suppose not--do you\nthink, if we was once there--do you think that I could work enough to\nmake it so that it would be easier for you and for Kitty both? Could\none do enough for three?\"\n\n\"It would be easier than here, maybe,\" was all that the old woman said\nin answer to this. She had heard this talk of America many times\nbefore, and she did not like it. She would rather believe, and make\nothers believe, that better times were coming for Ireland. She was not\nso young as the others and not so ready to leave her old home, yet\nlately she had seen how it was growing harder and harder to stay, and\nthere seemed to be little left of the good luck of which she boasted.\n\nShe was thinking of all this now, and John knew her thoughts, though\nshe did not speak them, and he said: \"You always tell us that there's\nbetther times comin', mother, and I've learned to know that all you\nsay is true. She was sayin' it just before you came in, Pether. But\nhow can we believe in the betther times? They don't come. They get\nworse and worse. How do we know they'll ever come?\"\n\nAgain Mrs. O'Brien seemed lost in deep thought, or in a dream, just as\nwhen, a little while before, she had told them of O'Donoghue. What she\ntold them now was a sort of answer to John's question, but perhaps\nshe told it quite as much to draw their thoughts away from America.\nShe was silent for a little while, and they all waited for her to\nspeak.\n\n\"Good times for Ireland there will be again,\" she said, \"when Earl\nGerald comes back. It was hundreds of years ago that Earl Gerald lived\nin his great castle of Mullaghmast. He was a strong warrior and he\nfought many a good fight for his people against their foes. More than\nthat, he was powerful in magic. He could work mighty charms and he\ncould change himself into any form he liked.\n\n\"His wife knew that he could do this, but he had never shown himself\nto her in any form but his own. She often begged him to let her see\nwhat his magic could do, and to change himself to some other form for\nher. But he knew there was danger in it, and he put her off with one\nreason and another. But at last, she asked him so many times, he told\nher that if she took any fright at all while he was in any form but\nhis own he could never live in the world again in his own form till\nall the people of the country had passed away many times. 'I'ld not be\na fit wife for you,' she said, 'if I'ld be easily frightened.'\n\n\"'You might not be easily frightened,' he said, 'but you might have\ngreat cause, and if you were only a little frightened you would never\nsee me like myself again.'\n\n\"Then one day, as they were sitting together, the Earl turned away his\nhead and muttered some words which his wife could not understand, and\nthat instant he was gone, and instead of him sitting beside her she\nsaw a little goldfinch flying around the room. The goldfinch flew out\nat the window into the garden; then it flew back and sat on the lady's\nshoulder and on her hand and on her head, and it sang to her, and so\nthey played together for a time. Then it flew out into the open air\nonce more, but in a second it darted back through the window and\nstraight into the lady's bosom. The next instant she saw a wild hawk,\nthat was chasing the little bird and was coming straight through the\nwindow after it. She put both her hands over her bosom, to save her\nhusband's life, but she was frightened and she gave one scream as the\nhawk darted into the room, dashed itself against a table, and was\nkilled. Then she looked where the little bird had been, and it was\ngone. She never saw Earl Gerald again.\n\n\"But Earl Gerald was not dead, and he is not dead, though all this was\nhundreds of years ago. He is sleeping, down under the ground, just\nbeneath where his old castle used to stand. His warriors are there\nwith him. They are in a great hall. The Earl sits at the head of a\nlong table and the men sit down the sides. All rest their heads upon\nthe table and all are asleep. Against the wall there are rows of\nstalls, and behind each man, in one of the stalls, is his horse.\n\n\"Once in every seven years Earl Gerald wakes at night. He rises and\nmounts his horse. A door of the hall opens. He rides out into the free\nair. He rides around the Curragh of Kildare and then back into the\ncave, to sleep again for seven years.\n\n\"While he is out the door is open. Once, long ago, a horse-dealer was\ngoing home late, and he had been drinking a little. He saw the door in\nthe hill open and he walked in. And there he found himself in a hall,\ndim and high. A row of dim lamps hung along the hall, and he saw the\nsmoke of them rise up to the roof, where many old banners, faded and\ntorn, stirred a little in the light breeze that came in by the open\ndoor. And the light of the lamps shone down and glistened on the\nbright armor of rows of men who sat with their steel helmets bowed\nupon the table, and behind them were rows of horses, with their\nsaddles and their bridles on, ready for their riders.\n\n\"There was no sound in the cave but the shuffle of his own foot, and\nthe stillness and the sight that he saw made him afraid. His hand\ntrembled, and a bridle that he had fell upon the floor. The noise\nechoed and echoed through the cave, and the warrior who sat nearest to\nthe poor man raised his head. 'Is it time?' the warrior said.\n\n\"'Not yet, but soon will be,' the man answered, and the warrior's head\nsank again upon the table. The man went out of the cave as quickly as\nhe could, and he never could find the door of it again.\n\n\"They say that Earl Gerald's horse has silver shoes. They were half an\ninch thick when the Earl's sleep began. When they are worn as thin as\na cat's ear it will be time. Then a miller's son, who will have six\nfingers on each hand, will blow a trumpet, and Earl Gerald and all his\nwarriors will come out of the cave. They will fight a great battle and\nwill conquer the enemies of Ireland. Then the country will be peaceful\nand prosperous and happy, and Gerald will be its King for forty\nyears.\"\n\nPeter's mind could not be set at rest by any such stories as this\nto-night. \"What's the good of all thim old tales to us?\" he asked,\n\"Can we pay our rint wid the knowledge that Earl Gerald will be King\nof Ireland for forty years? They do be all the time fortellin' and\nprophesyin' and predictin' this thing and that thing and the other\nthing in thim old tales, and nothin' ever comes o' thim. Did you ever\nknow, now, Mrs. O'Brien--I ask you--will you tell me this--did ye ever\nknow of any of the prophecies in any of thim old woman's tales comin'\nthrue?\"\n\n\"It's surprised I am,\" said the old woman, \"to hear you, Peter\nSullivan, talking that way--you, that had a decent man for your\nfather, and that's a decent man yourself, all but knowing\nnothing--you, that have heard the stories of your people. Tell me now,\ndid you ever hear what was foretold of the children of Lir, and did\nyou ever hear if it came true or not?\"\n\nPerhaps Peter had never heard about the children of Lir, or perhaps he\nhad heard and did not like to say so, because the story would be proof\nthat a prophecy had come true. At any rate, he said nothing. But the\nold woman seemed resolved that if he had never heard about the\nchildren of Lir he should hear about them now.\n\n\"Lir was a powerful man in the old days of Ireland,\" she said, \"He had\nthree sons and one daughter, and their mother was dead. The names of\nthe sons were Hugh, Fiachra, and Conn, and the name of the daughter\nwas Fair-shoulder, and beautiful and good children were they all. Lir\nwas visiting once at the castle of Bogha Derg, the King of Conacht,\nand he saw the daughter of the King, and he fell in love with her and\nmarried her.\n\n\"For a time they were happy, and then the new wife began to be jealous\nof the love of her husband for his four children. It troubled her so\nmuch that she began to lose her beauty and her health, and at last she\ntook to her bed and did not leave it for a year. And after that time\nthere came a great Druid to visit her. You know who and what the\nDruids were, I think. They were the priests of the old religion of\nIreland, before St. Patrick came and made the people Christians. They\nwere powerful in magic; they could bring storms and could drive them\naway; they could foretell the future; they could work powerful\nenchantments on people and beasts, and trees and stones, and they\ncould do many other marvellous things.\n\n\"This Druid talked with the wife of Lir for a long time alone. He made\nher tell him all that troubled her, and then he told her what she\ncould do to be rid of her husband's children. He gave her a magic wand\nand went on his way.\n\n\"Then she rose from her bed and took the four children with her in her\nchariot and set out for her father's castle. On the way she ordered\nthe driver of the chariot to kill the children, but he refused. Then\nthey passed near a lake, and the step-mother told the children to go\ninto the water and bathe. But Fair-shoulder believed that she meant\nthem some harm, and she refused to go, and begged her brothers not to\ngo. So the step-mother called her men, and she and they forced the\nchildren out of the chariot and pushed them into the water. Then she\ntouched each of them on the head with the Druid's wand, and they were\nchanged into four beautiful white swans.\n\n\"After she had done that, she went on to her father's castle. When her\nfather had welcomed her, he said, 'Where are your husband's children?'\n\n\"'They are at home,' she answered, 'in their father's castle.'\n\n\"'And are they well?'\n\n\"'They are well.'\n\n\"Now the King himself was a Druid, and more powerful than the one who\nhad given his daughter the wand. More than that, he was a good man,\nand the other was a wicked one. He did not believe what his daughter\ntold him about the children, and so he put her into a magic sleep.\nWhen she was asleep he said to her, 'Where are your husband's\nchildren?'\n\n\"And she answered, 'They are in the lake which we passed by the way as\nwe came here.'\n\n\"'And what did you do to them?'\n\n\"'I changed them into white swans.'\n\n\"'Why did you do that?'\n\n\"'Because my husband loved them more than he loved me.'\n\n\"He woke her out of the magic sleep and called all his people\ntogether. Before them all he told her that she should be punished for\nher wickedness, and then he changed her, by his Druidic power, into a\ngray vulture. Then he said to the people: 'This creature that was my\ndaughter has laid a wicked enchantment on her husband's children. She\nhas changed them into swans. They must keep that shape for many\nhundreds of years; they must swim in the lakes and the seas and fly\nover the land, and they must travel far and must suffer much. But\nthere is a hope for them. Many, many hundred years will pass away--so\nmany that even the Druid's eye can scarcely see what is at the end of\nthem. But at last there shall come strange men across the sea to\nErin--men with shaven heads. They shall build houses and shall set up\ntables in the east ends of their houses, and they shall ring bells.\nAnd when the swans that were the children of Lir shall hear the first\nsound of these bells, they shall have their human shape again, and\nthen they shall be happy forever. But she--the gray vulture--she shall\nfly in the sky, where it is stormy and cold. Where there are thick\nclouds and where the rain is made, there shall be her home. She shall\nnot fly where the heaven is blue and where the sun shines warm. The\nbells of the good men from over the sea shall bring her no peace. Her\nway shall be with the wind and the hail. If she has any rest it shall\nbe on the peak of some wet crag, where the snow whirls around her, or\nthe fog drives past her, or the sleet cuts against her, or the cold\nspray of the sea dashes over her. And it shall be so with her till the\nDay of Doom.'\n\n\"When the King had finished speaking the gray vulture flew away, and\nshe was never seen again. But the King and all the court rode in\nchariots to the lake where the white swans were, and Lir and all his\npeople came there, too, when they heard what had been done. And there\nthey all stood and listened to the singing of the four swans. So\nbeautiful was the song that those who listened could think of nothing\nelse while they heard it. They left their horses and their chariots\nand stood on the shore of the lake and listened to the enchanting\nmusic, and never thought of food, or of drink, or of sleep. Even the\nhorses listened to the song as the people did. Day and night they\nstood there, and many days and nights, and no hunger came upon them,\nand they felt no cold and no heat, and no wind and no wet.\n\n\"But the time came when the enchantment that was upon them compelled\nthe four white swans to leave the place. They rose up into the air and\nflew away and out of sight into the sky. Then the King and his people,\nand Lir and his people, went back to their castles, and they never saw\nthe four white swans again.\n\n\"The four white swans flew to Loch Derg, and there for many years they\nswam on the lake, and fed and slept among the rushes along the shores.\nIn the summer the lake was pleasant and cool, the air was clear and\nmild, the sky was blue, and the sun was bright and beautiful. Then\nFair-shoulder and her brothers forgot that they were unhappy. They\nsang songs to one another and scarcely remembered that they had ever\nbeen anything but swans, swimming on this peaceful water. But when the\nwinter came and the ice was all around, and the wind from the north\nblew the snow against them, so that it froze among their feathers and\nthey could scarcely move, they were so stiff and so cold--then they\nremembered how happy they had been in their father's castle. They\ncould not sing now--not even sad songs. They only longed to have their\nhuman shape again and to be back in their old home.\n\n\"But after many, many years more had passed they ceased to wish for\nhome. They had been swans so long now that it did not seem to them\nthat they had ever been anything else. When the winter came again and\nagain and again, and the days of chilling storm and the nights of\nfreezing darkness were upon them, the poor brothers longed for nothing\nbut the end of it all. The thought of the old castle hall, with its\nbright fires and its feasts and its music of minstrels and its dances\nand its games, was only another pain to them, and they wished only to\ndie and to leave their sorrows.\n\n\"Then they crowded close together, to be as warm as they could, and\nFair-shoulder tried to spread her wings over her brothers, to keep the\nstorm from them. She tried to comfort them, and she told them again\nand again the story that she had heard from the people who stood by\nthe lake to hear them sing, the story that the King had told, that,\nafter many hundreds of years, strange men should come across the sea\nto Erin--men with shaven heads; that they should build houses and set\nup tables in the east ends of their houses, and that they should ring\nbells; and when the swans should hear the first sound of those bells\nthey should have their human shape again, and then they should be\nhappy forever.\n\n\"For three hundred years they were at Loch Derg, and then, by the\npower of their enchantment, they were compelled to leave it. They flew\nto the sea of Moyle, and there they stayed, through the summer's heat\nand the winter's cold, for three hundred years more. Still the sister\ntold her brothers of the strange men who were to come to Erin and of\nthe bells that were to free them. But they could not be comforted. The\nstrange men were too long in coming.\n\n\"When the three hundred years were past they had to fly away again to\nanother sea. As they flew, they passed over the spot where their\nfather's castle had stood and where they had been happy children\ntogether. Not a stone of the beautiful castle could they see. It had\nall crumbled down, and the grass had grown over it for many a year.\nThey saw the fox that had its hole where their father's bright hearth\nfire had been, and they saw the ditch of dirty water where their\nfather used to welcome kings and bards and wise men at his gate. They\nkept their way through the air and saw no more; yet they had seen all\nthat there was to see. It gave the poor swans only a little ache at\nthe heart, for they were past hope now. They had suffered too much to\nbelieve anything or to think of anything but the suffering that was\npast and the more suffering that was to come.\n\n\"The end of their journey came and they swam in a new sea. Again the\nsister tried to cheer her brothers, but they could not be cheered. The\nstrange men with the shaven heads would never come, they thought. They\nhad waited for them too long.\n\n\"But the hundreds of years that had passed had done more than to bring\nsorrow to the poor swans. In lands far away a new faith had grown up,\nnot like the Druids' faith. And at last across the sea to Erin came\nthe holy St. Patrick. He brought monks with him, and they had shaven\nheads. They went about the island and preached, and built chapels. In\nthe east end of each chapel they set up an altar, and they said masses\nand rang bells. And they built a chapel on the island that has since\nbeen called the Isle of Glory.\n\n\"And so, one bright morning, Fair-shoulder and her brothers were\nswimming near the Isle of Glory, when, of a sudden, there came to them\nfrom the shore the sweet sound of a bell. Then Fair-shoulder called to\nher brothers, and they all swam to the shore. And as soon as they were\non shore their form of swans was gone. Fair-shoulder was a beautiful\nyoung girl again, and the brothers were strong, beautiful boys. They\nwalked up to the little chapel together, and there a monk baptized\nthem.\n\n\"And as soon as they were baptized they were young and strong no\nlonger. Fair-shoulder was an old, old woman, and her brothers were\nold, old men. They were so weak with the age of a thousand years that\nthey fell upon the floor of the chapel. The monks took them up and\ncared for them for a few days, and then they died. And so the word of\nthe Druid came to pass, that when the strange men should ring their\nbells the children of Lir should be swans no longer, and should be\nhappy forever.\"\n\nThey all waited for a few minutes, to be sure that there was no more\nof the story, and then John said: \"Mother, it's easy for you to be\ntellin' us them tales, and they may be all thrue enough, and I'm not\nsayin' they're not. But what good are they to us? The word of the\nDruid came thrue, but how long was it in comin' thrue? A thousand\nyears?\"\n\n\"A thousand years or more,\" said his mother; \"but the stories can\nteach us to be patient, if they can do nothing else.\"\n\n\"They may do that,\" said John; \"the blessed Lord He knows you've been\npatient, and He knows the rest of us have tried to be. But what does\nit all come to? We can't wait a thousand years for the betther times.\nPether, here, is right. The States would be a betther place for all of\nus. If we had the money I'ld say that we ought to go there.\"\n\n\"It's not the bad times alone that's in it,\" said Peter. \"As I told\nyou before, I could stand them. It's the bother that we're put to all\nthe time. It's that would make us go to the States this minute, if we\nhad the chance. But I suppose your mother could never be leavin'\nIreland now, John; she's gettin' so old now, maybe she couldn't stand\nthe journey.\"\n\n\"Have no fear about that,\" John answered; \"mother's not so old as\nyou'ld make out, and she's likely to live longer now than some others\nthat's here this minute.\"\n\nAs he said this John felt Kitty's hand suddenly holding his closer,\nand he knew that he ought not to have said it. \"Don't mind what I'm\nsayin',\" he said to her in a whisper; \"I dunno what I'm talkin' about,\nbut I didn't mean you at all, darlin', nor anybody particular. It'll\nall come right somehow, and we'll soon see the roses back in your\ncheek, and the smile on your lips, and the light in your eyes. Don't\nmind what I said.\"\n\n\"But what's the use talkin' of it at all?\" said Peter. \"You've no\nmoney and we've less. We might as well be talkin' of goin' to the moon\nas to the States.\"\n\nThe old woman did not seem to be paying any attention to what the\nothers were saying, and now nobody at all said anything for a little\nwhile. Then Mrs. O'Brien began: \"John and Kitty, I think sometimes\nit's true I'm getting old and foolish. I don't know what has made me\ntalk the way I have to-night I've seen it coming--oh, I've seen it\ncoming all along--yes, longer than any one of you has seen it--and I\nknew I couldn't stand in the way. And yet to be leaving the old\nplaces--the old fields and hills and paths--the old streams and trees\nand rocks--the old places where your father and I walked and sat and\ntalked so often together, where you were born and where he lies--I\ncouldn't bear to think of it. It's old and weak and foolish I'm\ngetting, and I couldn't bear to think of it. And so I've tried to make\nyou think of other things and to make you think that it would be\nbetter somehow, some time. Maybe I've said too much, and maybe I've\nkept you from going when you ought to have gone, but you'll know that\nit was because I couldn't bear to think of leaving all the dear\nplaces, and you'll forgive me; John and Kitty, you'll forgive me. I\ncan say no more. If I couldn't think of it, yet I must do it. It is\nright that we should go, and we will go.\"\n\n\"And why should you be talkin' that way, mother?\" said John. \"Was it\nwhat you said that kept us from goin' to the States long ago? Sure, if\nyou had said nothing at all, we hadn't the money to go, and so what\ndifference was it what you said?\"\n\n\"Listen to me, John,\" said his mother; \"it was all through me that you\ndidn't leave this land of sorrow long ago. It was because it had been\na land of joy as well to me that we all stayed here; and now, since\nyou're sure that it's right and best for you to go, it's not the want\nof money that shall stand in your way. It's yourself knows, John, that\nyour father--Heaven be his bed!--was always the careful and the saving\nman, and I always tried to help him the best I could. The times got a\nlittle better with us, as you know, after those worst ones in '47 and\n'48, and we saved a little again--it was not much, but it was\nsomething. Your father left it with me before he died, and he said:\n'Keep it always by you till you need it most. Don't use it till the\ntime comes when you can say, \"I shall never need this money more than\nI need it now.\"' So I have always kept it, and I have it now. That was\nwhy I told you not to fear about the winter. It would have paid our\nrent if all else had failed, and it would have taken us all through\nthe winter. But it's better that it should take us to the States. If\nwe stayed here and used the money, we'ld be as bad off in another\nyear. Kitty will be getting strong again there, and it'll be better\nfor all of us. The time that your father said has come; I'm sure we'll\nnever be needing the money that he left more than we're needing it\nnow. There's no more to be said; we'll go.\"\n\nFor a little while no more was said. John and Kitty gazed at the old\nwoman in wonder. The thing that they had thought about for so long,\nand wished for as a happiness that could never be, was come to them.\nAnd now it scarcely seemed a happiness; it was half a sorrow. Then\nEllen spoke: \"Oh, Mrs. O'Brien, it was always you was the good\nneighbor to us! It was always you was with us in joy and in sorrow!\nWhat'll we ever do at all when you're gone and we're left here alone,\nwith none to be so kind to us as you've always been?\"\n\nAnd Peter said: \"I was thinkin' that same. The Lord go wid you and\nkeep you, wherever you go, but it'll be the sad day for us when you go\naway.\"\n\n\"Peter and Ellen,\" said the old woman \"how could you think that we'ld\ndo a thing like that? You may be a fool sometimes, Peter, but you're\nyour father's son. Do you know what your father did for us, Peter?\nWhen my John was dying with the fever, he sat and watched with him,\nand brought him the water and the whey all night, and night after\nnight, when I was so worn out that I could watch no longer. He might\nhave taken the fever himself, and he might have died with it, and he\ndid take it, but the Lord spared his life for a while after that,\nHeaven rest his soul! And another thing that John said to me before he\ndied was this: 'As long as you have a bit to eat or a drop to drink or\na penny to buy, never let Tom Sullivan or any of his want more than\nyou want yourself.'\n\n\"And so, Peter and Ellen, when we go to the States, you'll both go\ntoo. There's enough of the money to take us all there. If you're ever\nable to pay it back, you can do it, if you like; but if not, we'll\nnever ask you for it. If we went away from here without you, my\nhusband would look down from Heaven and see me doing what he told me,\nwith his dying breath, never to do. He would come to me at night and\nhe would say: 'Mary, you are deserting in their sorrow the children of\nthem that never deserted us in our sorrow.' Do you think that I could\nbear that? Do you think that I would do that?\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNow I have told you all the talk that went on in the O'Briens' house\nthat night. Perhaps you think that I have been a good while in doing\nit. If you will forgive me, I will try to get on with the story a\nlittle faster after this. Only one word more about this talk: you must\nnot think that this was the first time that these five people had ever\ngone over and over this subject of America, or \"the States,\" as they\ncalled it. They had talked of it many times, but Mrs. O'Brien had\nnever given the word that they should go. The rest of them talked on\nand on of what they wished. But when she spoke, they all knew that she\nspoke of what was to be. They knew now that they should never talk of\ngoing again, but they should go.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: ]\n\nIII\n\nTHE LITTLE GOOD PEOPLE\n\n\nThere was a good deal of commotion that night in the rath near where\nthe O'Briens and the Sullivans lived. Do you know what a rath is? I\nsuppose not. It is hard work to tell stories to you, you are so\nignorant. I will tell you what a rath is. First I will tell you what\nit looks like. It looks like a mound of earth, in the shape of a ring,\ncovered with turf, and perhaps with bushes. They are found all over\nIreland. Some people, who have studied so much that they have lost all\ntrack of what they know and of what they don't know, say that these\nraths were made by the people who lived in Ireland many hundreds of\nyears ago, and that they were strongholds to guard themselves and\ntheir sheep and their cattle from their enemies or from wild beasts.\nBut people who know as much as Mrs. O'Brien, know that they are the\nplaces where the fairies live, or the Good People, as she would call\nthem.\n\nOn this night that I have been telling you about, the Good People\ninside the rath were eating and drinking and dancing and making merry\ngenerally, as they do, you know, the most of the time. Perhaps you\nwould like to have me tell you how the inside of the rath looked too.\nI will do the best I can. In the first place, the walls were all of\nsilver and the floor was all of gold. Perhaps you don't know--no, I\nsuppose you don't know--still you may happen to have heard of this\nbefore: the fairies know just where to find pretty much all the gold\nand silver and precious stones that there are in the world, if they\nhappen to want them. They don't want much of them, of course--only\njust enough to make the walls and the roofs and the floors of their\nhouses of, and to put all over their clothes and to make all their\nfurniture and dishes of, and all their carriages and their boats, and\na few other things--but they know where to find plenty of gold and\nsilver, if they want it.\n\nNow I think that I had better give you a little science. I believe\nthat a book which children are to read, always ought to teach\nsomething, so I mean to teach you as much as I can. You must know,\nthen, that gold is one of the heaviest things in the world. Now you\nknow that the earth is always whirling round and round, so that the\nthings that it is made of naturally get shaken up more or less.\nBesides that, it was once a good deal softer than it is now, so that\nthe things that it is made of could move about more than they can now.\nAnd so the most of the gold, being, as I said, one of the heaviest\nthings, got sifted down toward the bottom--that is, toward the centre\nof the earth. Only a little of it was left near the top, compared with\nwhat went to the bottom. It would not be at all surprising if the\nmiddle of the earth were a solid lump of gold, a thousand miles thick.\nBut we poor men cannot dig down very deep into the earth. We can only\nscratch a little dirt off the top, and if we happen to grub up a few\npounds of gold we think that we are rich, and the rest of the world\nthinks so too.\n\nBut the fairies laugh at us. They know how to go as deep into the\nearth as they choose, and so any fairy who chooses can give away gold\nall his life, and still have more of it in his dust-bin all the time\nthan all the kings in the world have in their treasuries. And the\nother fairies don't call him rich.\n\nBut now we will go back to the rath. Of course it was all under the\nground, so that there was no daylight. At the time we are talking\nabout, there would not have been any anyway, for it was night. The\nplace was lighted up with thousands of diamonds and rubies and\nemeralds, which were set all over the ceiling and shone like lamps.\nNow I won't call you ignorant just because you say that you don't\nunderstand how diamonds could light up anything, for I don't\nunderstand it myself. Let us talk about it together and try to decide.\nSuppose you try the experiment. Some night, after dark, take all the\ndiamonds you have--every one of them--and carry them into a dark room\nand spread them out, and see if they light up the room at all. I am\nsure that you will find that they do not. On the contrary, if you let\ngo of them, you will have to go and get a light to hunt for them by.\nBut I suppose the fairies have some other kind of diamonds than ours,\nor else they know some other way of using the same kind. Sometimes\nthey use fireflies, caught in spider-web nets, but these are generally\nfor out of doors. To light up their houses they almost always use\ndiamonds.\n\nThere were two tiny bits of turf fire in the rath. One of them was at\none end of the hall, where the King sat, for the King to light his\npipe by, and the other was at the other end, for the other fairy men\nto light their pipes by. Fairies do not like fire, as a rule, and they\nwould never have any more of it about than they could help. But I know\nthat they must have had some, for I know that Irish fairies smoke\npipes, and how could they light them unless they kept a little fire on\nhand?\n\nNow, I know what you will say to that. You will say: \"If they could\nlight a room with diamonds, why couldn't they light pipes with them?\"\nWell, that is not very easy to answer, but I feel sure that even a\nfairy would never think of lighting a pipe with a diamond. I have\nowned up already that I don't know exactly how they light rooms with\nthem, but it is easier for me to imagine a diamond giving light than\ngiving heat. Isn't it for you? Now, be honest about it.\n\nAt one end of the hall sat the King and the Queen, on their thrones.\nNear them were half a dozen fairy men who were playing on pipes and\nfiddles. All over the floor there were dozens and scores of fairies,\nmen and women, dancing to the music. All around the walls stood or sat\nmany more of them, looking at the dancers, and now and then applauding\nand shouting at particular ones, or talking together, or simply\nsmoking their pipes.\n\nSuddenly two fairies rushed into the hall, with a little sound like\nthe noise of a humming-bird's wings when it passes close to you. From\nthe lower end of the hall, where they came in, they went straight\nthrough the crowd to where the King and Queen sat. They dropped on\ntheir knees before them for an instant, and then rose and spoke to\nthem. In a moment the King clapped his hands, with a sign for the\npipers and the fiddlers to stop playing. The instant that they\nstopped, everybody in the hall was still.\n\nThe King stood up and said to them: \"Will ye be still now and listen,\nall of ye, to the news that's come to me this minute, and then will ye\nhelp me to think what we're to do about it at all? Here's these two\nthat's just come in, and they're just afther tellin' me that they've\nbeen at the O'Briens' house this evenin', and there they heard talk\nbetune the O'Briens and the Sullivans, and it's all decided that both\nthe O'Briens and the Sullivans is goin' to the States. And it's sorry\nI'll be to see the O'Briens lavin' the counthry. I don't care so much\nfor the Sullivans.\"\n\n\"It was the O'Briens,\" said the Queen, \"that always put the bit and\nsup outside the door for us, and what we'll be doin' widout the milk\nand the pertaties and the fresh wather, I dunno.\"\n\n\"Ye needn't be throubled about that,\" the King answered; \"haven't we\nalways enough to eat and drink of our own, whatever happens?\"\n\n\"Thrue for you,\" said the Queen, \"we have our own food and drink, but\nit's not the same that we get from human people. Ye know that same\nyourself, and it's you as much as any that'll be missin' them things\nwhen the O'Briens is gone.\"\n\n\"That's the thrue word too,\" said the King; \"it'll be the bad day for\nus all out, when they go. What for are they lavin' the counthry at\nall?\"\n\n\"If ye plase, Your Majesty,\" said one of the fairies who had brought\nthe news, \"we heard all that too. It's the hard times that's in it.\nIt's that makes them all want to go, and then, more than that, it's\nthe bother the Sullivans are put to all the time, wid the cow givin'\nno milk and the pig not gettin' fat, and all that, and they're bound\nthat they'll go away and stand it no longer.\"\n\n\"Is that it?\" said the King. \"It's that divil Naggeneen that's in it.\nI told him he could bother them a little if he liked, but not to\nbother them too much, and now he's drivin' them and their neighbors\nout of the counthry, and we all have to suffer for it. He'll make it\nup to us in some way, if they go, or I'll take it out of him. Come\nhere, Naggeneen! What are ye doin' down there by yourself? Come up\nhere and stand forninst me, till I give ye a piece of me mind. Now,\nwhat's all this about the O'Briens and the Sullivans lavin' the\ncounthry? What have ye been about wid them?\"\n\nA fairy who had not been in the hall before had just come in at the\nfar end from the King, who had caught sight of him. He was smoking a\npipe. He had his hands in the pockets of his little green breeches, he\nwore a red jacket, and on his head was a red cap. He came slowly up\nthe hall, when the King called him, and stood before the throne. \"Take\noff your cap, ye worthless vagabone,\" said the King, \"when you speak\nto me.\"\n\n\"I wasn't spakin' to you,\" said Naggeneen; \"it was you that spoke to\nme. You called me, and here I am to the fore, though I don't belong to\nyour pitiful little thribe, and I needn't come when you call, if I\ndon't like.\"\n\n\"Oh, needn't ye?\" said the King. \"Take off your cap now, or it'll be\ntaken off for ye.\"\n\nNaggeneen took off his cap.\n\n\"Now,\" said the King, \"what have ye been doin' to the Sullivans, that\nthey're lavin' the counthry and persuadin' the O'Briens to go wid\nthem?\"\n\n\"I've been doin' nothin',\" said Naggeneen, \"but what you said I might\ndo.\"\n\n\"Oh, haven't ye?\" said the King. \"And what was that?\"\n\n\"Oh,\" said Naggeneen, \"I just took all the cream and the most of the\nmilk from their cow, and you yourself had a share of it, as you know\nwell; and I put a charm on their pig, so that it wouldn't get fat, no\nmatter how much it 'uld be atin'; and then I druv the smoke of their\nfire down the chimney, and I threw the dishes and the pans around in\nthe night, just so they wouldn't get lazy wid restin' too well, and a\nfew more little things like that.\"\n\n\"Was that all ye did?\" said the King. \"And how long have ye been at it\nthat way?\"\n\n\"Ever since the day that Mrs. Sullivan threw the dirthy wather on me,\nas I was passin' the house. But I'm not the only one that's in it.\nSome of your own people here have helped me, and good they are at\ndivilment too.\"\n\n\"And those things was all you did, was they?\" said the King. \"And\ndidn't I tell ye ye could bother them a little, but not too much? What\nwould ye have done if I had told ye to do what ye liked wid them?\"\n\n\"What would I have done then? Oh, I'ld have shown ye the real fun\nthen. What would I have done then? I'ld have pinched them and stuck\npins in them all day and all night. I'ld have put charms on\nthemselves, so that they'ld grow thinner than the pig. I'ld have took\nthe pertaties out of the creel when they were put to drain at the\ndoor. If they went away from home I'ld make them think that they saw\ntheir house burning up, and so I'ld scare them to death. What would I\ndo if you gave me leave? What wouldn't I do?\"\n\n\"Well, you've done enough as it is,\" said the King, \"to get the whole\nof us into throuble, and now let's hear what you're goin' to do to\nget us out of it. Here they are lavin' the counthry and takin' the\nO'Briens wid them, that was always the good neighbors to us, and they\nthemselves were sometimes useful in their own way, in spite of\nthemselves. And now I ask ye, Naggeneen, what are ye goin' to do to\nget us out of the throuble ye've got us into?\"\n\n\"I'm in no throuble meself,\" Naggeneen answered, \"and I dunno what I\nhave to do wid any throuble that you may be in.\"\n\n\"You're in no throuble yourself? Haven't ye been as good as livin' on\nthe Sullivans all this time? And now what are ye goin' to do widout\nthem?\"\n\n\"I'm goin' to do nothin' widout them; I'm goin' wid them.\"\n\n\"Goin' wid them! Goin' wid them!\"\n\n\"Them was me words; you and your silly little thribe can do what ye\nlike; I'm goin' wid them. It's a stuffy little place, this rath of\nyours, and I've a notion thravellin' would be good for me health, any\nway.\"\n\n\"But how can ye go wid them?\"\n\n\"It's not hard at all,\" said Naggeneen, \"and it's been done before\nthis. I was near doin' it meself once. I don't suppose ye remember me\nold friend MacCarthy.\"\n\n\"MacCarthy of Ballinacarthy?\" the King asked.\n\n\"The same,\" said Naggeneen, \"and it was he was the good friend to\nmortal or fairy. It was he kept the good house and the good table and\nthe good cellar--more especially the good cellar. That was not so many\nyears ago--a hundred and odd, maybe. A fine man he was; we don't see\nhis like now. I lived wid him the most of the time--in the cellar. And\nthe strange thing about him was that, though nobody ever had a bad\nword for him, though all his servants said that he was the kindest and\nthe best masther that ever stepped, he could get nobody to stay in the\nplace of butler. It was all well enough wid the rest--cooks, maids,\nhostlers, stable boys--but the first time ever a new butler went into\nthat beautiful wine cellar for wine, back he'ld come in a hurry and\nsay that he'ld lave his place the next day, and nothing on earth would\nkeep him in it. Now, wasn't that strange?\"\n\n\"Did you say you lived in that cellar?\" the King asked.\n\n\"The most of the time,\" said Naggeneen.\n\n\"Then it was not strange,\" said the King.\n\n\"Any way, strange or not strange,\" Naggeneen went on, \"it was the\ntruth. Never a butler could he keep in his service. A new butler would\ncome and he'ld think he was a made man, old MacCarthy was that well\nknown and that well liked all over the counthry. He'ld wait once at\ndinner and then down he'ld go to the cellar for wine. Sometimes he'ld\ncome back wid the wine and oftener he'ld come back widout it, but\nevery time he'ld say: 'Mr. MacCarthy, sir, it's much obliged to you I\nam for all your kindness, but I'll have to be lavin' your service\nto-morrow.' And nobody could see the why of it.\n\n\"And at long last there was young Jack Leary, that had been all his\nlife in old MacCarthy's stable, and he knew how the old man was bad\noff for a butler, and he made bold to ask for the place. 'If I make ye\nme butler,' says the old man, 'will ye go into the cellar and bring\nthe wine when I ask ye, and make no throuble about it?'\n\n\"'Is that all?' says Jack; 'sure, yer honor, I'ld be glad to spend all\nme time, day and night, in the cellar, only ye might be wantin' me\nsomewhere else now and then.'\n\n\"'Then look sharp,' says old MacCarthy, 'for there's gintlemin comin'\nto dinner to-day. Wait on the table the best ye know how, and at the\nend of it, when I ring the bell three times, do ye go to the cellar\nand bring plenty of wine, and let's have no more nonsinse about it.'\n\n\"'Niver say it twice,' says Jack; 'yer honor can depind on me.'\n\n\"Well, ye may belave I was listenin' to all this, for I wasn't in the\ncellar all the time. 'His honor may say it twice,' says I to meself,\n'or as many times as he likes, but you'll never go into that cellar\ntwice, Jack, me fine boy.'\n\n\"So Jack went about his work, and the dinner went all well enough,\ntill late in the evenin', when old MacCarthy rang the bell three\ntimes, and off started Jack for the cellar, wid a basket to bring back\nthe wine. 'It's the silly lot they war,' says he to himself, 'thim\nbutlers, that they'ld be afraid to go to the cellar and bring back a\nbit of a basket full of wine. The only thing I don't like about it is\nthat I can't bring it back in me skin instead of in the basket.'\n\n\"He was thinkin' like this in his mind as he went down the long, dark\nstairs wid his candle, and you may depend I was ready for him, by the\ntime he got to the bottom. So no sooner did he touch the key to the\nlock than I give him a sort of a laugh and a scream that set the empty\nwine bottles that stood outside the door a-dancin' together. Jack was\na good bold boy, sure enough, and he got the key into the lock and\nturned it. Wid that I swung the door open for him, so hard that it\ncrashed against the wall and near shook the house down. And then me\nfine boy saw all the casks and the hogsheads in the cellar a-swingin'\nand a-rockin' and a-whirlin' around, as if all the wine had been in\nhim instead of in them.\n\n\"You may be sure he didn't wait long afther that, but he just dropped\nhis basket and fell all the way up the stairs and into the room where\nthe gintlemin was waitin' for their wine. Well, it was then that old\nMacCarthy was in the towerin' rage. Never a word could Jack say to\ntell where he'd been or how he came back, or why.\n\n\"'Gintlemin,' says MacCarthy, 'ye'll get your wine, if I have to go to\nthe cellar for it meself. But this I tell ye: I'll live no longer in\nthis house, where I can't get servants to serve me. I'll be lavin' it\nto-morrow, and no later. The next time ye find me at home, ye'll find\nme in a place where I can keep a butler and have him do his work.'\n\n\"Wid that he took the lantern and started for the cellar himself.\nYe'll guess that I was in the dining-room as soon as Jack and heard\nall this, and I was back in the cellar, too, before MacCarthy got\nthere. I was sittin' on a cask of port, when he came in and saw me be\nthe light of the lantern. I was sittin' there, wid a spiggot over me\nshoulder. 'Are ye there?' says MacCarthy. 'Who are ye, anyway, and\nwhat are ye doin' there?'\n\n[Illustration: \"I WAS SITTIN' THERE, WID A SPIGGOT OVER ME SHOULDER.\"]\n\n\"'Sure, your honor,' says I, 'a'n't we goin' to move to-morrow, and\nit's not the likes of a kind man like you that would be wishin' to\nlave poor little Naggeneen behind.'\n\n\"'Is that the way of it?' says MacCarthy. 'Well, if you're agoin' to\nmove wid us, I see no use in movin' at all. If I'm to have you in me\ncellar, wherever it is, it may as well be at Ballinacarthy as\nanywhere.'\n\n\"And from that day till the day of his death me and old MacCarthy was\nthe best of friends. And he always brought all his wine from the\ncellar himself.\"\n\n\"And what has all that to do wid us?\" said the King.\n\n\"What has it to do wid ye?\" said Naggeneen. \"It has nothin' to do wid\nye, unless ye want to make it, and never a care I care whether ye do\nor not. But it has a good deal to do wid me. It shows, doesn't it,\nthat I was ready to go wid old MacCarthy, and him runnin' away from\nme; and just so I'm ready to go wid the Sullivans, now that they're\nrunnin' away from me. I've given ye a good hint. Ye can do as ye\nplase.\"\n\n\"It's glad I'ld be,\" said the Queen, \"if we could be rid of the\nSullivans and Naggeneen both at once, but I dunno what we'll do at all\nif the O'Briens go away.\"\n\n\"I'm not over-fond of Naggeneen meself,\" said the King, \"but it's a\nsharp bit of a boy he is, and I'm thinkin' he may not be far from\nright this time. It might be that a new counthry would be as good for\nus as for the O'Briens or the Sullivans, and, anyway, we'ld still be\nnear to them.\"\n\n\"Do ye mean,\" the Queen said, \"that ye think we might all go to the\nStates along wid the O'Briens and the Sullivans and Naggeneen?\"\n\n\"If Naggeneen goes,\" the King replied, \"he'll go along wid us; we'll\nnot go wid him; but it was just that same that I was thinkin'. And yet\nwe couldn't do a thing like that widout the lave of the King of All\nIreland.\"\n\nWhen the King spoke of the King of All Ireland, of course he meant the\nKing of all the fairies in Ireland. He was himself only the King of\nthis rath. Of course you know that the people of Ireland have no kings\nof their own any more.\n\n\"Naggeneen, me boy,\" said the King, \"just take your fut in your hand\nand go to the King of All Ireland. Give him me compliments and ask him\nwould he think there was anything against the whole of us goin' to the\nStates.\"\n\n\"Is it me that would be runnin' arrants to the King of All Ireland,\"\nNaggeneen answered: \"me, that don't belong to your thribe at all, and\nforty lazy spalpeens around here wearin' their legs off wid dancin' or\nrustin' them off wid doin' nothin' at all?\"\n\n\"It's thrue you don't belong to me thribe,\" said the King, \"and glad I\nam of that same. But while ye stay in me rath ye'll do what I bid ye.\nWhy would I kape a dog and bark meself? Go on, now, and do what I tell\nye, or ye know what I'll do to ye. Be off now!\"\n\nNaggeneen was off.\n\nNow, while Naggeneen is gone with his message to the King of All\nIreland, I will just take a minute to say something that I have felt\nlike saying for quite a little while. He will not be gone much more\nthan a minute. What I have to say is this: Nearly all the people in\nthis story, mortals and fairies, too, had the way of speaking that\nmost Irish people have, which we call a brogue. Mrs. O'Brien had only\na little of it--just the bit of a soft brogue that comes from Dublin,\nwhere she had lived for a long time. The most of the others had a good\ndeal more. But as I go on with the story from here, I see no use in\ntrying to write the brogue. It is hard to spell and confusing to read.\nIf you do not know what a good Irish brogue is, you would never learn\nfrom any attempt of mine to spell it out for you; and if you do know\nwhat it is, you can put it in for yourself. I may have to try to write\na little of it now and then, for there is some Irish that does not\nlook like Irish when it is written in English, but I shall use as\nlittle of it after this as I can. Naggeneen is back by this time.\n\nNaggeneen sauntered into the hall where the King and the Queen and all\nthe company were waiting for him, with his hands in his pockets, quite\nas if he had been out for a quiet stroll and had come back because he\nwas tired of it. \"Well,\" said the King, \"did you see the King of All\nIreland?\"\n\n\"I saw him with my good-looking eyes,\" Naggeneen answered.\n\n\"And what did he say?\"\n\n\"He said he'ld come here and talk to you himself, and, by the look of\nhim, I think it's a pleasant time he'll be giving you.\"\n\n\"Then why is he not here as soon as you?\" the King asked.\n\n\"Oh, nothing would do for him,\" said Naggeneen, \"but that he and his\nmen must come on horseback. They can come no faster that way, but they\nthink it's due to their dignity. They had to wait for the horses to be\nready, and so I beat them.\"\n\nNaggeneen had scarcely said this when the door flew open at the end of\nthe hall, and, with a rush and a whirl, in came a great troupe of\nfairies on horseback--the King of All Ireland and his men. They all\nleaped down from their horses, and instantly every horse turned into a\ngreen rush, such as grows beside the bogs. The King of All Ireland\nwalked quickly up to the King of the rath and stood before him, with\nan awful frown on his face. The King of the rath was plainly nervous.\n\"Will you have a light for your pipe, Your Majesty?\" he asked.\n\n\"Never mind my pipe now,\" said the King of All Ireland. \"Tell me first\nof all, who is this messenger that you sent to me?\" The King of All\nIreland had only a little bit of brogue--the Dublin kind.\n\n\"Sure,\" said the King of the rath, \"that's only poor Naggeneen.\"\n\n\"Only poor Naggeneen!\" cried the King of All Ireland. \"And what are\nyou doing with him? Do you see the red jacket he has on? Why doesn't\nhe wear a green jacket, like your people? You know what his red jacket\nmeans as well as I. He belongs to the fairies who live by themselves,\nnot to those who live together honestly in a rath. Why do you have him\nwith your honest green jackets?\"\n\n\"Sure, Your Majesty,\" said the King of the rath, \"I thought it was no\nharm. He said he was tired of being by himself, and you know how handy\nhe is with the fiddle or the pipes. If he'd been a fir darrig, that's\nalways playing tricks and making trouble everywhere, why, then, of\ncourse--but he was only a poor cluricaun--\"\n\n\"Yes,\" the King of All Ireland interrupted, \"only a poor cluricaun,\nthat does nothing but rob gentlemen's wine cellars and keep himself so\ndrunk that he's of no use when he's wanted for any good. And hasn't he\nmade you as much trouble as any fir darrig could do?\"\n\n\"I was a lepracaun, too, once, Your Majesty,\" Naggeneen said.\n\n\"A lepracaun, were you? What did you do then? And when was it and how\ndid it happen that a lazy lump like you was ever a lepracaun?\"\n\n\"It was a long time ago,\" said Naggeneen, ready enough to talk about\nanything to draw the King's thoughts away from the trouble that he had\nmade. \"After old MacCarthy, of Ballinacarthy, died, those that came\nafter him did not keep up his cellar well, and I felt lonely and sad,\nand I didn't care to drink any more--\"\n\n\"Lonely and sad you must have been,\" said the King of All Ireland;\n\"but you did drink still, did you not, though you didn't care for it?\"\n\n\"True for you, Your Majesty,\" said Naggeneen, \"I did a little, just\nfor my health. But I was so lonely and so falling to pieces with\nidleness--\"\n\n\"Falling to pieces with idleness!\" the King interrupted again. \"If\nidleness could make you fall to pieces, there wouldn't have been a\npiece of you left big enough to make trouble in a fly's eye, these\nlast seven hundred years.\"\n\n\"As you say, Your Majesty,\" Naggeneen went on, \"but, anyway, I was a\nlepracaun, and I did what any other lepracaun does: I sat in the field\nor under a tree and made brogues. But it was sorry work and people was\nalways trying to catch me, to make me show them the gold they thought\nI had. And one time a great brute of a spalpeen did catch me, and he\nnearly broke me in two with the squeeze he gave me, so that I wouldn't\nget away till I'd showed him the gold. And I nearly had to show it to\nhim, but I made him look away for a second, and then of course I was\noff. And after that my friend the King here let me come and live in\nthe rath, just for company--not that I belong to his little tribe at\nall.\"\n\n\"And now you see,\" said the King of All Ireland, turning from\nNaggeneen to the King of the rath, \"what trouble comes to you from\ntaking those into your rath that have no right there. He's sending\npeople out of Ireland that might be of use to you and to all of us. He\nwants to go with them, and that is no loss, but you want to go, too\nand to take all your people. That might be a loss, though I don't know\nthat it would.\"\n\n\"We think it's best that we should go, Your Majesty,\" the King of the\nrath answered, meekly, \"if you see no reason why not.\"\n\n\"I see reasons enough why not,\" said the King of All Ireland. \"You\ndon't know where you are going, nor what you'll find there. You don't\nknow how you're to live, nor whether it'll be any fit place to live.\nYou don't know whether the people there will help you or hinder you.\"\n\n\"Wherever the O'Briens go, they'll help us,\" the King of the rath\nanswered. \"We don't like to have them leave us here.\"\n\n\"You've gone contrary to the law enough already,\" said the King of All\nIreland, \"in taking in this fellow with the red coat. Now you may take\nall the consequences of it and go where you like. I don't care where\nyou go and I think nobody cares, only I think it may be best for all\nthe Good People in Ireland to have you out of it. Mount your horses,\"\nhe shouted to his men, \"and we'll be off out of this!\"\n\nHe took one of the little green rushes from the floor and sat astride\nit, as a little boy rides on his father's cane. \"Borram, borram,\nborram!\" he said, and instantly the rush was a beautiful white horse.\nEvery one of his men did the same. Each one took one of the rushes and\nsat astride of it and said, \"Borram, borram, borram!\" and every one of\nthe rushes grew into a horse. There was a little whirring sound, like\nthat of a swarm of bees, and they were all gone.\n\nEverybody in the rath was silent for a few minutes. The King and the\nQueen looked at each other and were much troubled. Naggeneen, without\nmaking a bit of noise, scuttled down to the farthest corner of the\nhall. The others seemed not to know where to look or what to do or to\nthink. Then the King turned toward them and said; \"It's all over; we\ncouldn't stay here now. Wherever has Naggeneen got to?\"\n\nThe fairies who were nearest to Naggeneen hustled him forward and he\nstood before the King again. \"Naggeneen,\" said the King, \"it's trouble\nenough you've made for all of us, and it's ballyragging enough you and\nall the rest of us have got for it, and we don't know, as His Majesty\nsaid, what more is to come. So now do the only thing you was ever good\nfor and give us a tune out of the fiddle.\"\n\nIt was the only thing that Naggeneen was good for, and the only thing\nthat was not mischief that he liked to do. He took a fiddle from one\nof the fairies who had been playing for the dancing before all the\nconfusion began. He held the fiddle under his chin for a moment, while\neverybody waited, and then he began to play.\n\nHe played first some old tunes that every fairy in Ireland knows well.\nBut not every fairy in Ireland can play them as Naggeneen did. They\nwere tunes which everybody listening in that rath had known for\nhundreds of years. There were wild and strange airs that made them\nremember days when Ireland was a strange country, even to them; then\nthe music was full of wonder and mystery, like the spells of the old\nDruids; then it was strong and free and fierce, and they thought of\nFinn McCool and the Fenians, and the days when Erin had heroes to\nguard her from her foes. The fiddle was telling them the story of\ntheir own lives and of all that they had ever seen and known. Now it\nwas a strange music, which they could not understand--which the player\ncould understand as little as the rest--but it was soft and sweet, and\nyet deep and bold, and the fairies trembled as they remembered the\nholy Patrick and a mighty power in the worlds of the seen and of the\nunseen. This passed away and the music came with the stir and the\nswing of marching men, and the fairies were again in the days of King\nBrian Boru, with Ireland free and brave and strong. It grew sad; it\ngushed out like sobs from a broken heart; then it was quieter, but\nstill full of a softer sorrow; now it was merry and reckless. It made\nthe fairies remember all that they had ever seen in the lives of the\npeople whom they had known so long--the cruel hardship, war, sickness,\nhunger, and then, besides, the faith, the kindliness, the\nlight-heartedness that had saved them through it all. There were tunes\nthat every man and woman in Ireland knows--tunes that you know--old\nairs that every Irish fiddler or piper or singer learns from the older\nones, that the oldest ones of all learned, they say, from the fairies.\nAnd under all the music, whether grave or gay, there went a strain of\ngrief, sometimes almost harsh and sometimes scarcely heard, and as the\nfairies listened to it they grew pale at the thought that now they\nwere to go away from all that they had known, to find something which\nthey did not know. While they were thinking of this the music changed\nagain. It was a soft murmur, like the sound of the sea that is kept\nforever in a sea-shell. Then it grew loud and rough, with the rush of\nwinds and the crash of waves. The fairies were filled with fright, and\nbefore they knew that they were afraid, the music was singing a song\nof hope, and then, all at once, it grew as merry as if there had never\nbeen a sad thought in the world.\n\nFor a moment the fairies listened to it and all their feet began to\nstir restlessly on the floor. One of the fairy men caught the hand of\na fairy girl--a fairy girl with cheeks like the tiny petals in the\nheart of a rose, with a white gown like a mist, and hair like fine\nsunbeams falling on the mist; he threw his arm about her waist, and\nthey danced away down the hall. In an instant all the rest were\ndancing, too, alone, in pairs, and in rings. Naggeneen looked on and\nlaughed till he could scarcely play. All this time his music had moved\nhim less than anybody else who heard it. He did not feel what he had\nmade the others feel, but he knew how to pour it all out of his\nfiddle.\n\nThe King made a sign for him to stop. All the dancers were still in an\ninstant. The lights in the hall went out. The next minute, if you had\nbeen outside the rath and had laid your ear down on the turf which\ncovered it, you would have heard nothing more than you might hear\nunder the turf at any other time or in any other place.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: ]\n\nIV\n\nTHE CLEVERNESS OF MORTALS\n\n\nIf you live in the city of New York, or if you have ever been in the\ncity of New York for any long time, you know how disheartening, how\nterrible, and how altogether unreasonable the climate can be at times.\nBut you also know how heavenly it can be on an autumn day, when the\nsky and the air and the water are all in a good humor. To see and to\nfeel the best of it, you must be down in the Narrows, or somewhere\nnear there. The fierce heat has gone out of the air, but there is a\ngentle warmth left in it. All the shores near you are turning from\ngreen to brown and yellow, with here and there a dash of red. The sun\nmakes every sail in the bay a gleaming spot of white. Far up the bay\nyou see just an end of the city, with the tall buildings standing so\nclose that it looks like one great castle, built all over a hill that\nslopes steeply down to the water on both sides. The Bridge looks like\na spider's web, spun across to the other shore. Beyond it all the\nhills look purple, through the thin mist. If, instead of having seen\nall this often, you saw it for the first time--if you were coming from\na far country, where you had always been poor--if you had toiled all\nyour life to pay your rent, never expecting to do more--then perhaps\nyou would look, more than anything else, at the giant woman standing\nbefore you and holding her torch high into the sky to light the world.\n\nIt was on such a day as this that the O'Briens and the Sullivans saw\nNew York first. It was on the same day that the fairies who had left\nthe rath and followed them saw it too. The O'Briens and the Sullivans\nhad left their old home and gone to Queenstown, and the fairies had\nfollowed them. Cork and Queenstown had rather alarmed the fairies.\nThey did not like the look of a city. It looked cold and stony and\nuncomfortable. It did not look like a good place to dance out of doors\nat night. They almost wished that they had stayed at home and let the\nO'Briens and the Sullivans go where they liked without them. Some of\nthem even wanted to go back, but Naggeneen laughed at them, and\nfairies can stand being laughed at even less than human beings. But\nthey all hoped that when the O'Briens and the Sullivans got wherever\nthey were going, it would not prove to be in a city.\n\nThen the O'Briens and the Sullivans went on board a ship and were\nstowed away in a place forward, with many other people, which the\nfairies did not think roomy or airy or pleasant in any way. But they\nwere not obliged to stay in it. They found better places on the ship.\nNobody could see them, so they went where they liked. They went out on\nthe bow, where the lookout stood, and watched with him for sails and\nfor tiny puffs of smoke by day and for little glimmers of light by\nnight. They ran about the bridge and swarmed up the rigging. They even\ndanced on the deck, as if they were in a field at home; and the deck\nwas dewy at night, just like the field. They fluttered and whirled in\ncircles around the red light on the one side of the ship and the green\nlight on the other side, and they reminded them of the rubies and the\nemeralds that had helped to light their own rath.\n\nOne day they saw swimming in the water beside the ship an ugly\ncreature, like a man, with a red nose, tangled green hair, green\nteeth, and fingers with webs between them, like a duck's foot. There\nwas another creature, like a woman, very beautiful, but with green\nhair, like the man. These were merrows--sea fairies.\n\n\"Where are you bound in that ship?\" the merrows called to them.\n\n[Illustration: \"WHERE ARE YOU BOUND IN THAT SHIP?\"]\n\n\"Where would we be bound at all,\" the King answered, \"but to the\nStates, where the ship's bound?\"\n\n\"And what are ye goin' there for?\" the merrows asked again.\n\n\"Sure,\" said Naggeneen, \"it's followin' the O'Briens and the Sullivans\nwe are, and it's the long way they're takin' us.\"\n\n\"Could you tell us what the States is like at all?\" asked the King.\n\"Is it like Cork?\"\n\n\"There's parts of them,\" said the man merrow, \"that's more like Cork\nthan Cork itself, and there's other parts of them that's no more like\nCork than the sea here is like Cork Harbor.\"\n\n\"But are there no places there,\" the King asked again, \"like the\ncountry parts of Ireland, with the fields and the bogs and all?\"\n\n\"I can't tell you that,\" the merrow answered. \"We've never been far on\nthe land. Deep down under the sea it's the same way it is under the\nsea about Ireland. There's the land at the bottom, with the sand all\nfine and firm, like a floor, and there's the water above, like a green\nsky, and there are the shells and the sea-flowers, and there are the\nweeds that wave around you and over you, like red and green and purple\ncurtains to your house, and it's all as cool and as neat as any of the\nsea-places around Ireland. And if you like to go up to get the warmth\nof the sun or the light of the stars, there's white sand where you\ncan lie at your ease, and there's great rocks where you can sit and\nlook out over the sea and get the fresh breeze. And that's all we know\nof it; we've not been away from the sea.\"\n\nAnd after a week of voyaging through the sea--after going on and on\nfor so long and so far that both fairies and mortals began to think\nthat they must soon fall over the edge of the earth--the ship suddenly\nstood up straight, instead of rolling and pitching about, and a little\nlater they saw the giant woman before them, holding up her torch, and\nbeyond her they saw the city. And then it was only a bit of a while\nlonger till they came close to the city.\n\n\"Look at it!\" cried the King to all the fairies, who were crowded at\nthe bow; \"it's like the country, after all! Look at all the grass and\nthe trees! But it has an iron chain all around it. I don't like the\nlook of that.\" All fairies hate iron. They more than hate it; they\nsimply cannot endure it. To touch any iron at all would hurt a fairy\nmore than it would hurt you to touch it when it was red hot.\n\n\"But it's only a small place, anyway,\" said Naggeneen. \"Look at the\nhouses beyond there! There was nothing like them in Cork! And do you\nmind them strings of coaches, running along up in the air?\"\n\n\"I was takin' note of them,\" said the King; \"sure it's the strange\ncountry!\"\n\nThe fairies all followed the O'Briens and the Sullivans. They were\nresolved not to lose sight of their only friends, in a land like this.\nThey found that the O'Briens and the Sullivans were quickly taken to a\nbig round house, in the very bit of a place like the country that they\nhad first seen. The fairies did not like the inside of the big round\nhouse, so the King left a few to watch the O'Briens and the Sullivans,\nand to bring word if they made any important move, and the rest went\nout and found pleasanter places on the grass and under the trees. They\nhad managed to get into the Battery Park without touching any of the\nhorrible iron chains that were around it. They would have been a very\nsorry-looking company, if anybody could have seen them.\n\n\"I don't like it at all,\" the King said, \"and nothing would please me\nbetter than to be at home again. If they're going to live in that big\nround house, I dunno what we'll do. We want to be near to them, and\nyet this is no place for us. We could stand it a little while, maybe.\nThe grass is fine and smooth for dancing, but these lights, like suns,\nthat they have all around on the tops of the poles, are terrible. Do\nthey want no night at all here? And then what a noise there is! It's\nnothing but rattle and roar all day, and then the boats do be\nscreeching around all night.\"\n\n\"Have no fear,\" said the Queen. \"The O'Briens would never live in a\nplace like this. They'll soon be out of it, and then we'll follow them\nand find a better place near where they go.\"\n\nIt proved that the Queen was right. Before long there came an alarm\nfrom those who had been left to watch, that the O'Briens and the\nSullivans were coming out. In a moment more they came, and the whole\ntribe followed them. Old Mrs. O'Brien, who never forgot anything that\nwas worth remembering, had not forgotten to write to some old friends\nwho had come to America years before, that she and her son and his\nwife and their neighbors were coming. These old friends had found\ntenements for them, and soon they were in new homes. There was enough\nof Mrs. O'Brien's money to keep them for a little while, and they\nhoped that before it was gone, John and Peter would find work and\nwould be getting more money.\n\nThe fairies followed them, filled with more and more wonder. For miles\nthey followed, and then for more miles. It was not that the distance\ntroubled them. They could have gone a hundred times as far without\nthinking of being tired. But they could scarcely believe their eyes\nwhen they saw these never-ending stone roads and these never-ending\nrows of stone and brick houses, all built so that they touched one\nanother. They could not understand how people could live so close\ntogether, nor why they should want to do it, if they could. Perhaps\nyou have never thought of it, but it is really true that the ways of\nmortals are just as wonderful to fairies as the ways of fairies are to\nmortals.\n\nIndeed, the place where they found themselves at last was not a\npleasant one for fairies. It was two places, in fact, but they were so\nmuch alike that there was nothing to choose between them. A tenement\nhad been found for the O'Briens, up many flights of stairs, in a house\nwith many other tenements. There was barely enough room in it for them\nto live, though it was better, in that respect, than their old cabin\nin Ireland. The stairs and the passage were far from clean, and they\nled down to a street that was just as far from clean.\n\nIt was hard all over with square stones, which had sunk, in places,\nand made hollows, which were filled with muddy water. Lean cats\nscuttled about here and there, and ran away, if anybody came near\nthem, as if they expected to have stones thrown at them, and then,\nwhen the danger seemed past, they rummaged in the ash-barrels for\nscraps of meat or fish or bread. The people who lived in the houses\nsat on the doorsteps and on the curb-stones, and chattered and\nlaughed and quarrelled and slept. The sun shone into the street, but\nit could not shine between the houses. A breeze blew up from the East\nRiver, which was not far away, but the air was none too fresh, for all\nthat. The place that had been found for the Sullivans was in another\nstreet, not far away. It was much the same, as I have said, but it was\neven smaller, for there were only two of the Sullivans, and they could\nget on with less space.\n\nThe fairies were fairly terrified at all this. And was it any wonder?\nThe poor little Good People! They had been used to a beautiful, bright\nhall, to green, fresh grass to dance on in the quiet, misty moonlight,\nand to cool shade for the day. What could they do in such a place as\nthis? They remembered how the King of All Ireland had told them that\nthey did not know whether the place where they were going was a place\nfit for them to live in.\n\nThe first thing that the King did was to send some of the fairies in\nall directions to see if they could spy out any place where the whole\ntribe could live in a decent and comfortable manner. The street, he\nwas sure, would never do. Of course, if the Fairy King wanted a rock\nor a hill to open and let him into it, it would open, and he could\nlive in it, if he chose, just as he used to in his own old rath. And\nno mortal who might happen to be about would know that anything\nunusual was happening. And just so the street would open for him, if\nhe wanted it to. But before he had decided to try it he saw a place\nwhere some men had opened it, and that was quite enough for him. If\nyou have ever seen a New York street opened, you know what it was\nlike; if you have not, it is of no use to try to tell you.\n\nBut the messengers whom the King had sent in all directions were\nscarcely gone when those who had started toward the west were back\nwith joyful news. \"We have found a beautiful place,\" they said. \"It's\nonly a bit of a way from here, and if we live there we'll not be far\nfrom the O'Briens. Ye never saw grass smoother in your life, though\nit's not quite so green, maybe, as it is at home. And then there's\ntall trees of all kinds, and there's bushes that'll have flowers on\nthem, belike, in the right time of the year. And there's smooth roads\nand walks, and there's hills and great rocks, that we could live\ninside of as easy as in a rath itself. It's a much quieter place than\nhere, too, and the air is better, though it's so near. It's not wide\ntoward the west, but off to the south it reaches as far as we can see,\nlike a forest.\"\n\nThe King left a guard to watch, lest the O'Briens should like the\nplace as little as himself and should leave it and be lost, and then\nhe hurried with the rest to see the new country that had been\ndiscovered. If you know New York very well indeed, you have guessed\nalready that it was the north end of Central Park which the fairies\nhad found. But you may know New York pretty well and not know, as a\ngood many people who live in it do not, that there is any north end to\nCentral Park, still less that it is far prettier than the south end.\n\nAfter all the distressing streets and houses that he had seen, the\nKing was delighted with it. He found a big rock, which was the base of\na hill, and at the top of it stood a queer little square stone house.\nBack in this hill, he declared, behind the rock and under the stone\nhouse, would be as pleasant a place to live as ever the rath was. He\nmade the rock open, and he and all the fairies with him went in,\nalthough the policemen and the men and women in carriages and on\nhorses and on bicycles and on foot who were all about, did not see\nthat the rock looked at all different.\n\n\"A fine place for us it will make,\" said the King; \"we couldn't be\nasking for a better. Get to work now, all of you. Hollow out the\ninside of the hill, only leave pillars to hold up the roof, and go and\nfind gold for the floor and silver for the walls, and you can have\nevery other pillar gold and every other one silver, after you get the\nrest done, and take down the rock that you left. And then find\ndiamonds and rubies and emeralds to light it with.\"\n\nNo, I am not going to explain to you how the fairies did all this. I\nshall not tell you how they got the rock out nor what they did with it\nafter they got it out. I will tell you all that there is any need of\nyour knowing about it, and that is that in a very short time it was\nall done; that the new fairy palace was as much larger and finer and\nbetter than any fairy palace in Ireland ever was as we Americans\nintend that everything here shall be larger and finer and better than\nanything anywhere else. And it was all done before the most of the\nmessengers who had been sent in other directions got back to tell what\nthey had found.\n\nThese fairies went straight to where the O'Briens lived, and there the\nfairies who had been left on guard told them where to find the King,\nand asked them to say to him that they were tired of their duty and\nthey wished that he could send somebody else to take their places.\n\nThe fairies were not much surprised when they found the King and all\nthe tribe settled in a new palace, as comfortably as if they had never\nmoved. The building of a palace in a night is no more to a fairy than\nit is to a New York man to come back after he has been out of town for\na month and find a house twenty stories high in a place where there\nwas a hole in the ground when he went away.\n\n\"What's the use at all to be tellin' Your Majesty what we've found in\nthe places we've been,\" said one of the first who came back, \"and you\nlivin' this minute in the finest palace that was ever dug out of a\nhill?\"\n\n\"You may tell us all the same,\" said the King.\n\n\"Well and good,\" said the fairy. \"It's to the south I've been. First\nthere's all this island that we're on, down to the place with the\ngrass and the iron chain around it. Then there's the bay, with the\nships. Then there's another island, with hills and trees, and then\nthere's the sea, and a long shore, all sand, and hundreds of houses,\nbig and little, where people live. And that's all.\"\n\nAnother fairy said: \"I went farther to the west than this, but not\nmuch farther till I came to a great river. Of course I couldn't be\ncrossin' the runnin' water, so I went round the mouth of it and then\nkept on. The country was all flat for a good way, and bars of iron\neverywhere, laid two and two, so many of them that I didn't dare rest\nanywhere, and there were towns and plenty of people, and then at long\nlast I came to hills.\"\n\nI suppose you know, without my telling you, that fairies cannot bear\nto cross running water, any more than they can bear to touch iron, and\nthat was why this fairy had to go around the mouth of the Hudson River\ninstead of going across it.\n\nThen came another fairy, who had been to the north, and he said: \"It\nbeats everything, the lovely country I've seen. Never a better did I\nsee anywhere. Hills and woods and mountains, and the trees all yellow\nand red and green and brown. I went up the big river on this side for\na long way, and then I saw great mountains on the other side. So\nbeautiful they looked, I wanted to go to them, only, sure, I couldn't\ncross the river. So I went round the head of it and came down back to\nthe mountains. And there I found that they were full of fairies\nalready. But they seemed to be Dutch, and it's little English they\ncould talk, let alone Irish. Still we got along, and they gave me some\nmighty fine drink that they had. And they said that we could come\nthere, the whole tribe, and welcome kindly, and I'ld say it was a good\nplace to go, only it's farther off than this from them we want to be\nnear.\"\n\n\"We'll stay where we are,\" said the King. \"It's as well that we know\nwhat's all around us, but here we'll be more to ourselves, as many\npeople as there are, for I'm thinkin' there's no fairies but us here.\"\n\nThen slowly out of the crowd of fairies one came forward and said:\n\"Your Majesty, could I be saying something that's breakin' my heart?\nIt's hard for me to say and it'll maybe be harder for you to hear; but\nit's on my mind and I can't get it off my mind. Will you forgive me if\nI say it?\"\n\nAnd the King answered: \"It's much that's bad and a little that's good\nwe've heard since we left our own home. But it's best that we know all\nthere is to know, bad or good. Say what you have to say.\"\n\n\"It's not far I've been,\" said the fairy; \"only around here in the\ncity that's all about us; but many things I've seen, and wonderful\nthings. Ah, Your Majesty, don't blame me for what I'm saying, but\nwhat's to become of us all and of you yourself, I dunno. We know all\nabout magic; we've known all about it for years--aye, for ages. And we\nthought that made us better than mortals. We thought they could never\ndo the things we could do; maybe they never can. But oh, Your Majesty,\nthey're doing things as good as we can do, or better. You wouldn't\nbelieve what the mortals in this country do, if you wasn't after\nseein' it. They do things as wonderful as we ourselves, and it's iron,\niron, iron everywhere. We can do nothing with iron--we can't touch\nit--and what will we do at all to be ahead of them, or even up with\nthem?\"\n\n\"What's all this they do?\" said the King.\n\n\"You saw yourself,\" the fairy said, \"the coaches that went along up in\nthe air. They go on bridges, miles long, built of iron. And they run\non bars of iron. You saw for yourself that they had no horses, and the\ncoach in front that pulls them is all made of iron, and men ride in\nthem, as if it was no harm at all to touch iron. And that's not all.\nThere are other coaches that go in the streets without horses. They\nhave no iron coach in front to pull them. They go in different ways.\nSometimes there's an iron rope, that's all the time moving and moving\nalong under the street, and there's a gripping iron under the coach\nthat takes hold on it, and so it's pulled along. And sometimes there's\nonly a little string--not iron, I think, but some other metal--and\nsomething just reaches down from the coach and touches it, and that\nmakes it go. I dunno how it is, but it makes it go. And sometimes\nthere's fire comes out of it.\"\n\nThen another fairy came out of the crowd and stood before the King.\n\"Your Majesty,\" he said, \"I can tell you more than that. I have been\nabout the city, too, and I went into some of the houses. I saw a man\ntalking to a little box on the wall. I came close and I heard that the\nbox was talking to him too. I thought there was a fairy inside it, but\nI looked inside, and there was nothing there but iron and strange\nworks that I couldn't understand. There were little strings of copper\ncoming out of the box, and then a long string of iron, that led away\nover the tops of the houses.\"\n\nThe fairy stopped and shivered as he thought of the horrible string of\niron. Then he went on: \"I followed it and it came into another house,\nwhere there was so much iron that I couldn't stay there. But the\nstrings of iron came out of this house and led in all directions. I\nfollowed them and I listened everywhere and I found what they were\nfor, though how they do it all I dunno. And it's this way: Anywhere\nthat there's a box you can talk to them that's in the house where all\nthe iron strings go. And if they like to help you, you can talk to\nanybody else where there's a box. It may be a mile off or it may be a\ndozen miles off. Many a time those in the house where all the strings\nare will not help them that wants to talk, but when they will, it's\neasy. Yes, Your Majesty, one man talks to another ten miles off, as if\nhe was standing by his side.\"\n\n\"Your Majesty,\" said another fairy, \"you saw yourself the bright\nlights that were at the place where the grass was, that we came to\nfirst, and you've seen thousands more of them since. Do you know that\nthey're not candles, and they're not lamps, and that there's no fire\nto them at all? There's strings of something, whatever it is, from one\nof them to another, and the light goes through that, whatever it is.\"\n\n\"There's another thing that they do with strings like that,\" said\nstill another fairy. \"I saw men doing it not far from here. They made\na hole in a rock and they put one end of a string in it. Then where\nthe other end was, a man pushed a thing like a sort of handle, and the\nrock was all burst open, and nobody had touched it.\"\n\nAnd another fairy said: \"Your Majesty, there are boats all the time\ngoing across the rivers--across the running water. Of course we always\nknew that mortals could cross running water, but these boats go\nwithout sails or oars, like the ship that we came here on. To be sure\nI couldn't go on one, because it was across running water, but I went\nnear one, when it was at the shore, and it was all full of iron, and I\ngot the most awful pains from being near it. It was as bad, almost, as\nI felt coming here, when I'ld get too near the iron sides of the\nship.\"\n\n\"And a strange thing it was that I saw too,\" said another fairy. \"I\nsaw people looking into little boxes of wood, so I looked in too. And\nin one I saw a woman dancing, and in another there were horses\nrunning, and in another I saw two men fighting. And it was not a real\nwoman or real horses or real men, but only pictures that moved and did\nthe things that real people and horses would do.\"\n\nThe King listened to all this and then he sat and thought. \"What is\nthere in it that I can't do?\" he asked. \"Do you not all know of the\ncoaches in Ireland that are drawn by horses without heads and driven\nby coachmen without heads?\"\n\nAll the fairies looked at one another and nodded and said, \"Yes, yes,\nwe know.\"\n\nBut Naggeneen came forward and stood before the throne. Nobody had\nnoticed that he had been listening or that he was there. \"And what if\nthose coaches were in Ireland?\" he said. \"They had horses, though the\nhorses had no heads. Can you make iron coaches go without any horses\nat all?\"\n\nThe King was trying to talk boldly, but he stammered and grew pale at\nthe very thought of having anything to do with an iron coach, and he\ndid not answer. He went on instead: \"Can I not send any one of you on\na message, as fast as the wind?\"\n\n\"But can you talk for ten miles,\" Naggeneen asked, \"and will the very\nvoice of you go as fast as the lightning?\"\n\n\"Why would I want to be doin' that,\" said the King, \"when I can send a\nmessenger as fast as I like?\"\n\n\"That's not the question,\" said the cruel Naggeneen; \"can you do it?\"\n\n\"I never tried,\" said the King. \"And can I not light up this palace,\"\nhe went on, \"or any other palace, with diamonds? Can I not make a\nlight so that a man who looks behind him when he is going on a journey\nor at work in the fields will think his house is on fire and run\nback?\"\n\n\"And when he has run back,\" said Naggeneen, \"will he find that his\nhouse is on fire? You know that he will not. It's only glamour, and\nhe'll soon be laughing at you. Oh, we can catch a few firebugs in\nspiders' webs and deceive a boy or a girl that's passing, and maybe\nmake them turn aside and dance with us, but can you put real lights\nall over the country for miles--lights that will burn on and on and\nshow real things? Our lights are lies themselves and they can no more\nthan lead a silly mortal astray for a time; their lights tell the\ntruth. What else can you do?\"\n\nThe King had lost the most of his boldness. \"They say,\" he said, \"that\nmen can burst open the rock. Can I not do that as well?\"\n\n\"You can open this rock for us to pass through,\" said Naggeneen; \"and\nwhat then? A man can see it open for a moment, if you choose to let\nhim, and the next minute it's all as one as if you had never touched\nit. And the man thinks that's wonderful, for he doesn't know that you\ncan do it no other way. All glamour again! Can you burst the rock open\nand leave it open, so that it will always be so, for mortal and for\nfairy?\"\n\n\"Why should I want to be doin' that?\" said the King.\n\n\"For the same reason makes the men want to do it, but you couldn't.\nAnd those boats that cross the river, full of iron--can you make them,\nand can you cross the running water in them?\"\n\nThe King had no voice to answer. \"And the pictures in the boxes,\"\nNaggeneen went on; \"can you make pictures dance?\"\n\n\"Sure,\" said the King, \"I can make a man think he sees anything I\nlike--a woman dancing or a horse running, or anything.\"\n\n\"Glamour! Glamour! Glamour!\" cried Naggeneen. \"You can make him think\nhe sees! Yes, but he does not see. You can no more make a picture\ndance than you can cross a river!\" And Naggeneen turned on his heel\nand walked off, as if he thought the King a poor creature that was not\nworth talking to.\n\nThe King had no more courage left in him than if he had been talking\nto the King of All Ireland instead of to Naggeneen. \"Naggeneen,\" he\ncried, \"come back and tell us something better nor all this. It's not\npleasant you are in your talk, and it's often you make me angry with\nyou, but after all you're cleverer than any of us. Tell us what to do.\nIt was not like this where we lived before. There we could do all\nmanner of things that mortals could not, and they were afraid of us.\"\n\n\"And so here too,\" said Naggeneen, \"you can do all manner of things\nthat mortals cannot, but they can do as many that you cannot--as many\nand better.\"\n\n\"But what are we to do,\" the King went on, \"to show them that we're\ntheir masters? Sure we're cleverer than them all out, and we can prove\nit in some way.\"\n\n\"King,\" said Naggeneen, speaking as boldly as if he were himself a\ngreater king, \"you can never prove that you're cleverer than men, for\nyou're not cleverer. It was a poor, wasted, weak, and sorrowful\ncountry that we came from, and it's a rich, new, strong, and happy\ncountry that we've come to. There's the differ. Clever you are, maybe,\nand your people, too, and I may be clever in my own way, and we may\nplay our little tricks on mortals, as I did on the Sullivans, if\nthey're as stupid as them. But mortals can be cleverer than we ever\ncan when they are clever, and they can beat us every time if they know\nhow. And do you know why? Because they have what we have not--because\nthey have souls. I heard a school-master say once that the word\n'mortal' was made from a word that meant death. And they call mortals\nthat, I'm thinkin', because they never die. But you will die, King,\nand all your people, and I. We live on and on for thousands of years,\nand men come and change and pass away, but at the last day we shall be\ngone, as a bit of cloud up in the sky is gone when the sun shines on\nit. That's why men will always be greater and finer and stronger than\nus, with all our magic.\"\n\nThe fairies were all so terrified that they shrank away from Naggeneen\nand clung together and shook, in their fright, for this fear of living\nfor a long time and then going out like a candle is their greatest\nfear. There was not a bit of color left in the King's face now. It was\nalmost with a sob that he spoke again, and there was a kind of\nbeseeching in his tone as he said: \"Naggeneen, don't talk like that to\nus! We don't know it! It may be so, but we don't know it! We've tried\nmany a time to find out, but no one that knew would ever tell us! We\nmay have souls! We don't know that we've not! We may be saved!\"\n\n\"You do know it!\" Naggeneen cried. \"Why will you try to deceive\nyourselves? You've no soul and I've no soul, and there's no way that\nwe can have them. If there'd been any way, I'ld have had one long ago.\nBut we'll never have them, and mortals will always outwit us, if they\nhalf know how. Shall I tell you how one of them outwitted me--a big,\nlazy, stupid gommoch, with not enough brains to keep his neck safe?\"\n\nThe fairies were far past caring whether they heard a story or not,\nbut they listened as Naggeneen went on. \"I'm after tellin' you,\" he\nsaid, \"that if there was any way that one of us could be gettin' a\nsoul, I'ld have had one long ago. This was the way I tried it, and a\nsilly mortal outwitted me. Guleesh na Guss Dhu was the name that was\non him. I had heard--and I believed it--that if I could get a mortal\nwoman married to me--a woman with a soul--that I would get a soul,\ntoo, that way. Well, I was never over-modest in my tastes, you know,\nand I thought that the daughter of the King of France was about right\nfor me. A beautiful girl she was, with the rose and the lily fighting\nin her cheeks, and she was eighteen years old. But sure I thought that\nthe differ of a few thousand years in our ages would be nothing to me,\nand I hoped it would be nothing to her either.\n\n\"I was living in a rath and wearing a green jacket then. All the\nothers in the rath promised that they'ld help me. The King's daughter\nwas to be married to the son of the King of another country on\nNovember Eve; and you know there's no better time to steal a girl than\nthe night she's to be married, and November Eve is a fine time, too,\nso it was settled that we'ld go over to France and steal her on that\nnight. But, as you know, we needed a mortal to help us. How else could\nwe be bringin' her across from France? If we could put her on a horse\nbehind a man, she'ld have flesh and blood to take a grip of, but if\nshe was put up behind one of us, she might as well try to hold to a\npuff of smoke. You know that.\n\n\"We got ready, making sure that we'ld find some fool of a mortal ready\nfor us when the time came, and sure enough, when we'd been out for a\nlittle look at the country before starting, and were coming back,\nthere sat this same Guleesh na Guss Dhu, between the rath and the\ngable of his father's house, that was near by, staring up at the moon,\nlike he'd never seen one before. There was no need to try to catch him\nor to bring him with us, or the likes of that. All we had to do was to\nlet him hear us as we passed and let him see the door of the rath\nopen, and in he came of himself to see what it was all about. We\nhadn't let him see ourselves yet, but he heard us all calling: 'My\nhorse and bridle and saddle! My horse and bridle and saddle!' and what\ndid he do but call out after us: 'My horse and bridle and saddle!'\n\n\"There was the beam of a plough lying near, and I changed it into a\nhorse for him, and pleased he was when he saw it standing forninst\nhim, with its bridle of gold and saddle of silver and all. The minute\nhe saw it he jumped on it, and then we let him see all ourselves and\nour horses, and he nearly fell off again, with the sight of the crowd\nof us.\n\n\"Then I said to him: 'Are you coming with us to-night, Guleesh?'\n\n\"'I am,' he said.\n\n\"And with that we set off, and we overtook the wind that was before\nus, and the wind that was behind us did not overtake us. And we never\nstopped till we came to the sea. Then every one of us said: 'Hie over\ncap! Hie over cap!' and Guleesh said it after us, and the next second\nwe was all up in the air, and we never stopped till we was in Rome.\nAnd why the whole tribe wanted to go by the way of Rome, never a know\nI know, for it's not on the way from Ireland to the palace of the King\nof France at all.\n\n\"Then I spoke up to Guleesh and says I: 'Do you know why we brought\nyou here?' says I. 'The daughter of the King of France is to be\nmarried this night, and we mean to carry her off, and we need you so\nthat she can sit behind you on the horse, for you are flesh and blood\nand she'll have something to hold to. Will you do that for us now?'\n\n\"'I'll do whatever you say,' says Guleesh; 'and where are we now, if\nyou please?'\n\n\"'We're in Rome,' says I.\n\n\"'Oh, in Rome is it?' says Guleesh. 'Sure, then, I'm glad of that. The\npriest of our parish lost his place a little while ago, only because\nthey said he drank too much, as if there'ld be any harm in that, and\nnow is the fine time to go to the Pope and get a bull to put him back\nin his place.'\n\n\"'Ah, we've no time for that, Guleesh,' says I, 'and we must be\ngettin' to the palace of the King of France before we lose any more.'\n\n\"'Not a foot will I go,' says Guleesh, 'till I get the bull for the\npriest. You can go on and leave me here if you like, and you can stop\nfor me when you come back.'\n\n\"Well, we had more talk about it, and then one of the others says:\n'Sure, Naggeneen, we can't go without him and we can't get him to come\nwith us, so we'll have to try to get the Pope's bull for him. Go with\nhim to the Pope and help him all you can, and we'll wait for you.'\n\n\"'Come with me, then,' says I, and I took him by the hand, and before\nhe knew how I did it, I had him in the room where the Pope was. The\nPope was sitting by himself, reading a book, and he had a tumbler of\nhot whiskey, with a little bit of sugar, beside him on the table, all\nas comfortable as you please. 'Now, Guleesh,' says I, 'ask him for the\nbull, and tell him that if he won't give it to you, you'll set the\nhouse on fire. Then leave the rest to me.'\n\n\"So Guleesh walked up to him as bold as you please, and when the Pope\nsaw him he was near scared to death, because he thought that nobody\ncould get into the room where he was. Then Guleesh says to him: 'Don't\nbe afraid, Your Honor; all I want of you is your bull to put our\nparish priest back in his place, that lost it some time ago, because\nsomebody told lies about him and said that he drank too much. And when\nI have your bull I'll be leavin' you in peace again.'\n\n\"'Go on out o' this,' says the Pope; 'where are all my servants?' and\nhe began calling for them, but Guleesh put his back against the door,\nso that nobody could open it on the other side, and then he began\ntelling the Pope all about the priest, and the Pope had nothing to do\nbut listen.\n\n\"And when he was done the Pope refused up and down to give him any\npardon for the priest. 'Then,' says Guleesh, 'unless you give it to\nme at once I'll burn your house.' And with that I began blowing fire\nout of my mouth all around the room.\n\n\"'Oh, stop the fire,' cries the Pope, 'and I'll give you the pardon or\nanything else you ask!'\n\n\"So then I stopped the fire, and the Pope sat down and wrote the\npardon for the priest, giving him back his old place, and gave it to\nGuleesh. That second I caught him by the hand and we were off again\nthrough the keyhole to where the other fairies were. In another minute\nwe were all on our horses and away again. We overtook the wind that\nwas before us, and the wind that was behind us did not overtake us\ntill we were at the palace of the King of France. And there my fine\nboy Guleesh saw sights that he never saw the like of before.\n\n\"The place was almost as fine as this of yours here. There were long\ntables all about it, with everything on them that a body would be\nwanting to eat and drink, and as fast as any of it was eaten or drunk,\nthere was more put in its place. Then there were hundreds of noblemen\nand ladies, all in clothes of silk and velvet and gold and silver, and\nall covered with jewels, till they shone in the light of the gold\nchandeliers, almost like they'd been chandeliers themselves. And they\nwere talking and laughing and singing and playing, and some of them\nwere dancing--not so well as we dance, of course, when we've a mind,\nbut enough to make Guleesh think he was seeing the grandest sight that\never was in the world entirely. And up at one end of the hall was an\naltar and two bishops, ready to marry the Princess to the King's son\nas soon as it would be the right time.\n\n\"'And which of them all is the Princess?' says Guleesh to me.\n\n\"'That one there near to ye,' says I, pointing her out.\"\n\nNaggeneen stopped in his story and seemed to forget for a moment that\nhe was telling it. \"Oh, but she was the beauty of the world!\" he went\non, speaking so low that the fairies could scarcely hear him. \"There\nwas the lily and the rose in her cheeks, and her arms like snow, and\nher hair like soft gold. Not like the gold that you dig out of the\nground for your palace, but gold with life in it. And her eyes were\nlike two big violets with the dew on them. And there stood the others\nall around her, all merry and happy, and she--\n\n\"'What is she crying for?' says Guleesh to me. 'Sure it's not right\nthat eyes like those would have tears in them.'\n\n\"'True for you, it's not, Guleesh,' said I, 'and it's because there's\nno love in her heart for the man that she's to be married to. It's\nher father that's compelling her, for he has some arrangement of the\nsort with the other King, that's the father of the young man. And it's\nfor that,' I said, 'that we're going to carry her off, and it's the\nbest thing we could be doing for her as well as ourselves.'\n\n\"Just that minute the young Prince came and offered her his hand, and\naway they went in the dance, and the tears in her eyes all the time.\nAnd as soon as the dance was over, the King, her father, and the\nQueen, her mother, came and said that it was time they were married,\nand the two bishops waiting there all the time. So they led the Prince\nand the Princess up toward the altar, and she with the rose all gone\nout of her cheeks and only the lily left. But when they were not more\nthan four yards from the altar I put out my foot before the Princess,\nand she fell, and then, with a word of a charm, I made her invisible\nto all but Guleesh and ourselves. Then I made a sign to Guleesh, and\nhe took up the Princess and ran with her out of the hall, and all the\nrest of us after them. 'My horse and bridle and saddle!' says every\none of us, and the same says Guleesh. He lifted the Princess up behind\nhim on his horse and we were away again. We overtook the wind that was\nbefore us, and the wind that was behind us did not overtake us till\nwe came to the sea. 'Hie over cap!' cried every one of us, and 'Hie\nover cap!' cried Guleesh, and in a moment we were in Ireland again.\n\n\"Another minute and we were close to our own rath, and it was then\nthat all the work of the night was lost. For then what did the fool\nGuleesh do but take the Princess in his arms and leap down off his\nhorse, and he cried: 'I call you to myself, in the name of--' Oh, now,\nyou little cowards, you've no call to shrink away like that and to try\nto be hiding in the dark corners! You know I can't say the name that\nhe said. But he said it, and then the enchantment was all gone, and he\nsaw that the horse he'd been riding was nothing but the beam of a\nplough and that the horse that each of the others had was only an old\nbroom, or maybe a rag weed, or the like of that.\n\n\"And you know that there was no getting the Princess away from him\nafter the words that he said. But I came close to her and struck her\non the mouth. 'Now, Guleesh,' said I, 'you may keep her if you will,\nbut she'll be dumb forever.' And with that we all disappeared from\nthem.\n\n\"But you may be sure I watched them. They stood there together and\nGuleesh talked to her and tried to make her talk back, but it was of\nno use at all, and he soon found that she was dumb completely. Then\nhe stood thinking what would he do with her, and at last he took her\nby the hand and started toward the priest's house. It was getting near\nday now, and the priest was up by the time they came to the door, and\nhe opened it himself. And when he saw Guleesh and the girl, sure he\nthought they were come to be married, and he said: 'Ah, Guleesh, isn't\nit the nice boy ye are, that ye can't wait till a decent hour to be\nmarried, but ye must be comin' to me this early? And don't ye know I\ncan't marry ye lawfully anyway, and I put out of my place?'\n\n\"Then says Guleesh: 'Sure, father, you can marry me or anybody else\nyou like, for you have your place back again, and here's the Pope's\nbull for that same. But it's not that I come for, but to ask you to\ngive shelter to this young lady, the daughter of the King of France.'\n\n[Illustration: \"HERE'S THE POPE'S BULL FOR THAT SAME.\"]\n\n\"And with that he takes the Pope's bull out of his pocket and gives it\nto the priest, and the priest looked at the writing and the seal and\nsaw that there was no doubt but it was right. And so he made Guleesh\nand the Princess come in and sit down, while Guleesh told him the\nwhole story, and not a word of it would he have believed only there\nwas the Pope's bull that he couldn't deny, and so at long last he had\nto believe all that Guleesh told him. And the end of it was that the\nPrincess stayed at the priest's house, for they didn't know how to\nsend her back to her father's palace, and they had no money, and she\ncouldn't speak to help them. And the priest gave out that she was the\ndaughter of his brother, that lived in another county, and that she\nwas making him a visit. And Guleesh went home and said how he'd been\nsleeping beside the rath all night.\"\n\nNaggeneen paused in his story, while all the fairies drew quietly\ncloser to him. \"Do you see,\" he said, \"how I was tricked by a fool of\na mortal? Oh, she was the beauty of the world, and he took her from me\nwith a word, as easily as you'ld steal the butter out of a churn. And\nthat was not all.\n\n\"I said to myself that I was not done with my revenge on them yet. She\ncould not speak and it was a sore punishment on the both of them. Yet\nshe stayed on at the priest's house. The priest wrote letters to her\nfather, as I heard, and gave them to merchants who were travelling,\nbut none of them ever reached him. And Guleesh got mighty serious\nabout his soul all at once, so that he had to be at the priest's house\nevery day, and every day he saw the Princess. She could never talk to\nhim, but she learned to make signs that he could understand. And so it\nwent on for a year.\n\n\"And then, when it was November Eve again, and we had been out of\nthe rath and were all coming into it again in a great crowd, there sat\nGuleesh, the same as before. He couldn't see us, but he must have\nheard us, for you could see that he was listening with all his ears.\nAnd I thought now was the fine time to be having the laugh on him. By\nthat time everybody was shouting: 'My horse and bridle and saddle! My\nhorse and bridle and saddle!' and Guleesh shouted as before: 'My horse\nand bridle and saddle! My horse and bridle and saddle!'\n\n\"'Now is my chance to be even with him,' thought I, and I said: 'Ah,\nGuleesh, my boy, is that yourself that's to the fore again? You'll get\nno horse to-night and you'll play no more tricks on us. How are you\ngetting on with your Princess? Does she talk to you much? Or do you\njust like to sit and look at her?'\n\n\"And when I said that, he looked so pale and so sad that I almost\nscreamed with joy, and I couldn't keep myself from whispering to the\nman that was next to me: 'And isn't he the stupid omadhaun, not to\nknow that there's an herb growing close to his own door that would\ngive her back her speech if he'd only boil it and give it to her?'\n\n\"'It's the stupid omadhaun he is,' said the other man.\n\n\"Oh, and it was me that was the omadhaun, to be saying it at all. Oh,\nwhy couldn't I hold my jaw? But it was like some spell was on me, and\nI had to say it. I had to say it! I couldn't have kept it back if I'd\ntried. And he heard every word!\n\n\"It's little more there is to tell. The next morning, as soon as there\nwas light, there was Guleesh searching for any herb that was strange\nto him around the door. And it was not long till he found it. Then he\nboiled it, and he drank some of it himself, to see whether it might be\npoison, and it put him into a deep sleep. And when he woke he went to\nthe priest's house and told the whole story and gave the Princess some\nof the drink, and then she went to sleep and did not wake till the\nnext day. And when she woke she had her speech back.\n\n\"Ah, well, by this time they was both in love with each other, and all\nthat I did for myself or against them had only helped them. But it was\nnot long before the Princess was saying that she must be off to her\nfather, and nothing that the priest and Guleesh could do would make\nher stay. So the priest took the jewels that she had on her when\nGuleesh first brought her, and he sold them and gave her the money,\nand she took it and paid her way back to France.\n\n\"And after that great grief and melancholy came over Guleesh, and\nnothing would do him but he must start off for France to find the\nPrincess again. Start off he did, and that was the last that I ever\nsaw of him, only I heard that he found the Princess at her father's\ncourt and that at long last they were married.\"\n\nThere was nothing strange in the last that Naggeneen had told--nothing\nmore strange, I mean, than that a peasant boy should marry the\ndaughter of the King of France--but his voice, before he had ended,\nwas so low and so full of grief that all the other fairies kept very\nstill to listen, and when he had told his story none of them spoke for\na little while. At last the King said: \"How long was all this ago,\nNaggeneen?\"\n\n\"Many years,\" Naggeneen answered; \"I couldn't be counting how many.\"\n\n\"Then what is it to you now?\" said the King. \"Sure they're both dead\nlong ago, and here are you as sound as ever.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Naggeneen cried, \"as sound as ever and as sound as I'll ever\nbe. They're not dead. They had souls. They're alive now, and when what\nthey call 'the Last Day' comes, they'll live still, forever. And then\nI shall go out, like a shadow when the light falls on it. There's no\nmore of me that can last than a shadow. And you will go out that way,\ntoo, and all of us. It was not her that I wanted so much. It was the\nsoul that I thought I'ld get, and her married to me. That was it. And\na stupid mortal had tricked me twice. It was then I left the rath. It\nwas then I could bear to look at nobody, man or fairy. Then I put on\nthe red jacket and went by myself. After a time I was a lepracaun, and\na cluricaun, and nothing at all, as it suited me, and sometimes I\nlived in a rath with others, as I have in yours, and other times I\nwent by myself. But I never forgot how I was tricked by a mortal, and\nI've never forgot how I missed getting a soul when I was near to it.\n\n\"You've never liked me; you've always thought me sour and harsh and\ncruel. Do you see why now? Since that time I've always hated all men,\nbecause of the one that tricked me; and I've always hated all women,\nbecause of the one I lost; and I've always hated all fairies, because\nthey are all as weak and helpless and pitiful as myself. I hate myself\nand I hate all of you, because there's no good for any of us in all\nthe world forever.\"\n\n\"Naggeneen,\" said the King, \"we've never been too fond of you, it's\ntrue, but maybe we'ld have liked you better if you'd told us this\nbefore. But you're cleverer than all of us. Tell us what we'll do now,\nso that these mortals won't be getting the better of us all out.\"\n\n\"What'll you do?\" Naggeneen answered; \"there's nothing you can do.\nThey'll outwit you, whatever you do.\"\n\n\"But there must be some way. Tell us what to do, Naggeneen,\" the King\npleaded.\n\n\"I'll tell you what to do, then,\" said Naggeneen; \"send out your\npeople and let them learn the ways of men. Let them learn to make the\niron coaches that go up in the air; let them learn to make the coaches\nthat go on the ground, with the iron ropes; let them learn to talk\nmiles away through iron strings; let them learn to make the bright\nlights that you see; let them learn to open the rock so that it will\nnot close again; let them learn to cross running water in boats full\nof iron; let them learn to handle iron and do what they like with it,\nas if it were only gold, and then, maybe, they'll be able to do all\nthe things that men do.\"\n\nThe fairies were simply cowering away from the King and Naggeneen and\nshivering and squealing with fright at the talk of handling iron and\ncrossing running water. \"Ah, Naggeneen,\" said the King, \"you know we\ncan't do all that. Tell us what we'll do at all.\"\n\n\"There's nothing that you can do,\" said Naggeneen. \"There's only one\nthing I know you can try, and I think that'll do no good either.\"\n\n\"But what is it?\" said the King. \"We'll try it, anyway.\"\n\n\"It's not the time to try it yet,\" Naggeneen answered. \"When the time\ncomes I'll tell you.\"\n\n\"Then, Naggeneen,\" said the King, \"give us a tune out of the fiddle.\"\n\nAnd Naggeneen took the fiddle and played. But there was no merriment\nin it now. It was only the breath of sorrow and loss and\ndisappointment that breathed from the shivering strings. The fairies\ndid not dance; they only stood and listened, pale and still. In a few\nmoments the King gave the sign for Naggeneen to stop, and in a minute\nmore the lights were out and the whole palace was as quiet as the\nhill, before any palace was there.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: ]\n\nV\n\nTHE TIME FOR NAGGENEEN'S PLAN\n\n\nLittle happened that needs to be told in the next few months, either\nto the fairies or to the human people. John O'Brien and Peter Sullivan\nwere not long in finding work to do, and they were paid for it, and\nthe two families got on better than they had in Ireland. The O'Briens\ngot on better than the Sullivans. John was a better workman than\nPeter. Peter could do the work that was set before him in the way that\nhe was told. But John could do better than that. He could see for\nhimself how the work ought to be done, and he saw that if he did it\nwell he might get better work to do. In Ireland, work as he would, he\ncould no more than live, and so he had come to care little what he did\nor how he did it. But it was different here. The men who employed him\nsaw that he was not a common workman, and soon they gave him better\nthan the common work and more than the common pay.\n\nBut Peter was a common workman. Then, too, John's mother knew how to\ncare for the house better than Ellen did, and because of that, too,\nthe O'Briens did better. Every day, just as she used to do in Ireland,\nMrs. O'Brien left something to eat and drink outside the house for the\nGood People. She said that she did not know whether there were any\nGood People here, but if there were they must be well treated. And\nwhen she found that what she left for them was taken, she said that\nshe knew that there were Good People here. Of course she did not know\nthat they were the same ones who had lived near them in Ireland. She\nput the milk and the water and the bread, or whatever she had for\nthem, on the fire-escape, at the back of the rooms where they lived.\nAnd first she always laid down a little piece of carpet to put the\ndishes on, so that the fairies could come and get the food without\ntouching the iron, for she knew that they could never do that. There\nwas only one thing that did not go well with the O'Briens. Kitty's\nhealth did not come back to her, as they had hoped that it would. She\ndid not need to do any work now, though she would do some, and the\nrest was good for her, but she was still pale and still weak.\n\nThough the Sullivans did not find their fortunes so much improved in\nthe new country as the O'Briens did, yet they felt that they had\ngained, too, and in one way especially. For the King of the fairies\nhad forbidden Naggeneen to trouble them any more. Naggeneen asked what\nfor at all he had come over all the sea, if he was not to trouble the\nSullivans. The King was always ready enough to have Naggeneen's help,\nwhen he thought that his cleverness would be of use; but there were\ntimes when he would be obeyed, and this was one of them, so Naggeneen\nhad to do as he was told.\n\nThe King tried all the things that Naggeneen had told him to do, to\nmake his people learn all the wonderful magic that the human people\nknew so well. Naggeneen had told him at first that it would all be of\nno use, and so the King found it. The fairies were sent out to watch\nthe men, to see all that they did, and to learn how to do it. It was\nall in vain.\n\nThe King often asked Naggeneen what was the one other way that he had\nsaid they might try. Naggeneen would never tell. When the time came to\ntry it, he said, he would tell what it was, but it would be of no more\nuse than the rest that they had done. Naggeneen laughed at all the\nothers when they came home baffled and out of sorts. \"You'll never do\nthe things that men do,\" he said, \"any more than they'll ever do the\nthings that you do. And their wonders are more and better than yours.\"\n\nAfter a time they ceased to try to learn any more. They began to live\nmuch as they had lived in Ireland. They had found a green place where\nthey could dance, near the palace, but it was winter now, and the snow\nwas over everything much of the time. They went to the O'Briens every\nday for the food that was left outside the window for them, and, for\nthe most part, they spent the rest of the time in the palace. Often\nNaggeneen played the fiddle or the pipes for them. Then they forgot\nthat it was his fault that they had ever come here, but when he\nstopped playing they remembered it and hated him again. And Naggeneen\nlaughed at them. He had a strange laugh, without a bit of merriment or\ngood-humor in it. There was something sad in his laugh and something\nsour, but nothing that it was pleasant to hear.\n\nThen the spring began to come. The grass was looking a bit green and\nthe air was warmer. They could dance on the grass now, whenever they\nliked. They had given up trying to learn the ways of men, and they\nwere beginning to feel as if they had always lived here. Then\nNaggeneen came one evening and stood before the King and said: \"It is\nthe time now to try my plan, if you want to try it, but it's no\ngood.\"\n\n\"What's the plan, then, at all?\" the King asked.\n\n\"You know well,\" said Naggeneen, \"that your people can find out\nnothing by going out and watching what men do. Now, what you want is\nto get a human child here, or maybe two of them, and keep them and let\nthem grow up with you here, and then send them out to learn everything\nthat men do, and come back and teach it to your people. Then you'll\nlearn all these things that men do, and you can do the like.\"\n\n\"Ah, Naggeneen,\" said the King, \"it's yourself was always the clever\nboy. We'll do that same.\"\n\n\"You will so,\" Naggeneen replied, \"and no good will it ever do you.\nI've told you before and I tell you again, you'll never do the things\nthat men do. But it's crazy you are to try all ways, and I have to be\ntelling you the ways to try. Go on and do it, if it divarts you.\"\n\n\"And where'll we get the human child at all?\" the Queen asked.\n\n\"Sure then,\" said Naggeneen, \"and haven't you heard the news? Why,\nthere's a baby at the Sullivans' since this morning, and one at the\nO'Briens' since this afternoon. The one at the Sullivans' is a boy\nand the one at the O'Briens' is a girl. Go and get them and leave two\nof your own people in their places. You know how to do that; it's\nnothing new to you.\"\n\n\"Take a child from the O'Briens!\" the Queen cried. \"From them that's\nalways been so good to us and always given us the bit and sup, when\nthey scarcely had it themselves? I'd never do such a thing.\"\n\n\"But you'ld be leaving one of your own people in the place of it,\"\nNaggeneen answered, \"and they'ld never know the differ. Or if they\ndid, it would be no matter. A woman makes a great hullabaloo when her\nchild looks sick and she thinks it's dying on her, but she doesn't\ncare at all after a little. And then, it doesn't die, and she thinks\nit's her own child all the time, and there's no harm done. And His\nMajesty here thinks it's going to do a power of good for all of you.\nIt's not, but he thinks it is.\"\n\n\"We'll never take a child from the O'Briens if I can help it,\" the\nQueen said. \"From the Sullivans I don't care, but not from the\nO'Briens.\"\n\n\"We'll have to do it,\" said the King. \"I don't like to hurt the\nO'Briens myself, but it's for the good of us all, and it's our only\nchance. These mortals are getting ahead of us that far, and they'll be\ndoing something next that will exterminate us entirely. We'll send\nand get both the children.\"\n\nThe Queen urged again that the O'Briens had always been good to the\nGood People and must not be harmed, but the King had his mind set on\nNaggeneen's plan and he would hear of nothing else. It was settled and\nit could not be changed. They must have both children. They should\nlive among the fairies till they were old enough to be sent out to\nlearn the ways of men. And they should always come back and teach the\nfairies the ways of men that they had learned.\n\n\"And it's to-night we'd better be doing it, if we're to do it at all,\"\nsaid the King. \"Now, who'll be the ones to go and be put in the place\nof the children?\"\n\nNobody seemed to care about going to play the part of a baby with the\nSullivans, or even with the O'Briens. Everybody was trying to get out\nof the King's sight behind the others. \"We'ld have to be lyin' still\nall day,\" one whispered, \"with never a dance to rest ourselves with.\"\n\n\"They might be puttin' holy water on us,\" said another, and all who\nheard him shivered.\n\n\"There'll be all sorts of unpleasantness, anyway,\" said a third.\n\n\"Maybe they'ld find us out,\" said a fourth, \"and then they'ld be\nputtin' all sorts of horrible charms on us to be rid of us.\"\n\nBut the King called one of the women and told her that she must go and\nstay in the place of the baby at the O'Briens. She whimpered a little,\nbut she knew that what the King said must be done. Then the King\nlooked around him and said, \"Where's Naggeneen got to at all now?\"\n\n\"Here I am to the fore,\" said Naggeneen.\n\n\"You'll go,\" said the King, \"and you'll be put in the place of the boy\nthat's at the Sullivans.\"\n\n\"I go!\" said Naggeneen. \"Never a step. Didn't I tell you of the plan?\nAnd that's enough. Now do it for yourself. I don't belong to you and\nyou know it. Do your own work.\"\n\n\"I'll not be disputin' with you,\" said the King. \"Whether you belong\nto me or no, you're in my palace along with my tribe, and you'll do\nwhat I tell you. It's tired of you I've been this great while, and now\nI've a chance to be rid of you. You'll go to the Sullivans and you'll\nstay there and you'll grow up like their child. And mind you play your\npart well and don't let them know what you are. If you do, they'll\nwork some charm on you and be rid of you, and then we'll have to send\nback the real child, and all your own plan will be lost.\"\n\n\"And how will you carry out my plan without me?\" Naggeneen asked.\n\"Don't I always tell you what to do? You'll want me a dozen times a\nday.\"\n\n\"We'll not want you at all. You do tell us what to do and we do it\nwhen we like, and it's small good ever came of it. And then, if we do\nwant anything of you, we know where to find you, and we'll easily come\nto you. It's been done before. You was left in the place of a young\nman that was taken away once before, and when the tribe that you was\nwith then wanted to talk to you they came to you, and we can do the\nsame if we like, but I don't think we shall like.\"\n\n\"That's just it,\" Naggeneen cried; \"did you know about that time? This\ntime would be just like it. Do you know how they drove me off? I\ncouldn't help it then and I couldn't help it again. There's times when\nit seems like there's a charm on me, and so there is, belike, and I\nhave to do a thing that it's bad for me to do. Do you know the whole\nof it, how it was that time?\n\n\"It was a man that time, as you say, and not a child. Rickard the Rake\nhe was called, I remember, and a fine rake he was. Never a bit of work\nwould he do, but he'ld always be at every fair or wake or the like of\nthat. And so little good there was in him that the fairies in the rath\nwhere I was then said: 'It's an easy thing it'll be stealing him away,\nand serve him right, too, and he'll be handy for us, he's so good a\ndancer.'\n\n\"I was ordered to be the one to be left in his place, though I knew no\ngood would come of it. And so one night, when he was dancing, we\nstruck him with a dart in the hip, and he fell down where he was. And\nthen, in all the bother and the noise that there was, it was easy to\nget him away and to leave me in the place of him. So they took me up\nand put me in bed and nursed me and did all they could think of for\nme, and me all the time squirming and squealing, like it was dying I\nwas.\n\n\"They gave me everything I could think of to eat, and that was not so\nbad, for I never lived better in my life; but it was worn out I was\ngetting, with lying there all the time and playing sick, and never a\nchance to stir about or get any air or a minute to myself. And the\nthing I was spoiling for was a tune out of the pipes or the fiddle.\nThen they brought a fairy-man to look at me, and he said it was a\nfairy and not Rickard at all that was in it, and I couldn't be telling\nyou all the bad names he put on me and the things he said about me.\nAnd he said: 'Leave a pair of bagpipes near him, and maybe he'll play\nthem. You know well Rickard never could play at all, and so if he\nplays them we'll know that it's not Rickard, but a fairy changeling,\nand then we'll know what to do.'\"\n\nJust here I must stop Naggeneen in his story for a minute, to tell you\nthat when people in Ireland speak of a \"fairy-man\" they do not mean a\nman fairy. They mean a man who knows all about fairies. The fairy-men\nknow all that the fairies can do, and they know the charms against\nthem and the ways to cure a sickness that the fairies have brought\nupon anyone, and the ways to keep them from stealing the cream from\nthe milk and the milk from the cow. So the people have great respect\nfor a fairy-man or a fairy-woman, and they often send to one of them\nfor help, when they think that the fairies may have done them a\nmischief.\n\n\"They left the pipes beside me,\" Naggeneen went on, \"and then they\nwent away. Oh, it was then I had the terrible time all out. Oh, may I\nnever long for anything again as I longed to play them pipes! But I\nknew that they'ld be listening and watching, and if they caught me at\nit, I'ld have to pay for it, if they could make me. So I kept my hands\noff them and only groaned and took on as if the dart in my hip was\nkilling me entirely.\n\n\"Then there was one hot afternoon, and everything was still about the\nhouse, and it was the harvest time, and they all had a right to be in\nthe fields at work. And sure I thought it was there they were. And\nthen the wish to play the pipes came on me worse than ever before. And\nit was then that it was like there was a charm on me, as I was telling\nyou. I had to do what I did. I could no more help doing it than a girl\ncan help dancing with us, when we get her in our ring on May Eve. But\nfirst I opened the door a crack and looked out into the kitchen, to\nsee was there anybody there, and there was nobody. But they were all\nin another room, as I found out after, waiting and listening. There\nwas the fairy-man and a fairy-woman and all the people of the house,\nand some of the neighbors.\n\n\"But if I'd seen them all I dunno if I could have done other than I\ndid, the power, whatever it was, was on me that strong. And I took the\npipes and played. It was soft I played at first, and then the music\ngot the better of me and I went on more and louder, and I played tunes\nand tunes. I could play as well then as I can now, and so the other\nfairies, that had been without me for some time, must have heard me\nplaying, for soon I heard the rustle and the whisper and the patter of\ntheir coming, and then they gathered round me, and I had been left\nthere lonely for so long that I kept on playing, to keep them with me.\n\n\"It was then the fairy-man and the fairy-woman began talking, and I\nheard every word they said, as no doubt they meant I should. 'What'll\nwe do with the little beast at all?' says she.\n\n\"'We'll do something that's not too unpleasant at first,' says he.\n'We'll take him and hold his head under the water, and see will that\ndrive any of the devilment out of him.'\n\n\"'Oh, the thief!' says she. 'That's not the way to treat him at all.\nLet's heat the shovel and put him on it and throw him out the window.'\n\n\"'Ah, why will you be that cruel?' says he. 'Just let me heat the\ntongs red hot in the fire and then I'll catch him by the nose with\nthem, and we'll find out will that make him go home and send poor\nRickard back to us.'\n\n\"'That's not enough,' says she. 'I'll go and bring some of the juice\nof the lussmore that I have, and we'll make him drink it, and then if\nhe's a fairy he'll wish that he was a man, so that he could die, it'll\nmake that consternation inside him.'\n\n\"'We'll do the both of them things,' says he, and with that they both\nstarted into the kitchen, and all the rest of the people after them.\nBut you may believe that by that time I was not there at all. I'd had\nenough of their kindness and I didn't think it was right to wait for\nany more of it. But I looked in at the window for a last glimpse of\nthem, and one of the women saw me, and she screamed, and then the\nfairy-man made after me with the tongs, and I had to vanish\ncompletely. And you know what would happen then. When they drove me\noff, of course we had to send back Rickard, and there they found him\nthe next morning, asleep in his bed, as sound as ever he was in his\nlife.\n\n\"And that was not all. The lesson that he'd had was enough for him,\nand he left drinking and fighting and swearing, and he helped his old\nfather and his brothers on the farm, and he was another man\naltogether. And so it's as I told you. You can never get the better of\nmen, if they know anything, and all you do to hurt them only helps\nthem. And so it will be if you send me to the Sullivans.\"\n\n\"If you're done talking about it now,\" said the King, \"you'll go to\nthe Sullivans and stay in the place of the child that we're to carry\noff. It's not likely they'll be leaving any pipes or any fiddle about\nfor you to play on, and you can stay there quite comfortable.\n\n\"Off with him now!\" the King cried to a dozen of his men, \"and mind\nyou don't come back without the child. And the same to you,\" he said\nagain to others of his men; \"take the woman and leave her in the place\nof the child at the O'Briens'.\"\n\nThe two parties were off, like two little swarms of bees, the one with\nNaggeneen and the other with the woman. The rest of the fairies\nwaited. The Queen sat on her throne, with her face turned away from\nthe rest and hidden in her hands. The King, with a troubled face, sat\nlooking straight before him, not moving an eye or a hand. The others\nstood as far off as they could go. Nobody played; nobody danced;\nnobody laughed or whispered. They waited and watched and listened.\nThen there was a little murmur and buzz of one of the parties coming\nback. It was the one that had been to the Sullivans.\n\nThe King looked up and seemed to look through the fairies without\nseeing them. \"Have you the child with you?\" he asked.\n\n\"We have,\" said the leader.\n\n\"And where's Naggeneen?\" the King asked.\n\n\"Lying in the bed beside Mrs. Sullivan,\" the leader answered, \"and\nsquealing like a pig under a gate.\"\n\n\"Give the child something to eat and make him comfortable,\" said the\nKing.\n\nThe Queen turned suddenly around. \"Don't give him anything to eat\nyet,\" she said. \"We've nothing here but our own food. You couldn't\ngive him that. What did you bring him here for? Was it not so that you\ncould send him out again, as he grows up, to learn to do the things\nthat men do? And if he touched a bit of our food or our drink, you\nknow he could never leave us.\"\n\n\"That's the true word,\" said the King. \"Here! Some of you go to the\nO'Briens' and see is there any milk left out of the window. And bring\nback enough so there'll be some for the other child, when we get her.\"\n\nAs the fairies set off on this errand there came a sound like the\nwhistling of the wind through the door, and those who had gone to\nbring the O'Briens' child were back. They were back in a whirl and a\nrush and a scramble and a rout. They were all screaming and crying and\nwhimpering and gabbling and gibbering together, and they all fell and\nsprawled together in a heap before the King. In the midst of them was\nthe woman who had been sent to take the place of the O'Briens' child.\n\n\"What for are you here without the child?\" the King cried. \"And what\nare you all doing there on the floor, like fish tumbled out of a\nbasket? Get up and tell me what's wrong with you! Where is the\nchild?\"\n\nThe fairies all choked and gasped and groaned and tried to speak. Then\nthe leader of the party staggered up to his feet and stammered out:\n\"The child is where it was before we went for it. We could not bring\nit; we could not take it; we could not touch it. You might as well be\nasking us to bring a lily from the fields of heaven.\"\n\n\"And why could you not take it?\" the King asked. \"Was the mother\nholding it so fast in her arms? Could you not make her look the other\nway while you'ld be taking it? Could you not put some charm on her so\nthat she'ld let it go? Or was she praying all the time, so that you\ncould do nothing with her? Or was she making those signs over it that\nnone of us can stand?\"\n\n\"No, no,\" said the leader, so low that they could scarcely hear him;\n\"no, it wasn't that; the mother was doing none of them things. The\nmother was dead!\"\n\nFor a minute everybody was still. The Queen started and looked at the\nleader of the party and leaned toward him. All the others gazed at him\ntoo. Then the King said, \"And why did you not bring the child?\"\n\n\"I'm after telling you we couldn't touch the child,\" the leader\nanswered. \"I went to take it, and all at once I felt burning hot, and\nlike I was all dried up into a cinder, and I think they must have\ndrawn a circle of fire round the child. And then I had that fearful\nfeeling that you have when you're near a horseshoe nail. There must\nhave been one somewhere about. You couldn't mistake that feeling--as\nif needles of ice were going all through and through you. And so I was\ndriven back and could get no nearer to the child.\"\n\nThe woman who had been sent to take the place of the child was\nstanding near the King now, though she could scarcely stand at all,\nand her face was all wet with tears. \"But they made me go nearer to\nthe child than that,\" she cried. \"These others pushed me close to her,\nso that I'ld take her place and give the child to them. And I felt\nburned up like a cinder, too, and then I felt the icy needles, and\nthen worse than that. I felt as if I was all cut across and across and\nthrough and through with flaming swords, and torn with red-hot saws.\nNot the way it is when you divide yourself, so that you can be in two\nplaces at once. Anybody can do that, and it hurts no more than cutting\na lock of hair, but this was--oh! there's only one thing could do\nthis. There was a pair of open scissors lying close to the child, and\nI almost touched them!\"\n\nShe could say no more, and there was no more to be said. \"You\ncouldn't get the child, then,\" said the King, \"and there's the end of\nit. Nobody could, if they did all them things. I dunno how it is,\" the\nKing went on, half to himself, \"a child lies there with a pair of\nscissors open near by, and a horseshoe nail close to it--maybe hung\naround its neck--and a circle drawn around it with a coal of fire, and\nit never minds it at all. It sleeps and wakes and lies there as\npeaceful and happy and quiet as if there was nothing at all out of the\ncommon about it. I dunno how they can do it. They're queer people,\nthese mortals. We can't get the girl. They was too clever for us. But\nwe've got the boy, and we'll do the best we can with him.\"\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: ]\n\nVI\n\nLITTLE KATHLEEN AND LITTLE TERENCE\n\n\nThe next morning John O'Brien was sitting alone, when there was a\nknock at the door. Then Peter Sullivan opened it, said \"God save all\nhere!\" and came in.\n\n\"God save you kindly!\" John answered.\n\n\"It's distressed we are,\" said Peter, \"to hear of the death of poor\nKitty. Ellen would be here with me to tell you so, only bein' in bed\nherself and not able to stir, and what'll come to all of us I dunno.\nI'm that disturbed about her I dunno what I'll do at all. I left her\nwith one of the neighbors and came to see your mother about her. But\nsure it's you has the great grief on you already, whatever comes to\nus. It's not only you I'm thinkin' of, but it's the child, left with\nno mother. Oh, it's a terrible thing.\"\n\n\"My own mother can bring up any child,\" John answered. \"Have no fear\nof that. It's us that knew Kitty that'll feel the loss of her.\"\n\n\"And how is the child doing, anyway?\" Peter asked.\n\n\"She looks fine and healthy, glory be to God!\" said John.\n\n\"It's a girl, they tell me.\"\n\n\"It is.\"\n\n\"Do you know yet what you'll call her?\"\n\n\"We'll name her Kathleen, after her mother,\" said John.\n\n\"Then you'll be calling her Kitty, like her mother, I suppose.\"\n\n\"No--no,\" John answered, slowly; \"I don't think I'll call her that.\nThe child will be always Kathleen. I dunno if I can tell you how I\nfeel about that. It was a name for a child, more than a\nwoman--Kitty--and yet, now that she's gone from me, I've a feeling\nlike it was something more than the name of a woman--like it was\nsomething holy, like the name of the blessed Mother of God. When I\nthink of that name now, I want to think only of her, and I wouldn't\nlike to be calling even her own child by it. It's Kathleen I'll call\nher--nothing else.\"\n\n\"You're right about all that, no doubt,\" said Peter; \"but I can't be\nstaying here, and Ellen and the child at home the way they are. You\nhave your child left, and you say it's healthy--thank God for that\nsame!--but it looks like I might have neither wife nor child.\"\n\n\"Don't say that, man alive,\" said John; \"what's the matter at all\nthen?\"\n\n\"I can't stop discoursin' here,\" Peter answered. \"I came to ask would\nyour mother, being a knowledgable woman, step over for a bit and see\ncan she tell at all what's the matter with Ellen and the child. There\nwas a doctor there, but he seemed to do no good, and Ellen said your\nmother would know more than all the doctors, so I came to ask would\nshe come. And if you care to come yourself, I'll be telling you how\nthey are as we go along, but I can't stay here; it's too long to be\naway from them.\"\n\n\"Mother is with the child,\" said John; \"I'll speak to her.\"\n\nHe went into another room, where the baby was sleeping and his mother\nwas sitting beside her. He told her why Peter had come. \"Step\ndownstairs,\" said Mrs. O'Brien, \"and ask Mrs. Mulvey will she sit by\nthe baby till I'm back. Then I'll go with him. And you'd better come,\ntoo, John; the air will do you good.\"\n\nJohn went down to another of the tenements in the house and came back\nwith their neighbor, Mrs. Mulvey. \"If you'll be so kind,\" Mrs. O'Brien\nsaid, \"sit here by the baby till I'm back, and I'll not be long. And\nmind you keep everything as it is, unless she wakes, and then you'll\nknow what to do as well as I, for you've children of your own. But\ndon't disturb the pair of scissors that's there beside her, and don't\ntake off the horseshoe nail that's hung round her neck.\"\n\n\"And what's them things for?\" Mrs. Mulvey asked, with wonder in her\neyes.\n\n\"Why, to keep the Good People from stealing the child,\" Mrs. O'Brien\nanswered. \"Did you never hear of those things? Don't you know the Good\nPeople can't stand the touch of iron, or even to be near it? And\nespecially a horseshoe nail they can't stand. And the scissors, too,\nthey couldn't come near, and then leaving them open they make a cross,\nand that keeps the child all the more from the Good People.\"\n\nJohn and his mother left Mrs. Mulvey with little Kathleen and went\nwith Peter. \"And what's wrong with Ellen, then?\" Mrs. O'Brien asked.\n\n\"I dunno that there's so much wrong with herself, as you might say,\"\nPeter answered. \"I think it's more than anything else that she's\nworried about the child.\"\n\n\"And what's wrong with the child, then?\"\n\n\"There's everything wrong with the child,\" said Peter. \"It's not like the\nsame child at all. Last night he was as healthy a boy as you'ld wish to\nsee--quiet and peaceable and good-tempered and strong-looking, for his\nage. And now this morning he's thin and sick-looking, and there's black\nhair all over his arms, and his face is wrinkled, like he was a little\nold man, and he does nothing but cry and scream till you can't bear it,\nand twist and squirm till you can't hold him. It's like he was\nfairy-struck, only I don't believe in them things at all.\"\n\n\"Did you watch him close last night?\" Mrs. O'Brien asked.\n\n\"Part of the time,\" Peter answered, \"but I dare say we was both asleep\nother times.\"\n\n\"Was Ellen careful about her prayers last night, and were you so,\ntoo?\"\n\n\"I can't say about that,\" Peter said. \"We might be letting some of\nthem go, such a time as that, you know, and make it up after.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Mrs. O'Brien, \"make it up after by losing your child! Was\nthere any iron anywhere about him?\"\n\n\"I don't know that there was.\"\n\n\"And did you make a circle of fire about the place where he was\nlying?\"\n\n\"I did not.\"\n\n\"The child's not been struck,\" said Mrs. O'Brien; \"not the way you\nmean. It's not your child at all, but one of the Good People\nthemselves, that's in it. They've stolen your child and left a\nchangeling in the place of it.\"\n\n\"It's the same way you always talked, Mrs. O'Brien,\" said Peter. \"I\ndon't believe them things.\"\n\nThey had come to Peter's door by this time. They found Ellen lying in\nbed, looking frightened half to death, and beside her was the baby, or\nthe fairy, or whatever it was. It was not crying loudly now, but it\nwas keeping up a little whining and whimpering noise that was quite as\nunpleasant to listen to as a good, honest cry. Its face looked thin\nand pinched and old; it had a little thin, wispy hair on its head\nwhere no baby of the age that this one was supposed to be has a right\nto have any. Its arms and hands were thin and bony. It looked weak and\nsick, but it was rolling and wriggling about in the liveliest way. It\nwould give a spring as if it were going straight off the bed upon the\nfloor, and when poor Ellen caught at it to save it, it would roll back\ntoward her, stop its crying for a second, and seem to be laughing at\nher, and then it would do the same thing again.\n\n\"It's plain enough,\" Mrs. O'Brien said, as soon as she saw it. \"It's\none of the Good People. But it's quick enough we'll be rid of it and\nhave back your own child. Bring me some eggs.\"\n\n\"I'll have nothing of the sort now,\" said Ellen. \"It's bad the poor\nchild is with some sickness or other, but it's my own child, and I'll\nhave nothing done to it that's not to do it good. If you know anything\nthat'll help it, Mrs. O'Brien, tell me that, but don't be sayin' it's\nnot my child.\"\n\n\"I'll not hurt the child, whatever it is,\" said Mrs. O'Brien, \"but\nthere are ways to tell whether it's your own child at all or one of\nthe Good People. If you find it's one of them, then it's easy to do\nmore, but in the meantime it's not harmed.\"\n\n\"I'll not have you trying any of them things,\" said Ellen. \"I'll not\nhave you saying it's not my child, and I'll not be thinking of such a\nthing myself. You see how poor and sick it's looking. If there's\nanything you can do for the child, do it, but don't be talking that\nway any more.\"\n\n\"Ellen,\" said Mrs. O'Brien, \"you don't know what you're talking about\nat all. Wait now till I tell you what was told to me when I lived in\nDublin, and I think that it was not far from there that it happened.\nIt's about a woman that talked as you do. A sailor's wife she was, and\nthere was a child born to her while her husband was away at sea. She\nthought he'ld be home soon, and so she wanted to put off the\nchristening of the child till he'ld be back. So she waited and waited\nfor a long time, and her husband did not come. The neighbors told her\nshe was doing wrong to wait so long and she ought to have the child\nchristened before anything would happen to it. But she wouldn't listen\nto them.\n\n\"So it went on for a year and a half, and still the father didn't come\nhome. But the boy was healthy and happy, and the mother never had any\ntrouble with him. But the trouble came. One day she'd been working in\nthe field, and she came home, and as soon as she was in the house she\nheard crying from the bed where the child used to sleep. She ran to\nlook at him, and he lay there, looking sick and thin and weak, the way\nyour boy does, and crying that he was hungry. He was like her child\nand he was not like him. He'd grown so pale and bad-looking that she\nthought he'd had a stroke from the Good People. But she went to get\nhim some bread and milk, and she asked her other boy, that was about\nseven years old, when it was and how it was that he began to be sick.\n\n\"'I left him playing near the fire,' the boy said, 'and I was in the\nother room. And I heard a rushing noise, like a great flock of birds\nflying down the chimney, and then I heard a cry from my brother and\nthen again the noise, like the birds were flying out at the chimney\nagain. And then I ran in and found him there the way you see him\nnow.'\n\n\"Well, if the poor woman had never had trouble with the child before,\nshe had nothing but trouble now. Crying and squalling it was all the\ntime, and it nearly ate her out of house and home, and yet it seemed\nalways sick and weak and thin. The neighbors came and they told her it\nwas not her child at all, but one of the Good People that had been put\nin the place of it, and it was all her own fault for not having it\nchristened in the right time. But not a word of it all would she\nlisten to, and she said all the time that, whatever was wrong with it,\nit was her own child and she'ld hear nothing to the contrary.\n\n\"It was an out-of-the-way place where they lived, and there was no\npriest near, or she never could have kept it from being christened as\nlong as she did. But at last the neighbors themselves said that if she\ndidn't see to it, they would. And they said to her: 'It's not your\nchild at all that's in it, and if you'll have it christened you'll\nsee. And if you won't take the child to the priest with us now, we'll\ngo to him ourselves and tell him all about it. It's not right to keep\nit from him longer.'\n\n\"So with that she thought it was no use and she'ld have to do as they\nsaid, and she took the child and tried to dress him, ready to take him\nto the priest to be christened. But the roars and the screams that he\nlet out of him were more than anybody could bear, and at the last she\nsaid: 'Oh, I can't do it; it's too terrible a thing for him; he won't\nbear it, and how can I make him?'\n\n\"The next day when she came in from her work the other boy said to\nher: 'Mother, it was uncommon quiet he was while you was away to-day.\nAnd by and by I went in to see what was ailing him. And there he sat,\nlooking so like an old man that I was near afraid of him. And he\nlooked at me and he spoke as plain as an old man, and he says: \"Pat,\"\nsays he, \"bring me a pipe, till I have a bit of a smoke. It's tired of\nlife I am, lying here without it.\"'\n\n\"'\"Ah,\" says I, \"wait till my mother gets home and I'll tell her of\nthis.\"'\n\n\"'\"Tell her,\" says he, \"and she'll not believe a word from you.\"'\n\n\"'And no more do I believe a word from you,' says the woman.\n\n\"Well, soon after that there came a letter from the father, saying\nthat he'ld be at home now in a few days. With that the woman set off\nto town to buy things to eat and drink to welcome her husband home,\nand she said: 'Now we'll have the christening, as soon as ever he\ncomes.'\n\n\"Then as soon as she was off, the neighbors said: 'Now is the time\nthat we'll be done with that imp. We'll take him and have him\nchristened while she's away, and we'll not give her the chance to put\nit off again because he cries.'\n\n\"So they went to the house and one of the women came up to the bed and\nclapped a quilt over him and had him wrapped up in it before he knew\nwhat was happening to him, and away they all went down toward the\nbrook, on the way to the priest. Well, he kicked and he struggled to\nget free, but the woman held him so tight it was no use. But when they\ncame to the running water, it was then he began bellowing like a herd\nof bulls, and kicking and pulling so that it was all she could do to\nhold him.\n\n\"She got her foot on the first of the stepping-stones, and it was then\nhe began to get heavy, as if it was a stone that she was carrying. But\nshe held hard and reached the second stone, and it seemed to her that\nhe was nothing but a lump of lead, only still roaring and struggling;\nand, what with that and the rushing of the water below her, she began\nto get dizzy, but still she held on, and she had her foot on the stone\nin the middle of the stream when plump down he fell through the quilt\nthat he was wrapped in, as if it had been nothing but a muslin\nhandkerchief.\n\n[Illustration: \"PLUMP DOWN HE FELL THROUGH THE QUILT.\"]\n\n\"And there he went floating down the stream, and shouting and laughing\nat them. For, you know, it's not being in running water that can\nhurt one of the Good People, but only crossing it, and if they tried\nto cross it they'ld be in awful pain till they got to the middle, and\nthen nothing could keep them from falling in.\n\n\"So they were rid of him, and you know when you're rid of a changeling\nthe Good People must send your own child back. And so the neighbors\nhad not got back to the house when they met the mother running to meet\nthem and bringing her own child, that she had found in its bed, when\nshe got back from the town, sleeping, as well and as sound as ever it\nwas.\n\n\"And now, Ellen,\" said Mrs. O'Brien, \"will you let me try, in ways\nthat I know, that can do no harm, whether this is your own child or\nnot? And if it's not, you'll have your own back, as well as it was\nlast night.\"\n\n\"This is my own child,\" Ellen answered, \"and it's not by any silly\ntales like that that you can make me believe it isn't. I'll not have\nyou doing anything of the sort. If you know anything that can help a\nbaby when it's sick, you may do that, but nothing else.\"\n\n\"I do know one thing that can help a sick baby,\" Mrs. O'Brien answered\n\"and that I'll do, if you like it or not. If that thing there is one\nof the Good People, as I think, it's not sick, and it will live for\nthousands of years after we are dead. We can neither help it nor much\nhurt it. But if that is your child, it doesn't look to me as if it\nwould live an hour. I'll not try whether it's yours or not, but if\nit's yours I'll not stand by and see its soul die, that ought to be\nthe soul of a Christian. Ellen Sullivan, that child will be christened\nbefore I leave this house.\"\n\n\"Christened!\" poor Ellen cried in amazement. \"And who's to christen\nhim? We couldn't get a priest here in an hour--maybe not to-day.\"\n\n\"There's no need of a priest,\" Mrs. O'Brien said; \"I'll christen him\nmyself. Bring me some water there, Peter.\"\n\n\"But sure you can't do that,\" Peter protested. \"Nobody but a priest\ncould christen a child.\"\n\n\"I can christen the child as well as a priest,\" said Mrs. O'Brien;\n\"you take a child to the priest to be christened, when it's easy and\nconvenient, but when there's no priest near, and the child is sick and\nseems likely to die before one can come, anybody can christen it; and\nthat christening stands, and it never has to be christened after.\nThat's the law of the Church. Bring me the water. I never saw a child\nthat seemed more likely to die than this one, if it's a child at all.\"\n\nAnd Peter brought the water.\n\n\"What do you call the child?\" Mrs. O'Brien asked.\n\n\"I think we'll call him Terence,\" Peter answered. \"That was my\ngrandfather's name, on my mother's side, and a decent man he was, and\nuncommon fond of myself when I was a bit of a gossoon, till he died,\nHeaven rest his soul! and I think I'd like to name the boy after him.\"\n\nNow all that the child had been doing and all the noise that he had\nbeen making before were simply nothing to what he had been doing ever\nsince Mrs. O'Brien first said the word \"christen.\" He was screaming so\nthat all this talk could scarcely be heard, and it was almost more\nthan Mrs. O'Brien could do to hold him, when she took him in her arms.\nBut she did hold him for a moment with one arm, while she dipped up\nsome water with her hand and sprinkled it over him. Then the creature\ngave one great jump and was away from her and fell on the floor.\n\nBefore anybody else could move, Mrs. O'Brien herself picked him up and\nlaid him on the bed. There was no sign that he was hurt. No child that\nwas hurt could have screamed as he did. \"Come, John,\" said Mrs.\nO'Brien, \"we've done all that we can.\"\n\n\"May I walk back with you a piece?\" said Peter. \"There was something\nmore that I was thinking I would say.\"\n\n\"Come back with us, of course, and welcome,\" said John.\n\nThey left the house and walked along the street.\n\n\"I think it was right, what you done, Mrs. O'Brien,\" said Peter. \"I\ncan't think about the child the way you think, but it was right what\nyou done.\"\n\nMrs. O'Brien made no answer. \"John,\" said Peter, \"there's something\nthat I was thinking of last night and this morning, and it was this:\nYou have a girl and I have a boy, that was both born on the one day.\nIt's good friends we've always been, and your father and your mother\nand my father and my mother before us. And I was just thinking when\nyour girl and my boy grows up, supposing that they like each other\nwell enough, it might be pleasant to all of us that they'ld be married\nsome time.\n\n\"There's no man's son that I'd rather see a daughter of mine married\nto than yours, Peter,\" said John, \"if she herself was pleased. I'ld\nnot ask her to take anybody she didn't like, but if she came to love\nhim, and he came to love her, I'ld be as pleased as yourself.\"\n\n\"It was that I wanted to say,\" said Peter, \"and I'd better go back to\nEllen now.\"\n\nJohn and his mother said no more till they were at home. They both\nwent into the room where little Kathleen was. Mrs. Mulvey sat watching\nthe baby. She went out and left them. The child was sleeping as\npeacefully as if there were no such thing in the world as sorrow or\nloss or doubt, or a fairy to help or harm.\n\n\"John,\" said Mrs. O'Brien, \"I'd think I might have done harm to that\nchild in trying to christen it, only I'm as sure as ever I was of\nanything that it's not a child at all, but one of the Good People, so\nI think there's no harm done. I don't know what would happen any of\nthe Good People if he was to be rightly christened. I think he'ld not\nbe able to stand it and would be driven out, so that they'ld have to\nsend back the real child. Now, if a priest ever sees that creature\nthat we've just seen, and asks: 'Has this child been christened?'\nthey'll have to answer 'Yes,' and he cannot be christened again. And\nyet, with the jump that he gave out of my arms when I sprinkled the\nwater, it's not sure I am that a drop of it touched him.\"\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: ]\n\nVII\n\nA CHAPTER THAT YOU CAN SKIP\n\n\nThis is a chapter that you can skip, if you want to. And really I\nshould advise you to. Nothing of importance happened in the next\neighteen years. Of course I am obliged to write a little something to\nfill in all that time, but you are not obliged to read it. That is\nwhere you have such an advantage. I think it is much better for a book\nto have some parts that can be skipped just as well as not, you get\nthrough it so much faster. I have often thought what a good thing it\nwould be if somebody would write a book that we could skip the whole\nof. I think a good many people would like to have such a book as that.\nI know I should.\n\nThen there is another reason why it will be well for you to skip a\nlittle about here. When you get farther on, if you happen to come to\nsomething that you don't understand, you can say: \"Oh, this is\nprobably all explained by something in that part that I skipped,\" and\nyou can go right on. But if you had not skipped anything and then came\nto something that you did not understand, you would have to say:\n\"There, now, I must have been reading carelessly and missed\nsomething,\" and you would have to go back and read the book all\nthrough again.\n\nIn these eighteen years Kathleen O'Brien and Terence Sullivan were\ngrowing up. I don't suppose there ever was another such child as\nKathleen. And I should hope there never was another such child as\nTerence. Kathleen's grandmother had the most of the care of her, of\ncourse, but it was really no care at all. It would have been a\npleasure for anybody to have the care of Kathleen. Even when she was a\nbaby she was a perfect delight, and you know what babies are\nsometimes. At any rate, you would know, if you had known Terence. And\nwhen she got to be a few years older, say seven or eight--\n\nWell, it is perfectly impossible for me to tell you how good and\nlovely Kathleen was. It is all very well to try to describe\nsnow-capped mountains at sunrise, or a storm at sea, or moonlight at\nNiagara, or a prairie on fire, or anything of that sort, but nobody\ncould tell you how good and lovely Kathleen was, so that you could\nunderstand it. I suppose she was a good deal the sort of child that\nyou would be if you didn't put your elbows on the table, or your spoon\nin your mouth, or slam the doors, or cry when your hair is combed, or\ntease for things that you ought not to have, or whisper in company, or\ntalk out loud when there are older persons present, or leave your\nplaythings about when you are done with them, or get your clothes\nsoiled when you play out of doors, or want to play at all when you\nought to study your lessons, or ask to be allowed to sit up after\nbed-time, or bite your nails, or cut your bread, or leave your spoon\nin your cup instead of in your saucer, or take the biggest apple.\n\nI don't say that Kathleen never did any of these things. I only say\nthat she was so good that you would have to leave off every one of\nthem or you would never catch up with her. If Kathleen had a fault, it\nwas that she was too good. If I were going to have anything to do with\nher I would rather she should be a little bit worse than a single bit\nbetter. I am so glad you are skipping this part, because I shouldn't\nwant you to try to be a bit worse than you are just for the sake of\npleasing me. And I don't mean by all this that Kathleen was one of\nthose children who are a bother all the time because they are so\ngood. She may have done things that she ought not to do sometimes. I\ndare say she did. I know she did once. I will tell you all about that\nin the next chapter. She was just a dear, sweet little girl, as bright\nand merry and healthy as any little girl in the world ever was. And\nyou would think so yourself, if you had known her and were not so\njealous. If I should tell you that she was as pretty as she was good,\nI don't suppose you would believe me. But she was, just as surely as I\nam writing this book and you are reading it. I mean just as surely as\nI am writing it. I am not sure yet whether you are reading it or not.\n\nBut Terence! Well, the less said about him the better. Still, I\nsuppose, I shall have to say something. He did every one of the things\nthat I have just mentioned. And it wasn't because he didn't know any\nbetter; he seemed to like to do them, just because he knew that they\nwere wrong. When he was a baby he was more trouble than twins, and bad\ntwins at that. He cried all the time, except when he was eating or\nsleeping, and he slept only a little of the time and ate a great deal\nof it. He always seemed to be just about so sick, but it never hurt\nhis appetite and he never got any sicker. After a while Ellen got used\nto his being sick, and she always said that he was delicate, poor\nchild, and that was why he was so cross and so much trouble.\n\n\"And is that why he eats so much?\" Mrs. O'Brien would ask.\n\n\"I dunno about that,\" Ellen would answer; \"I think it's the kind of\nsickness that's on him that makes him eat so much.\"\n\n\"More likely it's eating so much that gives him the kind of sickness\nthat's on him,\" Mrs. O'Brien would say. \"But I tell you again, it's no\nsickness at all he has. He's just one of the Good People, and you\ncould be rid of him and have your own child back any time you would do\nany of the things I would tell you.\"\n\nBut not a word of this would Ellen ever heed. Terence was her own\nchild, and he might be a bit troublesome, as any child might, but he\nwas not really bad at all, and it was Kathleen, that was always so\ngood, the Lord knew why, that made Mrs. O'Brien think that every child\nought to be that way. But there was one strange thing about Terence,\nand Ellen herself had to admit it. After that very hour, when he was\none day old, when Mrs. O'Brien came to see him and christened him, or\ntried to--she never felt sure till long afterward whether she had done\nit or not--he was always quiet when she was near. He would drive poor\nEllen nearly crazy, in spite of all her excuses for him, when he was\nalone with her, but the moment that Mrs. O'Brien came into the house\nhe would get as far away from her as he could, and then lie perfectly\nstill and watch her, for all the world, as John said once, like a rat\nin a trap watching a cat. Ellen said that it was because he always\nremembered that it was Mrs. O'Brien who had dropped him once. To this\nJohn replied: \"Then maybe he'ld be making you less trouble, Ellen, if\nyou was to drop him yourself once or twice.\" But Mrs. O'Brien said\nthat it was just because he knew what she would do to him if she had\nthe chance.\n\nAnd there was another strange thing about Terence. As he grew a little\nolder, he never could be got inside a church. Father Duffy had never\neven seen him, except when he came to the house while he was still a\nbaby, and then Terence would scream and kick so, when the good priest\ncame near him, that he never dared touch him. The first time that he\ncame, Ellen told him about Mrs. O'Brien's christening the child, and\nasked him if it was right for her to do it.\n\n\"Was the child looking sick, and as if he was likely to die?\" Father\nDuffy asked.\n\n\"He was, father,\" Ellen answered; \"I couldn't deny that.\"\n\n\"Then it was right for her to christen him,\" the priest answered,\n\"and he'll not need to be christened again. In fact, he can't be\nchristened again.\"\n\nBut long after that, when they tried to take him to church, he would\nnever go. If Peter and Ellen started for church with him he would run\naway from them. They could not even hold him. He would get away from\nthem, and sometimes they could not tell how he did it, only he would\nbe gone. And then the only way that they could find him was to go home\nagain, and there he was sure to be, as safe as ever, only he had not\nbeen at church. And so, after a while, they stopped trying to make him\ngo.\n\nWhen the two children were old enough to play together, Terence never\nseemed to be happy except when he was with Kathleen. He did not care\nin the least to play with other boys. He did not seem to care in the\nleast to play at all. All he wanted was to be with Kathleen. Kathleen\nnever liked him, and she did not like to have him with her so much of\nthe time. But she was too kind-hearted to hurt anybody in any way,\neven a boy whom she did not like, so she tried to treat him as nicely\nas she could, and she told nobody but her grandmother, to whom she\ntold everything, that she was not as pleased to be with him as he was\nto be with her.\n\nTerence, in his turn, did not always treat Kathleen well, any more\nthan he did anybody else. He was ill-natured with her and he played\ntricks on her that were not pleasant at all, and yet he wanted to be\nalways with her. Perhaps it was partly because she was more kind to\nhim than anybody else, except Ellen. For nobody else liked him. And if\nhe was bad-tempered and unkind to other people, it made other people\nunkind and bad-tempered to him, but nothing could make Kathleen unkind\nto anybody.\n\n\"It's not fair you all are to Terence,\" Ellen said once to Mrs.\nO'Brien, \"to think bad of him the way you do. There's things about him\nthat don't seem right, I know, but those things don't show the way he\nreally is. I dunno if I'm making you understand me. I'm his mother and\nI know him better nor anybody else, and I know he's different from the\nway he seems to you, and even the way he seems to me sometimes. And\nI'll tell you how I know that. When I'm asleep I often dream about\nhim. And when I dream about him, he looks a little the way he does\nother times, but he's taller and he's better-looking in the face, and\nhe looks stronger and brighter and healthier like. And he speaks to\nme, and his voice is lower and pleasanter in the sound of it. And\nthat's the way he'ld be, I know, if he had his health, poor child, and\nif everything was right with him. And you'ld all know that and you'ld\nfeel more for him, if you knew him the way I do.\"\n\nThis was when Terence was six or seven years old. And Ellen often\nspoke in this way afterward. She saw Terence in her dreams, and he was\na very different Terence from the one who made her so much trouble\nwhen she was awake, and yet he was partly the same.\n\nAnd there was one thing that Terence did that almost everybody liked.\nI might as well say everybody except Kathleen. He played the fiddle.\nNobody knew how he learned. There was a neighbor of the Sullivans who\ncame from the same county in Ireland that they did, and he played a\nfiddle in an orchestra at a cheap theatre. One day Peter had gone to\nsee this man and had taken little Terence with him. The fiddle was\nlying on the table. The two men went into another room and left\nTerence by himself. They were talking busily and they forgot about\nhim. Then they heard a soft little tune played on the fiddle. \"Who's\nthat playing my fiddle?\" said the owner of it.\n\n\"Sure,\" said Peter, \"we left nobody there but Terence.\"\n\nThey went quickly back into the room and found Terence hastily laying\nthe fiddle down where he had found it. \"Ah, can't I leave you alone a\nminute,\" said Peter, \"but you must be meddling with things that don't\nbelong to you? What'll I do now if you've gone and hurt the fiddle?\"\n\n\"Don't be talking that way to the child,\" said the musician; \"sure he\ndid it no harm. But where at all did he learn to play that way? That's\nwhat I'm thinking. Have you been letting him learn all this time and\nnever told me?\"\n\n\"He never learned at all that I know of,\" Peter answered. \"I never saw\nhim have a fiddle in his hand till this minute.\"\n\n\"It's a strange thing, then,\" the musician said. \"Anybody that can\nplay a tune like he did that one has a right to play more and better.\nWhere did you learn it, my boy?\"\n\n\"I never learned it at all,\" Terence answered; \"I just saw the fiddle\nthere and I thought I'ld see could I play it. But it's little I could\nbe doing with it, I'm thinking.\"\n\nPeter was surprised enough to find that Terence could play a tune on a\nfiddle, and so was Ellen, when she heard about it. But they did not\nwonder at it so much as they would have done if they had known more\nabout such things. They had a sort of notion that one person could\nplay the fiddle and another could not, much as one person can move his\nears and another cannot. So they thought little about it. But when\nTerence begged them to buy him a fiddle of his own, they saved up\nmoney a little at a time, and at last they bought him one.\n\nThen for days Terence did nothing but play. He played simple little\ntunes at first, but soon he began to play harder ones. Then he got\nimpatient with himself, as it seemed, and he began to play such music\nas nobody who heard him had ever heard before. Often he would not play\nwhen he was asked, but he would play for hours by himself, when he\nthought that no one was listening. His father brought his friend the\nmusician to hear him, and he said that it was wonderful. He had never\nheard the fiddle played so well. Nobody had ever heard the fiddle\nplayed so well.\n\nAnd Kathleen never cared to hear Terence play. She did hear him play,\nmany times, of course, and she listened politely, but she told her\ngrandmother that she did not care about it at all. She would much\nrather hear the poor fiddler of the little orchestra, who had come\nfrom their county in Ireland. Their neighbor the fiddler himself was\nas much shocked as anyone to hear Kathleen talk like this. \"Did you\never hear anybody play the fiddle like Terence plays it?\" he asked\nher, when she said something of the sort to him.\n\n\"No,\" Kathleen answered. \"I never heard anybody play it like Terence,\nbut I have heard some play it better than Terence. You play it\nbetter.\"\n\n\"Oh, child,\" he said, \"I'ld give all the money I'll be earning in the\nnext ten years if I could play like he does. Don't you see I can't do\nhalf the things he does with it?\"\n\n\"I know that,\" Kathleen said; \"it isn't the way he plays a bit that\nmakes everybody talk so about him; it's just the things he does. When\nhe plays a tune it just doesn't mean anything, and when you play a\ntune it does.\"\n\nAnd that was as near as Kathleen could ever come to telling why she\ndid not care about Terence's playing. Everybody else said that it was\nwonderful, but she said that it didn't mean anything. And when\nKathleen talked in this way they said that she was too critical. That\nis what people will always tell you when you can see through a fraud\nand they cannot.\n\nYou will suppose, without my telling you, that as soon as Kathleen was\nold enough to listen to them, her grandmother began telling her the\nold stories of Ireland. Often Terence would come and listen to them,\ntoo, for he seemed to be less afraid of Mrs. O'Brien as he grew a\nlittle older. But it never seemed to be because of the stories that he\ncame; he only wanted to be near Kathleen.\n\nMrs. O'Brien told the children stories about the Good People, and\nabout the old heroes and kings of Ireland who had fought to save the\ncountry from its enemies. Terence never liked the stories about the\nGood People. \"Don't be telling us about them fairies all the time,\" he\nwould say. \"Tell us about men; that's what I like better.\"\n\n\"Don't call them by that name,\" Mrs. O'Brien would answer. \"They don't\nlike it, and if you call them by it they may do you harm.\"\n\n\"I'll call them what I like,\" Terence would say, \"and they'll do me no\nharm. It's a worthless lot they are, and you know that same yourself,\nMrs. O'Brien, if you'ld only think so. They can do no harm to you, or\nto any woman or man that knows how to deal with them. Why will you\nbother with them all the time?\"\n\nAnd all this made Mrs. O'Brien think the more that Terence was one of\nthem.\n\nOne day Mrs. O'Brien happened to tell the children a ghost story. I\ndon't know whether your mother allows you to read ghost stories. I\ndon't see any harm in them myself, any more than Mrs. O'Brien did, but\nsome people do, and if your mother does, then it is lucky that you are\nskipping this part. I think that your mother will be very glad that\nyou skipped this part with the ghost story in it. That is, of course,\nshe won't really be glad, because, since you are skipping it, you\nwon't know that there is any ghost story here, and so you won't tell\nyour mother that you skipped a ghost story, and so she won't really\ncare whether you skipped it or not. What I mean is that if you had\nread it instead of skipping it, so that you could tell your mother\nthat there was a ghost story, she would be glad that you had\nskipped--well, what is the use of my trying to tell you what I mean,\nas long as you are skipping it, anyway? I had better go on with the\nstory.\n\n\"Once a man was coming home from a funeral,\" said Mrs. O'Brien. \"As he\nwas walking along the road, near a churchyard, he found the head of a\nman. He took it up and left it in the churchyard. Then he went on his\nway, and soon he met a man who looked like a gentleman.\n\n\"'Where have you been?' said the gentleman.\n\n\"'I was at a funeral,' said the man, 'and as I came back I found the\nhead of a man, and I left it in the churchyard.'\n\n\"'It was well for you that you did that,' said the gentleman. 'That\nwas my head, and if you had done any wrong by it, it would be the\nworse for you.'\n\n\"'And how did you lose your head, then?' the man asked.\n\n\"'I did not lose it,' the gentleman answered; 'I left it on the road,\nwhere you found it, to see what you would do with it.'\n\n\"'Then you must be one of the Good People,' said the man, 'and it's\nsorry I am that I met you.'\n\n\"'Don't be afraid,' said the gentleman. 'I'll do you no harm, and I\nmay do you good.'\n\n\"'I'm obliged to you,' said the man; 'will you come home with me to\ndinner?'\n\n\"They went to the man's house, and the man told his wife to get dinner\nready for them. When they had eaten dinner they played cards, and then\nthey went to bed and slept till morning. In the morning they had\nbreakfast, and after a while the gentleman said: 'Come with me.'\n\n\"'Where am I to come with you?' the man asked.\n\n\"'I want you to see the place where I live,' the gentleman said.\n\n\"They went together till they came to the churchyard. The gentleman\npointed to a tombstone and said: 'Lift it up.'\n\n\"The man lifted it up, and there was a stairway underneath. They went\ndown the stairs together till they came to a door, and it led into a\nkitchen. Two women were sitting by the fire. Said the gentleman to one\nof the women: 'Get up and get dinner ready for us.'\n\n\"The woman got up and brought some small potatoes. 'Are those all you\nhave for us?' the gentleman asked.\n\n\"'Those are all I have,' the woman answered.\n\n\"'As those are all you have,' said the gentleman, 'keep them.'\n\n\"Then he said to the other woman: 'Get up and get dinner ready for\nus.'\n\n\"The woman got up and brought some meal and husks. 'Are those all you\nhave?' the gentleman asked.\n\n\"'Those are all I have,' the woman answered.\n\n\"'As those are all you have,' said the gentleman, 'keep them.'\n\n\"He led the man up the stairs and knocked at a door. A beautiful woman\nopened it. She was dressed in a gown of silk, and it was all trimmed\nwith gold and jewels. He asked her if she could give him and the\nstranger a dinner. Then she placed before them the finest dinner that\nwas ever seen. And when they had eaten and drunk as much as they\nliked, the gentleman said: 'Do you know why this woman was able to\ngive us such a dinner?'\n\n\"'I do not know,' said the man, 'but I should like to know, if you\ncare to tell me.'\n\n\"'When I was alive,' said the gentleman, 'I had three wives. And the\nfirst wife I had would never give anything to any poor man but little\npotatoes. And now she has nothing but little potatoes herself, and\nshe can give nothing else to anyone, till the Day of Judgment. And my\nsecond wife would never give anything to the poor but meal and husks,\nand now she has nothing but meal and husks herself, and she can give\nnothing else to anyone, till the Day of Judgment. But my third wife\nalways gave to the poor the best that she had, and so she will always\nhave the best that there is in the world, and she can always give the\nbest in the world to anyone, till the Day of Judgment.'\n\n\"Then the gentleman took the man about and showed him his house, and\nit was a palace, more beautiful than anything that he had ever seen.\nAnd while he was walking about it he heard music. And he thought that\nhe had never heard music so beautiful. And while he was listening to\nthe music he felt like sleeping, so he lay down and slept. And when he\nwoke he was in his own home. He never saw the gentleman again and he\ncould never find the place where he had been.\"\n\n\"It's all the time fairies and ghosts with you, Mrs. O'Brien,\" Terence\nsaid. \"Who cares what they do? It's what men do that counts. I'll tell\nyou a story now.\"\n\nSo Mrs. O'Brien and Kathleen listened to Terence's story.\n\n\"There was three men,\" Terence began, \"that lived near together, and\ntheir names was Hudden and Dudden and Donald. Each one of them had an\nox that he'ld be ploughing with. Donald was a cleverer man than the\nothers and he got on better. So the other two put their heads together\nto think what would they do to hurt Donald and to ruin him entirely,\nso that he'ld have to give up his farm and they could get it cheap.\nWell, after a while they thought that if they could kill his ox he\ncouldn't plough his land, and then he'ld lose the use of it and he'ld\nhave to give it up. So one night they went and killed Donald's ox.\n\n\"And to be sure, when Donald found his ox killed, he thought it was\nall over with him. But he wasn't the man to be thinking that way long.\nSo he thought he'd better make the best he could of it, and he took\nthe skin off the ox and started with it to the town to sell it. And as\nhe was going along a magpie perched on the skin and began pecking at\nit, and all the time chattering, for it had been taught to talk. With\nthat Donald put round his hand and caught the magpie and held it under\nhis coat.\n\n\"He went on to the town and sold the skin, and then he went to an inn\nfor a drink. He followed the landlady down into the cellar, and while\nshe was drawing the liquor he pinched the magpie and it began\nchattering again. 'By the powers,' says the landlady, 'who's that\ntalking and what's he saying at all?'\n\n\"'It's a bird,' says Donald, 'that I carry around with me, and it\nknows a great deal and tells me many a thing that it's good for me to\nknow. And it's after telling me just now that the liquor you're giving\nme is not the best you have.'\n\n\"'It's the wonderful bird all out,' says the landlady, and with that\nshe went to another cask for the liquor. Then said she: 'Will you sell\nthat bird?'\n\n\"'I wouldn't like to do that,' says Donald. 'It's a valuable bird, and\nthen it's been my friend a long time, and I dunno what it would be\nthinking of me if I'd sell it.'\n\n\"'Maybe I'ld make it worth your while.' said the landlady.\n\n\"'I'm a poor man,' says Donald.\n\n\"'I'll fill your hat with silver,' says the landlady, 'if you'll leave\nme the bird.'\n\n\"'I couldn't refuse that,' says Donald; 'you may have the bird.'\n\n\"So she filled his hat with silver, and he left her the bird and went\non his way home.\n\n\"It wasn't long after he got home till he met Hudden and Dudden.\n'Aha!' says he to them, 'you thought it was the bad turn you was doing\nme, but you couldn't have done me a better. Look what I got for the\nhide of my ox, that you killed on me.' And he showed them the hatful\nof silver. 'You never saw such a demand for hides in your life,' says\nhe, 'as there is in the town this present time.'\n\n\"No sooner had he said that than Hudden and Dudden went home and\nkilled their own oxen and set off for the town to sell the hides. But\nwhen they got there they could get no more for them than the common\nprice of hides, and they came home again vowing vengeance on Donald.\n\n\"This time they were bound there would be no mistake about it, so they\nwent to his house and they seized him and put him into a sack and tied\nup the top of it. 'Now,' says one of them, 'you'll not be doing us any\ndirty turn this time, I'm thinking. We're going to take you to the\nriver and throw you in and drown you; that's what we're going to do\nand I'm telling you of it now, so that you'll have the pleasure of\nthinking that all your sorrows are nearly over, as you go along.'\n\n\"Well, Donald said never a word, but he kept thinking, and those words\n'all your sorrows are nearly over' gave him something particular to\nthink about, and it wasn't long till he began to see his way, if he\ncould only get a chance to do what he was thinking of.\n\n\"They took up the sack and they carried it by turns for a time, but\nboth of them soon began to get mighty tired and thirsty. Then they\ncame to a tavern, and they left the sack outside, and Donald in it,\nand went in to get a drink. Donald knew that if they once began\ndrinking they would stay inside for some time. Then presently he heard\na great trampling sound, and he knew it must be a herd of cattle\ncoming, and he knew there must be somebody driving them. With that he\nbegan singing, like he was the happiest man in the world.\n\n\"The man that was driving the cattle came up to him and he says:\n'Who's inside the sack there, and what are you singing like that for?'\n\n\"'I'm singing because I'm the happiest man alive,' says Donald. 'I had\nplenty of troubles in my life, but I'm going to heaven now, and\nthey're all over. There's a blessing on this same sack, you must know,\nand whoever's in it goes straight to heaven, and isn't it myself\nthat's a right to be singing?'\n\n\"'Surely you have,' says the man, 'and it's glad I'ld be to take your\nplace. What would you take from me now to let me get in that sack in\nyour place?'\n\n\"'There's not money enough in the world to make me do it,' says\nDonald, and he began singing again.\n\n[Illustration: \"THERE'S A BLESSING ON THIS SAME SACK.\"]\n\n\"'Ah, be reasonable!' says the man. 'I'll pay you well.'\n\n\"'I tell you the whole world couldn't do it,' says Donald. 'It's not\nevery day a man gets a chance to go to heaven. Think of being over\nwith all the sorrows and the troubles of this world, and nothing but\nhappiness any more forever. Sure I'ld be a fool if I'ld give it up.'\n\n\"'Oh, but think of me,' says the man. 'It's me that has the sorrows on\nme so that I can't bear them. There's my wife died three months ago,\nand all the children was dead before her, and it was she always helped\nme with the farm and knew how to manage better nor myself, so that now\nshe's gone I can do nothing with it. And I've lost money on it till I\ncan't pay the rent, and now I'll lose the farm itself, and here I am\ndriving these cattle to town to sell them to get money to take another\npiece of land and keep the life in me, and yet I don't want to live at\nall. Oh, give me your place in that sack and you'll go to heaven in\nyour own time, if it was only for that one good deed. Give me your\nplace and I'll give you these twenty fine cattle, and you'll have\nbetter luck nor me and you'll surely do well with them.'\n\n\"'I can't resist you,' says Donald; 'sure it's you needs to go to\nheaven more nor me. It's the truth I hate to do it, but I'll give you\nmy place.'\n\n\"So with that the man untied the sack and Donald got out of it and he\ngot into it, and Donald tied it up again. Then Donald went away home,\ndriving the cattle before him.\n\n\"It was not long then till Hudden and Dudden came out of the inn, and\nthey took up the sack, thinking that Donald was still inside it, and\nthey took it to the river and threw it into a deep place. Then they\nwent home, and there they found Donald before them, and a herd of the\nfinest cattle they ever saw. 'How is this, Donald?' they said. 'We\ndrowned you in the river, and here you are back home before us. And\nwhere are you after getting all these cattle?'\n\n\"'Oh, sure,' says Donald, 'it's myself has the bad luck all out. Here\nI've only twenty of these cattle, and if I'd only had help I could\nhave had a hundred--aye, or five hundred. Sure in the place where you\nthrew me in, down at the bottom of the river, there was hundreds of\nthe finest cattle you ever saw, and plenty of gold besides. Oh, it's\nthe misfortunate creature that I am, not to have any help while I was\ndown there. Just these poor twenty was all I could manage to drive\naway with me, and these not the best that was there.'\n\n\"Then they both swore that they would be his friends if he would only\nshow them the place in the river where they could get cattle like\nhis. So he said he'ld show them the place and they could drive home\nas many of them as they liked. Well, Hudden and Dudden was in such a\nhurry they couldn't get to the river soon enough, and when they were\nthere Donald picked up a stone, and said he: 'Watch where I throw this\nstone, and that's where you'll find the most of the cattle.'\n\n\"Then he threw the stone into a deep part of the river, and he said:\n'One of you jump in there now, and if you find more of the cattle than\nyou can manage, just come to the top and call for help, and the other\ntwo of us will come in and help you.'\n\n\"So Hudden jumped in first and he went straight to the bottom. In a\nminute he came up to the top and shouted: 'Help! help!'\n\n\"'He's calling for help,' says Donald; 'wait now till I go in and help\nhim.'\n\n\"'Stay where you are,' says Dudden; 'haven't you cattle enough\nalready? It's my turn to have some of them now.' And in he jumped, and\nHudden and Dudden was both drowned. And then Donald went home and\nlooked after his cattle and his farm, and soon he made money enough to\ntake the two farms that Hudden and Dudden had left, besides his own.\n\n\"And that's the way,\" said Terence, \"to get on in this world or any\nworld. Get the better of them that's trying to get the better of you,\nand don't hope for any help from fairies or ghosts.\"\n\n\"Terence,\" said Mrs. O'Brien, \"there's a little that's right in what\nyou say, and there's more that's wrong. Depend on yourself and don't\nlook for help from Good People or ghosts. So much of what you say is\nright. But Donald was not honest and he got on by tricks, and I don't\nwant you or Kathleen to be that way. You'll not get on that way;\nyou'll only come to grief. But I want you to be kind and helpful to\nmortals and Good People because it's right to be so, not to get any\nreward. The reward you may get or you may not in this world, but it's\nnot that I want you to work for. And I'll tell you a story now to show\nyou what I mean.\n\n\"There was a poor little bit of a boy once, and he had a hump on his\nback. He made his living by plaiting rushes and straw into hats and\nbaskets and beehives, and he could do it better than anybody else for\nmiles around. I don't know what his right name was, but the people\ncalled him Lusmore, after the flower of that name. The flower, you\nknow, is the one that some call fairy-cap--the Lord between us and\nharm!--and others call it foxglove. And they called him after it,\nbecause he would always be wearing a sprig of it in his cap. And in\nspite of having a crooked back, which often makes a body sulky, he\nwas a good-natured little fellow, and never had a bad word or a bad\nthought for anybody.\n\n\"One day he had been at a fair to sell some of the things that he made\nout of straw and rushes, and as he was coming home he felt tired with\nthe long walk. So he sat down to rest for a little, and he leaned his\nback on a bank of earth, not thinking that it was a place that was\nsaid to be a rath of the Good People. He sat there for a long time,\nand at last he began to hear music. It was very soft at first, and he\nhad to listen hard to catch it at all. Then it sounded clearer, and\nafter a little he could tell that there were fiddlers and pipers. Then\nhe thought that he could hear the feet of dancers, and finally\nsingers, and he could hear the words of the song that they sang. And\nthese were the words:\n\n    Da Luan, da Mort,\n    Da Luan, da Mort,\n    Da Luan, da Mort.\n\n\"And there were no other words but these, and these the singers sang\nover and over and over again. And all they mean is, 'Monday, Tuesday,\nMonday, Tuesday, Monday, Tuesday.' After the singers had sung these\nwords they would make a little pause and then they would go on with\nthem. Lusmore knew now that the music came from inside the rath, and\nhe knew well enough that it was the Good People he was listening to.\nHe kept very quiet and listened, and it seemed a wonderfully sweet\nsong to him, only after a while he got tired of hearing no other\nwords. And he thought: 'Maybe they'd like the song better themselves\nif there was more of it, and I wonder couldn't I help them with it.'\n\n\"But he knew he must not disturb the Good People, so he waited till\none of the little pauses, and then he sang very softly: 'Augus da\nCadine.'\n\n\"Then he kept on singing all the words, along with the singers inside\nthe rath, adding on his own new line every time:\n\n    Da Luan, da Mort,\n    Da Luan, da Mort,\n    Da Luan, da Mort,\n       Augus da Cadine.\n\n\"And that means: 'Monday, Tuesday, Monday, Tuesday, Monday, Tuesday,\nand Wednesday too.'\n\n\"As he went on he sang a little louder and a little louder, till by\nand by the Good People in the rath began to listen to hear who or what\nit was that was singing their song with them, and then they caught the\nline that Lusmore had added. Then they were so pleased that they\nscarcely knew what to do, for they were more tired of the song than he\nwas, only they did not know what to do to make it any better. And when\nthey found it was somebody outside the rath that was singing it and\nwas making more out of it than they ever did, they wanted to have him\ninside as soon as possible.\n\n\"So all at once Lusmore saw a door open in the rath, close beside him,\nand a great light streaming out, and then there was the sound of wings\nall around him, and next he saw the forms of the Good People pouring\nout and flying and whirling around him like a swarm of butterflies.\nThey caught him up and carried him inside the rath, so lightly that he\ncould not tell what was holding him, and he felt as if he was floating\nin the air. He was a little frightened at first, but when they had him\ninside the rath they set him up above all the musicians and thanked\nhim for mending their song, and did him all sorts of honor.\n\n\"Then he saw some of the Good People talking together in a little\ngroup, and presently they came up to him, and one of them said:\n'Lusmore, we've been thinking what will we do for you as a reward for\nmending our song, and we've decided to ask yourself what it is that\nyou'ld rather we'ld give you. Think, now, what it is that you'ld\nrather have than anything else in the world.'\n\n\"'It's obliged to you I am for your kindness, gentlemen,' said\nLusmore, 'but if you'ld do what would please me most in all the world,\nit's not giving me anything you'ld be, but taking something from me,\nand that's this hump that I have on my back.'\n\n\"'That's easy done,' said the one of them that had spoken before;\n'come on now and dance with us.'\n\n\"Well, Lusmore, being crooked the way he was, and always weak, had\nnever danced before in his life, and he never thought he could; but\nwhen they took hold of him on both sides and led him out, he found\nthat he was dancing with the best of them, and he felt so light and he\nmoved so easily that it seemed to him as if he was no more than a\nfeather that the wind was blowing about. Then one of the Good People\nsaid to him, 'Lusmore, where is your hump now?'\n\n\"And he felt behind him for it, and it was not on his back at all.\n'Look down on the floor,' said the one that had spoken to him, again.\nAnd he looked down, and there was his hump, lying on the floor before\nhim.\n\n\"Then they all began dancing again and Lusmore with them, till he felt\ntired and then dizzy, and then he fell to the ground, and he knew\nnothing more till he awoke in the morning and found himself lying on\nthe ground outside the rath, where he had sat down to rest the night\nbefore. The first thing he thought was that it was a dream that he had\nhad, but he never had felt so well and so strong in his life as he did\nthat minute. So he put his hand behind him, and there was no hump\nthere. And, what was more, he had on a new suit of clothes that the\nGood People had given him. Then he went home and told his neighbors\nwhat had happened to him, and they could scarcely believe it. But\neveryone knew that there were Good People in that rath, and there was\nhimself, too, the same boy as before, only without the hump, and so,\nat long last, they had to believe the whole story.\n\n\"Well, the news of Lusmore's wonderful cure was told all through the\ncountry, and at last it came to a place a long way off, where there\nwas another boy lived that had a hump on his back. And a different\nsort of boy he was from Lusmore. His temper was as bad as his body. He\nwas ill-natured and spiteful and lazy, and he would always rather be\nmaking trouble than saving it. So when his mother heard the way\nLusmore had had the hump taken off him, she thought maybe her boy\ncould get rid of his own in the same way.\n\n\"With that she set off with the boy and a neighbor of hers, and they\ncame to where Lusmore lived, and asked him would he tell them all\nabout how it was that he had the hump taken off him. And he went over\nit all with them and told them everything that he did and everything\nthat happened to him. And in the end he went with them to show them\nthe very spot where he had sat down beside the rath, and there they\nleft the little hunchback, and told him to do everything just as\nLusmore had done it.\n\n\"He sat there listening for a long time and heard nothing, and so at\nlast he went to sleep, and then all at once he was awakened by hearing\nthe Good People singing in the rath. And they were singing much better\nnow than when Lusmore heard them first, for they had the song now as\nhe had improved it for them, and they were singing:\n\n    Da Luan, da Mort,\n    Da Luan, da Mort,\n    Da Luan, da Mort,\n       Augus da Cadine.\n\n\"And as soon as he heard it the little fellow, not waiting for time or\ntune, shouted out: 'Augus da Hena.' And if it was all put together\nright that would make it mean: 'Monday, Tuesday, Monday, Tuesday,\nMonday, Tuesday, and Wednesday too, and Thursday too.' Only he didn't\ntrouble to put it together right, but just bawled it out any way.\n\n\"Then the music stopped all at once, and he heard the people inside\nthe rath shouting: 'Who is spoiling our tune? Who is spoiling our\ntune?' and out they all came and caught him up and hurried him inside\nthe rath so that the breath nearly went out of his body. And one of\nthem shouted: 'What shall we do to him for spoiling our tune?' and\nanother said: 'Ask him what he wants us to do for him!' and another\nsaid: 'What do you want from us, anyway?'\n\n\"And he just found breath enough to say: 'I want the same that Lusmore\nhad,' meaning by that he wanted them to reward him the same way they\ndid Lusmore.\n\n\"But one of the Good People shouted: 'You'll get what Lusmore had,\nthen; it was a hump on the back that Lusmore had, and we took it off\nhim, but we don't want it and it's easy to give it to you. Be lively\nthere now, some of you, and hand that hump down here.'\n\n\"And then some of the Good People got Lusmore's hump, that was hanging\nup under the roof, and they clapped it on his back, on the top of his\nown, and then they threw him out of the rath. And there his mother\nfound him in the morning, more dead than alive and with a hump twice\nas big as before.\"\n\n\"A fine story that is, Mrs. O'Brien,\" Terence said, when the old woman\nhad finished. \"And why didn't the one of them get the same reward as\nthe other? Sure he did the same as the other in lengthening the song\nfor the fairies, didn't he?\"\n\n\"He did the same in a way,\" Mrs. O'Brien answered, \"but not for the\nsame reason. Lusmore helped them with the song because he thought they\nmight be the better for his help, and that was all the reason. And he\ndid it in a way that wouldn't disturb them. But the other did it only\nto help himself, because he thought that he'ld get a great reward for\nit, and he had no real wish to do them any kindness. Don't you see the\ndifference between the two of them?\"\n\n\"Stuff!\" said Terence.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: ]\n\nVIII\n\nTHE STARS IN THE WATER\n\n\nThis is to be another sort of chapter altogether. I am going to tell\nyou now what happened. The eighteen years are gone now and we have\ncome to the time when there is something to tell.\n\nWhen those eighteen years began, you know, Kathleen and Terence were\nnot much more than born. So, if you have got as far as addition and\ncan add eighteen to nothing and find that it makes eighteen, you will\nsee that by this time they were about eighteen years old. John O'Brien\nand his mother and Kathleen did not live on the east side of Central\nPark any more. John had got on better and better with the work that he\nwas doing. After a while, instead of having to do work of common kinds\nany more, he had been put in charge of other men who were doing it.\nAfter another while he learned so much about the work and how it was\ndone and how it ought to be done, that he was made one of the partners\nin the company that did it. So he got a good deal more money and he\nwas able to take his mother and Kathleen out of the little tenement\nwhere she was born, and to live in a better place. Then he had a house\nof his own, over on the west side of the Park, and it was there that\nKathleen lived when she was eighteen years old.\n\nPeter had not got along so well. John himself employed him, but Peter\nknew enough to go only just so far, and there he stuck. He lived in a\nlittle better place than he did at first, but he could never make his\nway like John. And then Terence, as he grew up, made a good deal of\ntrouble. He never would learn anything useful and he never would do\nanything useful. He never helped his father at all, and always his\nfather had to help him. If there was any fight or any accident or\nanything troublesome or wrong within a mile, Terence was always in the\nmidst of it. He was constantly getting his head and his ribs broken,\nand Peter was always having to pay for other people's things that he\nhad broken, from their heads to their windows.\n\nEllen's excuse for him, that he was never well and had never been\nquite himself since he was born, was pretty well worn out. For,\npeople said, he had always been exactly the same ever since he was\nborn, and if that same was not himself, who was it? But Ellen kept\nsaying it none the less. Many a time Mrs. O'Brien tried to make her\nbelieve that the boy was a changeling, and not her child at all, and\nmany a time she begged Ellen to let her only try a charm to see if he\nwas, but Ellen never would hear of it. She always said what she had\nsaid at first, that nobody knew him but her. She saw him better when\nshe dreamed about him, for then she saw him as he really was, without\nall the harm that had been done to him by all the sickness that had\nbeen on him one time and another.\n\nYou might suppose that anybody who could play the fiddle as well as\nTerence need not have any trouble in making his own living. He might\nhave found a place in a theatre, like the man whose fiddle he had\nplayed on first. He might have taught others to play. Or he might have\nplayed all by himself, and hundreds of people would have paid to hear\nhim. But he would play only when he chose, and he would never do\nanything useful with his fiddle. And everybody said he played so\nwonderfully--everybody except Kathleen.\n\nAnd this brings us back to Kathleen. Terence heard before he was many\nyears old something about the plan that Peter and John had made, that\nhe and Kathleen should be married when they grew up, if they both\nliked the plan. He seemed to forget all about this last part, \"if they\nboth liked the plan.\" He liked the plan himself and he seemed to think\nthat that was enough. He had talked about it to Kathleen many times,\nbefore they were both eighteen years old, and it troubled Kathleen so\nthat she tried never to see Terence when she could possibly help it.\nShe had always disliked him, though she had always tried not to show\nit; but as they got a little older and she found that there was no\nother way to keep away from him at all, she had to tell him so.\n\nBut do you suppose that made any difference with Terence? Well, it did\nmake a difference with him, but he did not let anybody see that it\ndid. When Kathleen told him for the first time that she did not like\nhim at all, he went away by himself. He went straight to the hill that\nis in the north end of the Park, and there he threw himself down on\nhis face on the grass. For hours he lay there, trembling and crying,\nand beating the ground with his feet and his fists. And it would take\nanother book as large as this to tell all that he was saying to\nhimself or to the grass, or to something under the grass--how can I\ntell? And you would not want to read the book. It is not likely that\nyou will ever see anybody in such a rage as he was in. But at the end\nof it he stood up and looked just as he usually did, and went straight\nto the O'Briens' and stayed all the evening and kept as near Kathleen\nas he could, and stared at her all the time. And he talked to her then\nand afterward, just as if she had told him that she liked him better\nthan anybody else that she knew.\n\nSo Kathleen had to go to her grandmother, as she always did when she\nwas in any trouble, and tell her all about it. And her grandmother\ntold her that she and Terence were both a good deal too young to think\nof anything of the sort, and that she would do all that she could to\nhelp her. But she could not do much. She told John about it, and he\nsaid that he should be sorry if the plan that he and Peter had made\ncould not be carried out, but he would forbid it himself, as long as\nTerence was so lazy and so worthless and so bad as he was now. When he\ngot a little older, he hoped that everything would be better, and\nthere was no hurry about anything.\n\nAnd though Terence made her so much trouble, Kathleen had many other\nthings to think about. She went to school and learned a great deal,\nand her grandmother taught her a great deal more. Her grandmother told\nher stories still, and, though she was nearly eighteen and felt that\nshe was getting so dreadfully old, she still liked stories. Then she\nhad a good many friends, and she spent much of her time with them. She\nvisited Ellen often, too, going to see her at times when she thought\nthat Terence would not be at home. Ellen and Peter still lived on the\neast side of the Park, and some of her friends lived there, too, so\nthat Kathleen often walked through the north end of the Park, near\nthat hill that I have told you about so many times before.\n\nKathleen was fond of this part of the Park, as everybody is who knows\nit. But especially she was fond of one little spot that nobody else\nseemed to notice much. So Kathleen got a feeling that this one place\nbelonged to her, and she was all the more fond of it because of that.\nIt was a tiny little basin of water, near the path, but up a grassy\nbank. On the side toward the path it was all open, but on the other\nside there were rocks, and out of a little cleft in the rocks ran a\nbit of a stream of water that fed the little basin. Then, around the\nrocks and over them there was more grass, and the hill rose at both\nsides and above. On the edge of the hill, right over the basin, was a\npine-tree, and around it were other trees. Their branches came\ntogether over the water and almost shut out the sky from it, but not\nquite.\n\nEvery time that Kathleen passed it, she went up the bank and looked\ninto the still water. She had a feeling that if she ever went by and\ndid not do this the water would miss her and would feel hurt. When she\ndid this by daylight and in summer, if she stood up and looked into\nthe water, she could see a patch of branches and green leaves and blue\nsky through them, about as big as the basin itself, and that was\nscarcely larger than a fair-sized tub. But if she stooped down close\nto the water and looked into it, she saw that there was a great deal\nof sky under it, below the trees, which grew upside down. There was\nalmost as much sky under the water as she could see above it, and she\nbelieved that there would prove to be quite as much if she could only\nget her head where she could see it.\n\nShe used to look in at night sometimes, too, and try to see if there\nwere any stars in that sky; but in the summer she never could see any,\nbecause the leaves on the trees were so thick that they almost hid the\nsky, and they seemed to be thicker and to hide the sky more by night\nthan they did by day. In the winter it was different. Then there were\nno leaves, but only branches and twigs, which covered the sky like\nlace work, and through these Kathleen sometimes thought that she could\nsee a star or two in the water, but she was seldom quite sure. Yet she\nnever passed the place without looking in it, to see the green leaves\nand the blue sky or the black leaves and the almost black sky, or the\nstars, if she could find any.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nOn a certain day--the last day of April it was--there was a good deal\nof excitement in the fairy palace under the hill. The reason of it was\nthat a new fairy had come to live there. Perhaps you never heard of a\nbaby fairy. I have read a good many stories about fairies that said\nnothing about any such thing. Now, you needn't try to be so bright\nabout it and say that of course there must be baby fairies, or there\ncould not be any grown-up fairies. That isn't so at all. Fairies are\nnot like men about growing old and dying and other fairies taking\ntheir places. I have heard of a fairy funeral, but I can't imagine how\nit happened, and I think that the story about it must have been a\nmistake. If you have read this book as far as here, you know that most\nfairies are thousands of years old, and you know, too--for Naggeneen\nhas told you--what is likely to become of them in the end. Still,\nthere is no sort of doubt that now and then a new fairy is born, and\nthere was one born on this day. He was the son of the King and the\nQueen, and you can guess well enough that a fairy prince is a person\nof some consequence.\n\n\"What will we do at all for a nurse for the baby?\" said the Queen.\n\n\"What will we do at all?\" said the King.\n\n\"It never would do for me to have the care of him at the first,\" said\nthe Queen.\n\n\"Never a bit,\" said the King; \"it would ruin him.\"\n\n\"How would it ruin him?\" said the Queen.\n\n\"Never a know I know, no more nor you,\" said the King, \"but you know\nas well as I it would ruin him.\"\n\n\"Why can't I care for my own child?\" said the Queen, \"the same as a\nhuman mother does?\"\n\n\"I dunno,\" said the King, \"only we know you can't. We've never dared\ntry, to see what would happen. He must have a human nurse. Maybe it's\nsomething to do with them things Naggeneen was always talking about\nour having no souls--\"\n\n\"Don't be talking about Naggeneen,\" said the Queen, \"and me not well\nat all.\" Then she was silent for a little while and then she went on\ntalking about Naggeneen herself. \"Are you sorry he left us?\"\n\n\"Who?\" said the King.\n\n\"Naggeneen,\" said the Queen.\n\n\"I'm not sorry,\" said the King. \"We've more peace without him. Though\nhe was clever and he often told us the right thing to do and he might\ntell us the right thing to do now.\"\n\n\"Did he tell us the right thing to do when he told us to bring Terence\nhere to learn the ways of men and to teach them to us?\"\n\n\"Sure Terence is a good boy,\" said the King, \"and he plays the fiddle\nas well as Naggeneen himself, so we don't miss Naggeneen for the only\nthing that he was good for. And Terence is easier to have about other\nways.\"\n\n\"But has he ever learned the ways of men and taught them to us?\" the\nQueen asked.\n\nThe King was getting annoyed. \"He has learned them, I think,\" he said,\n\"but he has never taught them to us. And you know Naggeneen himself\nsaid the plan would be no use.\"\n\n\"He did,\" said the Queen; \"only you would try it. And just so all this\ntalk is no use. What will we do for a nurse for the baby?\"\n\n\"We'll find one some way,\" the King answered. \"Was you thinking of\nanyone in particular?\"\n\n\"I was not thinking of anyone in particular.\"\n\n\"How would Kathleen O'Brien do, do you think?\" the King asked.\n\n\"I don't want to be troubling the O'Briens,\" the Queen said, \"and they\nalways so kind to us.\"\n\n\"It would not be troubling them much; we'ld only keep her a little\nwhile and they'ld hardly miss her.\"\n\n\"If she was once here,\" said the Queen, \"some one of your men would\nwant to keep her, and it would break the heart of her grandmother. So\nit would her father's, too, but I'm not thinking so much of him.\"\n\n\"We'll not keep her,\" said the King, \"only as long as the child needs\nher.\"\n\n\"You say that now,\" said the Queen; \"it would be different if she was\nonce here--I'ld like to have her as well as anyone I know.\"\n\n\"We could find no one else so good,\" said the King. \"It's May Eve, you\nmind. There's no time when we have more power, and few when we have so\nmuch. We'll all be dancing to-night, and Kathleen often passes along\njust about dark. It's likely we could get her to dance with us, and\nthen we'ld be sure enough of her. If that fails, there's other ways.\nOur power lasts till sunrise.\"\n\n\"And you think we'ld not be keeping her long?\" said the Queen.\n\n\"We'ld have her home almost before she was missed,\" the King answered.\n\n\"I wouldn't mind if you tried,\" said the Queen.\n\nKathleen had been to visit Ellen. She was on her way home through the\nPark, and she had meant to get there before dark, but it was a little\nlater than she had thought, and she saw the red in the sky before her\ngetting darker and duller every minute. As she walked along she saw\ntwo other girls of about her own age, whom she knew, in front of her.\nShe overtook them and the three walked on together, though the others\ncould scarcely keep up, Kathleen hurried so.\n\nWhen they were nearly through the Park they came to the little basin\nwhere the water ran down out of the rock. Though she wanted to get\nhome so quickly, she could not pass this place without going up the\nbank and looking into the water, because she felt so sure that if she\ndid not the water would miss her and feel hurt. She ran up the bank\nand looked into the still little pool. The other girls went on, and\nshe heard one of them call after her: \"Thought you were in a hurry!\"\n\nKathleen did not mind them, but only looked into the water, which was\nalmost black, it was getting so dark all around. She had not seen the\nwater look so dark in a long time. She looked up over her head and she\nsaw that it was because the little new leaves had begun to come out on\nthe trees and were beginning to hide the sky. She saw one or two of\nthe brightest stars, that had already come out in the sky, and she\nlooked back into the water and tried to see them there, but she could\nnot find them. There was nothing but the little, still, black pool.\n\nShe went back to the path and ran on after the other girls. She saw\nthem walking on slowly, only a little way ahead of her. Just as she\nhad nearly come up with them she stood still to look at a wonderful\nsight. She just thought dimly that it was strange that the other girls\nwere not watching it, too, but the sight itself excited her so that\nshe had not much time to think of that. On the grass, close beside the\npath, there were ever so many boys and girls--at least she thought at\nfirst that they were boys and girls--dancing. The grass in that place\nsloped upward from the path, and the ground was a little hollowed, in\na sort of shell shape. All around the place, except where the path\nwas, trees and bushes hung over the grass. The buds were just opening\nhere, too, and the air was full of the smell of the new spring grass\nand leaves, which always grows stronger in the evening.\n\nKathleen stood gazing at the boys and girls dancing. There were so\nmany of them that she could not count them. She thought that they\nseemed to be a little younger and smaller than herself. The boys all\nwore green jackets and red caps. When she looked at them more closely\nshe could not tell whether they were boys at all or not. They looked\nmore like old men. And she could scarcely believe that either, because\nthey danced so fast and seemed so lively. Her father could not dance\nlike that, she was sure, and he was not an old man.\n\nBut she had no doubt that the girls were girls. Usually she could not\ntell a pretty girl from an ugly one, any more than any other girl can,\nbut she knew that these were pretty. Anybody would. They had long,\ngolden hair that hung all loose and free and came down to their knees,\nwhen the little wind did not blow it away in some other direction.\nThey had deep, soft eyes. They were dressed in long, white gowns, so\nwhite that they shone, now like a sheet of pale light and now with a\nhundred little sparkles, as the water of the sea does sometimes, when\nit is broken into foam by the prow of a ship. All the men carried\nlanterns and all the girls had something that looked like long\nflower-stems, only there were tiny lights on the ends of them, instead\nof flowers. These and the lanterns did not seem to trouble them at all\nin dancing, and if Kathleen had seen the lights and had not seen the\ndancers, she would have thought that they were a swarm of fireflies.\n\nShe had scarcely stood there for a minute before one of the men came\nup to her and asked her to dance with him. Kathleen's first thought\nwas that she ought to be afraid, and her second thought was that she\nwas not afraid a bit. She liked dancing and she had just been wishing\nthat she could dance with these boys and girls. Then she wondered if\nit was quite right. Then she could not see what there could be wrong\nabout it. Then she let the little man take her hand and she stepped\noff the path upon the grass and began to dance. She heard the other\ngirls calling to her again, farther up the path. She called back to\nthem: \"I am coming in a minute! Wait for me!\" And then she went on\ndancing.\n\nWhen she had been only looking on, the dancing had seemed to Kathleen\nto be quite wonderful, but now she found that she could do it all\nnearly as well as the little boys and girls. She thought that it might\nbe because the little old man was a better partner for dancing than\nshe had ever had before. They danced around by themselves, moving in\nand out among the others, no matter how close together they were, and\nalways finding their way, now in the midst of the whole company and\nnow out beyond the very edge of it, and then suddenly all the dancers\nwould join hands and whirl about in a great circle, so fast that\nKathleen could not tell whether her feet were touching the ground at\nall.\n\nIt seemed to her that she had never done anything so delightful\nbefore. She did not think of going on with the other girls any more.\nShe did not think of getting home early, or of anything but the\ndancing. She could not tell at all how long she had been dancing, but\nit was all dark, except for the little lanterns and the little lights\non the flower-stems, and the stars were all out in the sky. And then\nsomebody said: \"It is time to go.\"\n\nThe man who had been dancing with Kathleen whispered to her: \"You are\nto go with us.\"\n\nAnd Kathleen thought of nothing but of going with the queer little old\nmen and the beautiful little girls. They all left the shell-shaped\ngrass-plot and moved along together--Kathleen could scarcely tell even\nnow whether her feet were on the ground or not--over the grass, till\nthey came to a little pool of water--Kathleen's own little pool.\n\nShe looked down into it, and there was no doubt about the stars now.\nThere were hundreds of them down under the water, shining up through\nit from as far below, it seemed, as the stars in the sky were up\nabove. The dancers who came to it first stepped on the surface of the\npool, and it bore them up as if it had been a floor of glass. Then\nKathleen saw that the rocks behind the pool were not as she had ever\nseen them before. There was an opening straight into the hill, and\nwhen she came nearer still she saw that the water was no longer a\nlittle pool. It was more like a long, narrow lake, and it covered the\nbottom of the opening that led into the hill. All the people were\ngoing in, walking along the path of water as easily as if it had been\na path of ice.\n\nAgain it seemed to Kathleen that she ought to be afraid, and again it\nseemed to her, still more clearly, that she was not afraid. When she\ncame to the water she put her foot upon it and walked along it as\neasily as the others were doing. She thought that she would remember\nthat this water could be walked on, and would try it the next day. She\nhad never thought of trying it before.\n\nBut now she and the others were moving along the path into the hill.\nIt was still dark, except for the lights that they carried and the\nstars that shone up through the water. And these were not the\nreflection of any stars in the sky, for there was no sky to be seen\nover them now--only rocks. Then there was a pale violet light shining\non the walls of the passage ahead of them. Then, as Kathleen looked\ndown at the water again, to see if she were really walking on it, she\nsaw that there were no more stars, but the water was of a faint,\nshining yellow, and in a moment she was not walking on water any more,\nbut on a floor, that seemed to her to be all of gold.\n\nShe could do nothing now but stand still and look around at the\nwonderful sight. All around her were walls of silver, so bright that\nthey reflected everything in the great hall, and she could not tell at\nall how large it was. But she made out that in the middle was a great\ndome, held up by the most wonderful gleaming columns of gold and\nsilver, first a column of gold and then a column of silver, and these\nshe saw again and again in the walls all about. She could not see the\ntop of the dome from where she stood, it was so high, but all around\nthe sides of it she saw great diamonds and rubies and emeralds, some\nof them as big as her head, that poured down soft white and red and\ngreen lights, and these she saw, too, shining up, a little dimmer,\nfrom the gold of the floor, which was almost as good a mirror as the\nwalls.\n\nThe sides of the dome, in which the jewels were set, were all of bands\nand lines and ribbons of gold and silver, wonderfully woven together\ninto shapes and patterns which she could not follow or trace out with\nher eyes, because they seemed to be always slowly moving--turning and\ntwisting and winding and wreathing about, never for a moment the same,\nbut always new and always beautiful. And when this was reflected in\nthe golden floor it was like the wavering shapes in water that is\nalmost still, but yet has little waves that dance and break up every\nreflection that is seen in it.\n\nAnd still, although she saw no lamps except the great white and red\nand green gems, there came from somewhere--perhaps from the top of the\ndome, she thought--that violet light that she had seen first on the\nwalls of the passage, and it filled the whole hall, like the glow of a\nglorious sunset that never faded. And all this was inside a hill that\nKathleen had known all the years of her life, and she had never seen\nanything wonderful about it.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWhile Kathleen is wondering at the fairy palace I will explain to you\nthe subject which you have been wondering about. If you only knew more\nwe could get on with the story so much faster. It is most annoying.\nAnd you have been brought up so well too! I don't see that it is\nanybody's fault but your own. You have been wondering all along how it\nwas that the fairies seemed to Kathleen to be, as I said, only a\nlittle smaller than herself, when you have always heard that fairies\nwere so very little.\n\nWell, to think of your not understanding that! I am bound to say that\nwhen I was of your age I was just as ignorant about it as you are now,\nbut then, children now have a good many more advantages than they had\nin my day. Considering how few advantages we had, it is a great credit\nto people of my age that we know anything at all, and, considering how\nmany of them you have, it is a disgrace to you that you do not know\neverything.\n\nWhen I was a child I used to read about fairies, and the book would\nsay that they were six inches tall, or that they were about as big as\na man's thumb, or it would tell about their sitting in flowers. And\nthen I would look at the pictures and they would appear to be as high\nas a man's knees, or even higher. And I could not understand it. But I\nmade up my mind to find out about it. That is what you must do, when\nthere is anything that you don't understand. There are very few things\nthat you can't do, if you make up your mind to them, except things\nthat are too hard for you. I hate to have morals getting into a story\nas much as you do, but that is such a good one that it might as well\ngo in.\n\nNow I will tell you. Fairies can be of any size they like, and you\nnever can tell what size they are going to be, from one minute to\nanother. They can be giants, if they like. And as soon as they had\nKathleen with them they could make her of any size they liked too. So\nas long as she was among them they could keep her and themselves just\nthe same size, or as near to it as they liked.\n\nBut when fairies are not taking the trouble to be of any particular\nsize--when they are letting themselves alone, as you might say--then\nthey are about six inches tall. And I think that is a very good size\nto be. It would be better if you were of that size. You wouldn't eat\nso much and you wouldn't be so much in the way, and you would be much\nbetter-looking. Just think: if your face were only three-quarters of\nan inch long, all those features of it that are so disagreeable\nwouldn't show so plainly. You might even look rather pretty. You\nwouldn't need to be so, but you might look so.\n\nAnd it would be so much easier to know where you were, if you were of\nthat size, that it would save your mother a good deal of trouble. All\nshe would have to do would be to put you on the mantelpiece, and then\nyou could not get off without breaking your necks--and that would be\nsuch an advantage. I don't mean that it would be an advantage to break\nyour necks, because then who would read this book, and why should I\ntake all this trouble to write it? I mean, it would be an advantage\nthat you could not get off. Well, now you see how much better off you\nwould be if you were only six inches tall, and now you understand\nabout the fairies.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWhile Kathleen was still wondering at the place that she was in, a man\nwhom she had not seen before came up to her. He wore a crown, and she\nguessed at once that he was some sort of king. It did not surprise her\nto see a man with a crown. A man with a church steeple on his head\nwould not have surprised her, by this time. \"Come with me,\" he said;\n\"you're wanted at once.\"\n\nKathleen followed him to the opposite side of the hall and through a\ndoor, into another room. It was much smaller than the hall, but it was\njust as beautiful, in its own way. There was a woman in this\nroom--another of the beautiful girls, Kathleen would have said--lying\non a gold couch. Her hair was hanging down over the pillow on which\nher head lay, so that Kathleen could scarcely tell which was the hair\nand which was the gold of the couch. There was a crown lying on a\nlittle table beside her, and so Kathleen guessed that she was the\nQueen. \"Kathleen,\" said the Queen, \"do you know why they have brought\nyou here?\"\n\n\"No, Your Majesty,\" said Kathleen. She was not a bit frightened, any\nmore than she had been all along, and she knew that that was the way\nto speak to a queen, just as well as if she had never spoken to\nanybody else in her life.\n\n\"They brought you here, then,\" said the Queen, \"to take care of my\nbaby; but he'll not need you long, and then you can be going back\nhome.\"\n\n\"I'm afraid,\" Kathleen said, \"that I don't know how to take care of a\nbaby very well. I might do something wrong with it. You see my mother\ndied when I was born, and so I was the only baby that there ever was\nat our house, and I have hardly ever had anything to do with a real\nlive baby.\"\n\n\"You've had something to do with them that was not alive, haven't\nyou?\" the Queen asked.\n\nKathleen smiled a little at that. \"There were fifteen of them, I\nthink,\" she said.\n\n\"Well, you'll be having no more trouble with this one,\" the Queen\nsaid, \"than with any of those fifteen. Only do as you're told. I can't\ntake care of it myself, because it's the law that it must have a nurse\nthat's a mort--I mean it must have a nurse from outside this place.\nThere's the baby in the cradle there. Try can you make him go to\nsleep.\"\n\nKathleen went to the cradle and looked at the baby. It was wide awake\nand it stared at her like a little owl. Except for that, it looked\nlike any other baby. The way that the baby stared at her came nearer\nto making Kathleen afraid than anything that she had seen yet. But she\ntook him out of the cradle, sat down on a low seat that she found,\nbegan to rock him gently, and sang an old song that her grandmother\nused to sing to her and that she had sung to her own fifteen babies\nmany a time.\n\nIt was scarcely an instant before the baby was asleep. She put him\nback into the cradle and then turned to the Queen and said: \"Shall I\ndo anything more?\"\n\n\"Not now,\" said the King; \"come now and have something to eat and\ndrink with us.\"\n\nThe Queen started at this and cried: \"No, no!\" but Kathleen did not\nknow what she meant. She knew that she was very hungry, and she\nfollowed the King out of the room, back into the hall. Tables had been\nbrought into the hall now, and they were all covered with things to\neat that looked very good, and the men and women were sitting at the\ntables, eating and drinking and talking and laughing. They all stood\nup as the King came in, and waited till he had taken his place at the\nhead of the table, and then they all sat down again, and the eating\nand drinking and talking and laughing went on.\n\nOne of the men led Kathleen to a seat and put something to eat and\ndrink before her. She did not know what it was, but it looked good.\nShe was just going to taste it, when somebody touched her on the\nshoulder and somebody said: \"Don't eat that; don't taste a bit of it.\"\n\nShe looked around and saw a boy--perhaps she would have said a young\nman--standing behind her. He was very different from all the other\nmen. He did not look old, as they did. She thought that he was of\nabout her own age, and he was taller than she, while all the others\nwere shorter. \"Don't eat anything or drink anything that they give\nyou,\" he said again. \"I will give you something to eat.\"\n\nHe sat down beside her and put a little package on the table before\nthem. He opened it and took out some bread and meat, some\nstrawberries, a little flask full of cream, and a larger one full of\nwater. He gave Kathleen a part of all these and kept a part for\nhimself. \"I am not sure,\" Kathleen said, \"that I ought to let you talk\nto me, because, you see, I don't know who you are.\"\n\nShe had let several people talk to her that evening, without knowing\nwho they were, but this boy seemed to be somehow altogether different.\n\n\"My name is Terence,\" he said. \"Now I know you are going to ask\n'Terence what?' It's Terence nothing; I have no name at all except\nTerence.\"\n\n\"I know a boy named Terence,\" Kathleen said, \"and I don't like him a\nbit.\"\n\n\"I hope that won't make any difference about your liking me,\" said the\nboy.\n\n\"Oh, not at all,\" said Kathleen. \"It isn't his name that I don't like;\nit's himself. He is only just as old as I am, and he looks--\" Kathleen\nstopped, surprised at herself, for she had not thought of it before.\n\"He looks a little like these men here, who all seem to be so old;\nand, besides, he isn't nice at all.\"\n\n\"Then let's not talk about him,\" said the boy. \"Will you tell me what\nyour name is?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes; didn't I tell you? My name is Kathleen O'Brien.\"\n\n\"And must I call you Kathleen or Miss O'Brien? You see you will have\nto call me by my first name, because it is the only one I have, and so\nI think you ought to let me call you by your first name.\"\n\n\"But if you have only one name,\" Kathleen said, \"it is your last name\njust as much as it is your first, so perhaps you ought to call me by\nmy last one.\"\n\n\"Oh, no,\" Terence answered; \"you see my name ought to be a first name,\nonly I haven't any last one, so I think I ought to call you by your\nfirst one.\"\n\nKathleen did not say that he might, but he afterward did. She thought\nthat it would be better to change the subject. \"It's just as if we\nwere at a picnic and had brought our own luncheon, isn't it?\" she\nsaid. \"And all these other people are eating just as if they were at\nhome. Why don't we do the same way they do?\"\n\n\"Because,\" Terence said, \"we are not like them. We mustn't talk about\nit aloud. You see they are the Good People, and we are not. I don't\nknow what I am at all, but you are like the people outside. I knew\nthat as soon as I saw you, and I saw that they were going to let you\neat their food. I almost wish I had let you do it now--no, I don't\nwish so, either. It would be mean to let you, and I don't want you to,\nanyway. You did come from outside, didn't you? Well, then, you must\nnot eat or drink the least bit of anything while you are here, except\nwhat I bring you. All that I bring you is from outside. If you eat a\ncrumb or drink a drop of anything that they have here, you can never\nget out again.\"\n\n\"But they all get out,\" said Kathleen. \"They were all outside when I\nsaw them first.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes,\" Terence answered, \"they are different. They can go out and\ncome in whenever they like; but if anybody from outside eats anything\nhere, he can never go out again. It is that way with me, too, for I am\ndifferent from the Good People, though I don't know whether I came\nfrom outside or not.\"\n\n\"You don't know whether you came from outside or not?\"\n\n\"No. I came here when I was a little baby. I have often asked them how\nI came here, but they never would tell me. I have lived here ever\nsince I can remember. Have you a father and a mother?\"\n\n\"My mother is dead,\" Kathleen answered; \"I have a father.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Terence, as if he were trying to work out a puzzle.\n\"Nearly all the people outside seem to have fathers and mothers. I\nnever had either. I have always lived here, but nobody here is my\nfather or my mother, and I don't know how I came here. I have been\nhere so long, and yet it seems so strange to me. This is my only home,\nand yet I never feel at home in it. I always feel as if I belonged\nsomewhere else. I see the people outside and I feel as if I belonged\nwith them more than here, yet I have never been outside this place one\nsingle night.\"\n\n\"You go out often in the daytime, then?\" Kathleen asked.\n\n\"Oh, yes; I go out every day, almost, and I go to school. Have you\nbeen to school?\"\n\n\"Why, of course,\" Kathleen answered; \"doesn't everybody have to go to\nschool?\"\n\n\"These people here never go to school,\" Terence said. \"I am the only\none who goes, and then I have to try to teach them what I have\nlearned. Do you go home from school and try to teach your father what\nyou have learned?\"\n\n\"Why, no, indeed,\" said Kathleen; \"what a funny idea!\"\n\n\"Sometimes it seems funny to me too,\" Terence said, \"but you see I\ncan't tell whether it is funny or not, because I know so little about\nthe people outside. I don't like to ask them, because they would think\nit was so strange that I didn't know; but it is different with you.\nYou have come in here, and I can ask you things that I wouldn't ask of\npeople outside.\"\n\n\"If they want to know things,\" said Kathleen, \"why don't they go to\nschool themselves?\"\n\n\"I don't know that, either,\" said Terence, \"but they seem to expect me\nto go to school for all of them. I think that is what I am here for.\nBefore I was old enough to go to school at all they used to bring me\nthings to eat from outside, because, you know, if I ate anything of\ntheirs I never could go out. Then as soon as I was old enough to go to\nschool, they sent me, and I came back every night, and they gave me\nmoney to buy all my own food outside, and I have done that ever since,\nand I have never eaten a bit of the Good People's food.\"\n\n\"And don't you like to stay here?\" Kathleen asked. \"It seems to me a\nvery beautiful place.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Terence; \"they are very kind to me, but I think that I\nshould like to live outside better, and I hope that I shall some time.\nAnd then, you see, if I ate anything here I could not go out to go to\nschool, and so I could not teach them. And it is all so strange. It\nalmost makes me cry, it is such a bother sometimes, and then they are\nso sorry about it themselves and I am so sorry for them, and it almost\nmakes me laugh sometimes, because they can never learn anything. You\nwill see. I think it is time now.\"\n\nSome of the men were taking away the tables. \"It is time for the\nlesson,\" the King called out. Some of the other men brought in a big\nblackboard and set it up. Everybody stopped talking and laughing and\nstood near the blackboard. Terence made some lines and some letters on\nthe board, with a piece of chalk.\n\n\"I shall have to try again,\" said Terence, \"to prove to you the same\nthing that I tried to prove to you last night. But I'll try a\ndifferent way, and maybe you'll see it better. Now mind, what I am to\nprove is this: if any triangle has two sides equal, the angles\nopposite those sides are also equal.\"\n\n\"And what difference does it make if they're equal or not?\" said one\nof the men who stood near Kathleen.\n\n\"Be still there,\" the King said; \"do we want to make telephones or do\nwe not? And sure we can't make telephones without geometry. Hasn't\nTerence told you that?\"\n\nTerence went on: \"Let ABC be any triangle in which the sides AB and AC\nare equal.\"\n\n\"How can it be any triangle, when it's only one triangle?\" said\nanother of the men.\n\n\"Keep your silly head shut,\" said the King. \"Terence didn't say it was\nany triangle; he said let it be. Now will you let that triangle be, or\nwill I come over there and make you let it be?\"\n\nThe man said nothing more and Terence went on: \"Now, consider this\ntriangle as two triangles, BAC and CAB.\"\n\n\"How can it be two triangles,\" another of the men said, \"when it's\nonly one triangle?\"\n\n\"Will you be still there?\" the King said. \"Terence doesn't say it's\ntwo triangles; he says you're to consider it. Will you consider that\ntriangle two triangles, or will I come over there and make you\nconsider it two triangles?\"\n\n\"I'll consider it seven triangles, if you like, Your Majesty,\" the\nman answered, \"but I dunno what good it'll do me.\"\n\n\"Then consider it,\" said the King, \"and don't talk about it. Go on,\nTerence.\"\n\n\"Now, you see that since the sides AB and AC in each triangle are\nequal, AB and AC in the first are respectively equal to AC and AB in\nthe second, and the angles between these sides are equal. So the two\ntriangles are equal, by previous proposition. And so the angles of one\nare equal to the angles of the other, where they are opposite the\nequal sides; that is, the angle ABC is equal to the angle ACB, being\nopposite the equal sides AC and AB, by the same previous proposition,\nand that is what I was to prove.\"\n\nThe King looked at the men with triumph in his eye. \"There, you\nblackguards,\" he said, \"do you understand it at all, now that Terence\nhas made it clear to you?\"\n\nOne by one the men and women began slowly to shake their heads. Not\none of them understood it. \"Well, Terence,\" said the King, shaking his\nown head, \"I dunno how it is; nobody could be asking you to make it\nany clearer than you have, and yet I'm obliged to say there's never a\nbit of it I understand myself. Maybe to-morrow night you'll be able to\nmake us see it clearer.\"\n\nTerence had come back to where Kathleen was. \"Isn't it funny,\" he\nsaid, \"and yet isn't it a pity? I try to teach them as well as I can,\nbut they never can understand at all.\"\n\n\"And do you mean to say,\" said Kathleen, \"that you haven't got any\nfarther in geometry than that? Why, that's only the fifth proposition\nof the first book.\"\n\n\"Of course I've got farther than that,\" Terence answered, \"but they\nhaven't, and they never will. I have been trying to teach them that\nproposition--oh, I don't know how long--and they never will learn it\nin the world. They want to learn to build railways and bridges and all\nsorts of things, but how can anybody even get ready to build a railway\nor a bridge till he's got over this bridge and the rest of the\ngeometry? I don't know whether I can ever learn it all myself, but I'm\ngoing to the School of Engineering up at the University, next spring,\nto learn chemistry, and qualitative analysis, and calculus, and\nanalytical mechanics, and graphical statics, and metallurgy, and\nthermodynamics, and hydraulics, and a lot of other things. But these\npeople here will still be at work on this same triangle years after I\nam dead, if they have anybody to teach them.\"\n\n\"Now, Terence, my boy,\" said the King, \"there's one thing you can do\nfor us we can understand. Give us a tune out of the fiddle.\"\n\nKathleen was startled to hear this boy named Terence asked to play on\nthe fiddle, just as if he had been the other Terence whom she knew.\nShe wondered if he played like the other Terence. She scarcely dared\nwait to hear, and she felt as if she should like to run away, only she\ndid not know where to run.\n\nBut she did not think any more about running after Terence began to\nplay. This was different. And yet in one way it was the same. For the\nmusic that Terence was playing was just the music that the other\nTerence often played and just what most people liked to hear him play\nbest, though Kathleen had always liked it as little as anything else\nthat he did. She had never heard anyone else play it till now. And now\nit was so different. She could scarcely tell the difference, and yet\nshe could feel it in every clear note that Terence drew out with his\nbow.\n\nWhen she was a little girl, almost as long ago as she could remember,\nshe used to say, when the other Terence played this very music, that\nit did not mean anything. But now it meant something. Meant something!\nIt meant--everything, Kathleen thought, and yet she could not tell at\nall what it meant. It was not happiness that it meant, and it was not\nsorrow; it was not merry, and it was not grave. Sometimes it was light\nand gentle and sweet, and flowed along as if it were a little\nfountain of music, bubbling and bubbling out of a hidden place; then\nit would be slower, but fine and firm, and full and free and true. It\nseemed to Kathleen to mean so much, and yet she could not tell what,\nexcept that there was something like a deep longing that went all\nthrough it.\n\nAnd that made her think of the other Terence's music again, for she\nremembered now, though she had never thought of it before, that there\nwas a longing in his music too. Perhaps she had done wrong, she\nthought, to say that it did not mean anything. Still, this was so\ndifferent. If the other Terence's fiddle had ever seemed to be longing\nfor anything, it had seemed to be hopeless, and the fiddle always\nseemed to be bitterly laughing at those who were listening to it and\nthinking that it was so fine. She had never thought of anything like\nthis before, but it seemed clear to her now, listening to the same\nmusic played so differently. For now, below all the longing and\nsounding through it, there were strength and hope and life and faith\nin something good.\n\nI do not say that Kathleen thought all this out while she was\nlistening. She only felt the most of it. But she felt it so much that\nshe scarcely knew what she was doing, and she moved by little and\nlittle toward Terence, till she was nearer to him than anybody else,\nand looked at him as if he were something more wonderful than she had\never seen before, till she found that she could not look at him,\nbecause her eyes were wet. And then the music stopped.\n\nThen said the King: \"I said that was something that we could\nunderstand, Terence, but I dunno if it is. It's the wonderful player\nyou are all out, but I never heard you play like that before, and I\nthink there's something in it that's more than I can find out. That's\nenough of it for to-night.\"\n\nTerence had already come back to Kathleen. She could scarcely speak to\nhim even yet. \"Who taught you to play like that?\" she said.\n\n\"I don't quite know,\" he answered, \"whether anybody taught me. They\ntaught me to play here, and the music that I just played is their\nmusic, but I don't play it the way they do. I don't know why that is.\nJust as soon as they had taught me so that I could play at all, I\nbegan to play in my own way. Their music is sweet and bright and merry\nand sparkling, and sometimes it seems to be sad, but it never means\nanything.\"\n\nKathleen was startled again to hear Terence say the very words that\nshe had said so many times about the other Terence's music. \"But I\nnever played before in my life,\" Terence went on, \"the way I have\nbeen playing just now. I think it was because you were here. You\nunderstood, and so I thought of nothing but you all the time that I\nwas playing, and I think it made me play better. They never\nunderstand. They love music and they hate geometry, but they\nunderstand one just as well as the other.\"\n\nThe King came up to Kathleen and said: \"It is time for you to come and\nbe looking after the child again.\"\n\nKathleen went with him and he led her back into the room where the\nQueen was. \"Where is the box of ointment?\" the King said to the Queen.\n\n\"I have it here under my pillow,\" the Queen answered; \"come here and\nget it, Kathleen.\"\n\nThe Queen took something from under her pillow and held it so that\nKathleen had to come close to her to get it. \"Did you eat anything?\"\nthe Queen asked, as Kathleen bent over her.\n\nKathleen did not quite know whether she ought to answer or not, but\nthe Queen looked at her so kindly that she thought that there could be\nno harm, and she said: \"Only what Terence gave me.\"\n\n\"That was right,\" said the Queen, and then she went on, speaking\nlouder, so that the King could hear: \"Take this box of ointment. In\nthe morning, as soon as the baby is awake, take him out of the cradle\nand wash him, and then just touch his eyes with this ointment; but be\ncareful that you do not touch your own eyes with it.\"\n\nKathleen took the box, which seemed to be of solid gold, and looked at\nit. What was in it looked like a soft, green salve. She slipped it\ninto the pocket of her gown. \"How shall I know when it is morning?\"\nshe asked. It seemed to her that here under the hill there would not\nbe much difference between night and day.\n\n\"You'll know it's morning when the child wakes up,\" the Queen said;\n\"or when you wake up yourself, for that matter. You can go to bed now.\nThere's your bed, next to the cradle.\"\n\nThe King left them, and Kathleen, who was really very tired, lay down\non another gold couch, almost like the Queen's, that had been placed\nnear the cradle, and in a minute she was asleep.\n\nIt seemed scarcely another minute before she was awake again. She\nremembered that the Queen had said that when she awoke it would be\nmorning, and she looked to see if the baby was awake too. He was, and\nshe took him out of the cradle. Then she saw a large gold basin full\nof water. She washed the baby in it, and he stared at her all the\ntime, with big, owlish eyes. Then she took the box of ointment out of\nher pocket. She touched it with her finger and then touched each of\nthe baby's eyes with it. Instantly his eyes looked brighter and\ndeeper, and instead of staring at her stupidly, as they had done\nbefore, they seemed to look straight through her. Nothing had\nfrightened her at all, and now she was getting so that nothing\nstartled her. So she only laid the baby back in his cradle and put the\nbox of ointment into her pocket.\n\nIn a moment the King came in and said it was time for breakfast. He\nand the Queen went out into the hall together and Kathleen followed\nthem. As soon as she was in the hall she saw Terence. He was looking\nfor her and they sat down and ate breakfast together. Then Terence\nwent away.\n\nAll day, except when it was time for meals, Kathleen sat with the\nQueen or looked after the baby, though there was really nothing to do\nfor him. Whenever it was time for a meal they went out into the hall,\nand there Kathleen always found Terence, and she always ate with him,\nand ate only what he brought her.\n\nIn the evening the King came to her and said, \"Kathleen, it is time\nfor us to go and dance again; come with us.\"\n\nThen Terence took her by both hands and said, \"Don't go with them;\ndon't go; if you do, I am afraid that you will never come back.\"\n\n\"Of course I shall come back,\" she said; \"you have been very kind to\nme, and I would come back to see you again, if it was for nothing\nelse. And then I don't know whether I must do anything more for the\nbaby. And then--\" Kathleen stopped short as she thought. \"I ought not\nto come back--not to-night! I ought to go home! Oh, how anxious my\nfather and my grandmother must be about me! I have been here all night\nand all day, and they must think that I am dead. And I have not\nthought of them the whole time. I am wicked to have stayed here so\nlong.\"\n\n\"Then you will not come back,\" Terence said. \"You know why I brought\nyou all that you have had to eat and to drink. It was so that you\nmight leave this place. I might have let you eat their food, and then\nyou could never leave it, unless to go out with them and dance on\ntheir green and then come back again. I made it so that you could go,\nand now you will go and you will not come back.\"\n\n\"I will come back,\" Kathleen answered, \"but I must see my father and\nmy grandmother and tell them that I am safe. Perhaps I will come back\nto-morrow, if I can, but I will come back. I would come back just\nbecause you wanted to see me, you have been so good to me. It was very\ngood of you, if you wanted me to stay, to bring me the things to eat\nand drink, so that I could go if I liked.\"\n\n\"No, it was not good of me at all,\" Terence answered; \"I had no right\nto let them keep you here always, even if I wanted you to be here. But\nI hoped and I always hope that I shall leave this place some time\nmyself, and I did not want to have to leave you here. I would not have\nleft you here. Promise that you will come back.\"\n\n\"I will come back,\" Kathleen answered.\n\n\"Come along now,\" said the King, hurrying up to Kathleen again. \"It's\ntime we were dancing this minute.\"\n\nAll the little men and women were moving out of the hall and Kathleen\nwent with them. In an instant they were again in the passage that\nKathleen remembered. The floor was of gold, like the floor of the\nhall, and then she saw that she was walking on the water once more.\nThe yellow glow was under it still, but fainter than in the hall. The\nviolet light on the walls of the passage grew dimmer; she saw the\nlights that the men and women carried, shining ahead of her and all\naround her. Then she looked down at the water and saw the stars\nshining up through it, as if there were another sky far down under her\nfeet. And then--she felt the cool, fresh breath of the outside air,\nand it was delicious to her, and she was standing on her own little\npool, and deep down under it there were thousands of stars. She and\nall the others walked--or drifted, as it seemed to Kathleen--up the\nbank of sweet-smelling new grass, to the little hollowed place, with\nthe trees and the bushes growing around it and hanging over it, where\nKathleen had first seen the Good People. And then they began the\ndance.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: ]\n\nIX\n\nA YEAR AND A DAY\n\n\nWhen Kathleen did not come home at the time she was expected, her\nfather and her grandmother were not much surprised at first. She was\nin the habit of going where she pleased and of coming back when she\npleased. If she chose to be an hour or two late her father or her\ngrandmother might ask her why, or they might not think of it. So, on\nthat May Eve when she danced with the Good People, as it began to get\nlate and still she did not come, they had no doubt that she had\ndecided to make her visit at the Sullivans' a little longer than she\nhad intended. When it got later and still she did not come, her father\nsaid that he would walk over to the Sullivans' and come back with her.\nHe never thought of not finding her there. Even when he got there and\nEllen told him that Kathleen had gone away hours ago and had said that\nshe was going home, he did not think that any harm could have come to\nher.\n\n\"She met some of the girls that she knew and went with them, maybe,\"\nhe said, \"and she'll be home before me.\"\n\nBut when he got home again and found that she was not there, and when\nhe told his mother that she was not at the Sullivans', they both began\nto be a little worried. They told each other over and over that\nKathleen knew how to take care of herself and that no harm was likely\nto come to her, but they both doubted their own words. Late at night\nJohn went to the Sullivans' again, taking the way that he thought\nKathleen would be likely to take, and looking everywhere for her,\nthough he knew that to search for her in such a way as that was\nnonsense.\n\nThe Sullivans had all gone to bed when he got there, but Peter got up\nand walked back with him, by another way. They went to a police\nstation and asked if there had been any accident--if any girl had been\nhurt and taken to a hospital. There had been no accident that night.\nThey went home and waited again. At last John could wait no longer. He\nand Peter started out again and went different ways. They went to\nother police stations and asked if there had been accidents. There had\nbeen one or two, but nobody at all like Kathleen had had anything to\ndo with them. They went to hospitals and asked about all the new\npatients. There was not one of them that was at all like Kathleen.\n\nIt does not belong to the story to tell how they went on searching.\nAll the next day they searched. They tried every way that they knew,\nand every way that the police knew, and every way that anybody could\nthink of, to find her, and there was no trace. Late that day one of\nthe girls who had walked through the Park with Kathleen came to see\nher, not knowing that she was lost. Then she told where she had seen\nKathleen last. She told how Kathleen had dropped behind the others,\nthough she had said that she wanted to get home early, how they had\ncalled to her, how she had answered, and how they had gone on,\nthinking that she would soon follow.\n\nThen Mrs. O'Brien said to John: \"You do not need to search for her any\nlonger. She is with the Good People. I have seen that place often, and\nit always looked to me like a place where the Good People might be.\nLast night was May Eve. There is no time in the whole year when the\nGood People have more power, and especially to carry off young girls.\nThey have taken her with them. Some time she may come back, or some\ntime we may get her back, but it is of no use for you to search for\nher any more.\"\n\nBut John went on searching still. The next day and for many days he\nlooked for her and tried every means to find her, but she could not be\nfound. Again and again his mother told him that it was of no use, but\nstill he said: \"It might be some use, and I wouldn't be easy if I\ndidn't try.\"\n\nBy and by there came a time when even John did not think that there\nwas any use in trying longer. He read many papers, from many different\ncities, hoping always to find something about some unknown girl who\nhad been found, sick or hurt or helpless, somewhere, but he said\nlittle about her. He went on with his old work, and he and his mother\nwere alone and lonely in the house. Then John came to believe that\nKathleen was dead. He told his mother this and she answered: \"Kathleen\nis not dead.\"\n\n\"And how do you know that, mother?\" John said. \"You always say that\nthe Good People took her away, but that might be true, and still she\nmight be dead by now. And the Good People might not have taken her at\nall. How do you know?\"\n\n\"I don't know that the Good People took her,\" she answered, \"though I\nthink they did; but I am sure she is not dead.\"\n\n\"And how are you sure, mother?\"\n\n\"Kathleen could never die,\" Mrs. O'Brien said, \"without I'ld hear the\nbanshee.\"\n\n\"The banshee?\" said John. \"There's no banshee here. There's banshees\nonly in Ireland.\"\n\n\"Our banshee is here,\" his mother answered. \"I know she is here.\nYou've heard me tell of her. She's the sad, mourning woman of the Good\nPeople that weeps and wails about the house when anybody of the family\nis to die, anywhere in the world. It's true, as you say, that the\nbanshees mostly stay in Ireland, though they are heard to cry and moan\nfor those of the family who are to die in any part of the world. But\nsometimes the banshee leaves Ireland with the family that she belongs\nto, and so did ours. Wouldn't I know her voice? Didn't I hear her wail\nand scream before your father died, so many, many years ago? Oh, I'ld\nnever forget it. I'ld know her voice.\"\n\n\"Then why didn't you hear her,\" John asked \"before Kitty died, and why\ndidn't you know before that she was to die?\"\n\n\"I did hear the banshee that time,\" his mother answered, \"but I\ncouldn't tell that it was Kitty that was to die. It was the night\nbefore she died. I heard a little moan, that was more like the wind\nthan anything else, and then it grew louder, and it was a sob and a\nsoft wail. It did not grow very loud. Then I could hear that it was\nlike the keen that the women cry over the dead at home. I knew that it\nwas the banshee. No, I could not be wrong about her; I had heard her\nbefore. But I never thought of Kitty then. I thought: 'I'm an old\nwoman--an old woman--though I would never let them say so; and now my\ntime has come. I shall soon be with him again. If I could only see a\nchild of John's and Kitty's before I go, I'ld go gladly. If I could\nonly say to him: \"Before I came to you I held John's and Kitty's child\nin my arms,\" then I'ld go gladly.' That was what I said to myself that\ntime. But it was Kitty that the banshee meant. And now, though I felt\nthen the first time that I was an old woman, here I am still, and\nKitty is gone and the child is grown up to be a woman and she is lost.\nBut she is not dead, John; she is not dead. Kathleen couldn't die\nwithout I'ld hear the banshee.\"\n\nIt was not once only that John and his mother talked together in some\nsuch way as this. It was a dozen times at least, perhaps two dozen\ntimes, that she told him that, whatever had come to Kathleen, she was\nnot dead--that she could not be dead, because the banshee had not\nmoaned and cried about the house, as she was sure to do before any one\nof the O'Briens could die. And so John, seeing his mother careworn\nand anxious, but never so full of sorrow as himself, came to think\nthat he ought to bear it better, and not let her see him always so\ntroubled and so sad. Yet he could not believe all that his mother said\nquite as she believed it, and she had to tell him all of it again and\nagain, and she told him, too, that when the time came she meant to try\nto get Kathleen back from the Good People. And after a while John did\nnot think every time that he heard anybody at the door that it was\nKathleen at last, and all in the house went on as it had gone before,\nonly that Kathleen was not there. But that \"only\" was enough, and it\nwas a different house.\n\nThe dreadful spring was past; the horrible, dull, anxious summer was\ngone; the cruel, chilly autumn went by; the cold, dead, heartless\nwinter dragged through; another spring came, cheerless, hopeless,\nhelpless, like the last.\n\n\"Shaun,\" said Mrs. O'Brien, \"do you know when it was that Kathleen\nwent away?\"\n\n\"Could I ever forget?\" said John.\n\n\"When was it?\"\n\n\"It was May Eve.\"\n\n\"And what is to-day, John?\"\n\n\"It's the last day of April,\" John answered; \"it's a year this night\nshe's been away. Could I forget it? Don't I think of it all the\ntime?\"\n\n\"There's no time in the year,\" Mrs. O'Brien said, \"when the Good\nPeople have more power than on May Eve.\"\n\n\"Oh, mother,\" said John, \"don't talk to me of the Good People; I've\nheard too much of them. I don't care if there are any Good People or\nnot. I only know that Kathleen has been from us a year. When her\nmother died I could bear it, because I had Kathleen left, but now\nshe's gone, and how can I bear it?\"\n\n\"Listen to me, John,\" his mother went on. \"It's on May Eve, as I told\nyou, that the Good People have great power. It's then that they dance,\nand then they make young girls or young men that they want come and\ndance with them, and then they carry them off. But it's on May Eve,\ntoo, sometimes, that they can be got back by those who know what to\ndo. And so it's to-night that we must try to get Kathleen back. I\nwouldn't tell you till the time came, for fear you might hope too\nmuch. We may not find her, and then we may, and you must come with us,\nfor we don't know how much help we'll need.\"\n\n\"Who is it that I must come with?\" John asked.\n\n\"With me and with the girls that were with Kathleen that night and saw\nher last.\"\n\n\"How do we know that they can come?\" said John. \"It's late in the day\nnow and they may be away from home.\"\n\n\"I've taken care of all that,\" Mrs. O'Brien said; \"they'll be here in\na little while to go with us.\"\n\nIn a little while the girls came. Then they and Mrs. O'Brien and John\nwent together to the place where Kathleen had met the girls, on her\nway home from the Sullivans', a year ago. \"Was it about this time of\nthe day,\" Mrs. O'Brien asked, \"that you met Kathleen here a year ago\nto-night?\"\n\n\"It was,\" one of the girls said, \"about this time.\"\n\n\"Then you must take us,\" Mrs. O'Brien went on, \"just the way that you\nwent, and show us the very place where Kathleen stood, the last\ninstant that you saw her.\"\n\nThey all walked along through the Park, the girls leading the way.\n\"How can they find the very place again?\" said John. \"It's been a year\nsince then. It's likely they have forgot the spot. How could they\nremember it so long?\"\n\n\"John,\" said his mother, \"will you never trust me? Do you think that\nI've been waiting for them to forget all this time? The very evening\nafter Kathleen was lost they brought me here and then took me to the\nvery spot where they saw her last. They talked of it between\nthemselves and decided just where it was, and many a time since\nthey've been with me here, so that they could not forget it.\"\n\nIn a few minutes the girls stopped. \"This is the place where we saw\nher last,\" they said; \"just here. She stood here and seemed to be\nlooking at something there on the grass.\"\n\nMrs. O'Brien whispered: \"Stand still here, all of you, and do not\nspeak or stir unless I call to you; then do whatever I tell you, and\ndo it quickly.\"\n\nMrs. O'Brien drew out something which was hung about her neck, by a\nchain, under her gown. She held it before her in her hand. She stepped\nupon the grass and looked all around her. She went a few steps forward\nand looked around again. She went a little to the left, then a little\nmore to the right. And then, to those who were watching, it seemed as\nif she saw something, though they could see nothing but her. For she\nmade a few hurried steps and then put out her left hand, as if to take\nhold of something. Then they saw her raise her right hand, as if to\ntouch the something that she had taken hold of, with what she held in\nit. Still they could see nothing except her, but now she hurried\ntoward them, and suddenly they saw that she was leading Kathleen, with\nher left arm around her and holding her right hand against her\nforehead.\n\n\"Take her and go home with her,\" she said to John, \"as quickly as you\ncan. The rest of us will follow.\"\n\n\"Oh, father,\" said Kathleen, \"I am so glad that you came to meet me!\nHave you and grandmother been worried about me all day? I was afraid\nyou would be, but the baby needed me, and I couldn't send any word to\nyou. And I promised Terence that I would come back--not Terence\nSullivan, but the Terence that lives in there. Please ask some of the\nGood People to tell him that I will come back to-morrow. Then I will\ngo home with you.\"\n\n\"Take her home! Take her home!\" her grandmother cried. And John led\nher away as fast as he could, while the rest followed.\n\nNo one said anything more till they were at home, for it was only a\nlittle way. Kathleen scarcely looked at her father till they came into\nthe house, where it was light. \"Why, father,\" she said, \"what makes\nyou look so queer? You look so much older than you did yesterday, and\nyou--oh, I am afraid you were dreadfully worried about me. I didn't\nthink you would be--such a little while. I forgot that you would be\nworried. There was so much to see there, and then I had to take care\nof the baby--and so I forgot. It was very wrong for me to forget, and\nI am so sorry you were anxious about me. But I thought of you and\ngrandmother just as we were coming out to dance to-night, and as soon\nas we were done dancing I was coming home. And why were you all there\nwhere we were dancing? Did you think that I would be there? You ought\nnot to have been afraid, father. It was just such a little while.\"\n\nJohn did not seem to think anything about its being wrong for Kathleen\nto forget. He did not seem to think of anything but that she had come\nback. \"Just a little while, do you call it?\" he said. \"Do you call a\nyear a little while for you to be away from me, Kathleen? And from\nyour grandmother? Don't you see how she has worried about you, too,\nall this long year? And what could I think but that you was dead? Your\ngrandmother never thought so, but I could think nothing else.\"\n\n\"A year!\" Kathleen cried. \"What do you mean, father? What do you mean?\nOh, grandmother, is there anything wrong? Has he been sick? What is\nit?\"\n\n\"Be quiet, John,\" said Mrs. O'Brien, \"and let me talk with Kathleen.\nCome here, Kathleen. No, there is nothing wrong, dear. Now listen, and\nanswer what I ask you. When did you see your father and me last before\nto-night?\"\n\n\"Why, you know that, grandmother,\" Kathleen answered. \"I saw father\nyesterday morning, and I saw you yesterday afternoon, when I left you\nto go to the Sullivans'.\"\n\n\"And where have you been since then?\" Mrs. O'Brien asked.\n\nKathleen closed her eyes and clasped her hands, as she thought of it.\n\"Oh, it was so wonderful!\" she said. \"I was inside the hill in the\nPark. I walked right in there on the water with the Good People. And\nit was so beautiful there--all gold and silver and jewels--and the\nmusic--the music that Terence played! And I must go back. I promised\nhim I would.\"\n\n\"And how long were you there?\" Mrs. O'Brien asked.\n\n\"All the time,\" Kathleen said; \"all night and all day; I didn't go\nanywhere else. And when it was time for them all to come out to dance\nto-night--they were dancing, you know, when I first saw them, and they\nasked me to dance with them, and then I went into the hill with them.\nAnd to-night we came out to dance again, and it was only a little\nwhile when you came, and then I saw father, and he brought me home.\nBut I was coming home myself as soon as the dancing was over.\"\n\n\"Kathleen,\" said Mrs. O'Brien, \"listen to me now. Don't be frightened,\nbut listen. You've been away from us for a whole year. It was a year\nago this night that you danced with the Good People that first time.\nAll this year you have been with them there in the hill. If we had not\ngone after you to-night, and if I had not known how to bring you back,\nthey would have taken you into the hill for another year, and you\nmight have stayed there, perhaps, as long as you lived.\"\n\n\"But, grandmother! A year! Why, you know it was yesterday!\"\n\n\"Yesterday was a year ago,\" her grandmother said. \"You can't\nunderstand it now. Don't try. You must eat something now, and then you\nmust go to bed. To-morrow I can tell you about it better, and then\nperhaps you can understand.\"\n\nBut Kathleen could not eat. Her going away had been so strange, her\ncoming back had been so wonderful, and what her grandmother had told\nher had been so marvelous, that she could think of nothing else. By\nand by she went to her room. While she was undressing she felt\nsomething hard in her pocket. She took it out, and it was the little\nbox of ointment that the Queen had given her to put on the baby's\neyes. Now that she was at home again she felt as if she had dreamed\nall that she had seen and heard while she was away. But she had not\ndreamed it. Here was this little gold box to prove it. Yet she could\nnot believe it. And they told her that she had been away for a year!\nWhat they said must be a dream too. But here was the little gold box,\njust as the Queen had given it to her. It was a green salve that was\nin it. She would open it and see if there really was a green salve. If\nthere was, then it was not a dream.\n\nShe opened it. There was the green salve. Yes, it was exactly as she\nremembered it. And she could remember it all so well. She remembered\nhow the Queen had given it to her, and surely that was last night. She\nremembered how she had touched the baby's eyes with the salve, and how\nmuch brighter they had looked after she had done it. Surely it was\nonly this morning that she did that. It seemed to her all so plain.\nAnd they said that it had been a year. She could not understand it at\nall. She laid the little gold box on her bureau, under her glass, and\nwent to bed.\n\nThe next morning Kathleen could think about things a little more\nclearly. She could not remember what she had seen and heard in the\nhill quite so distinctly. She had not forgotten anything, but it all\nseemed dimmer in her mind than it had been, as if it were long ago.\nAnd still it seemed as if it had all happened yesterday. Everybody\nwhom she knew had heard that she was at home again, and everybody came\nto see her. And they all told her that she had been away for a year.\nShe could not doubt it any longer, and yet she could not understand\nit. What had she been doing all that time? She could remember just\nenough to fill up one night and one day, and that was all. Could it be\nthat she had slept for three hundred and sixty-four days and been\nawake for only one? No, she could not believe that. And so, at last,\nshe came to her grandmother to ask if she could explain it to her.\n\n\"No,\" the old woman said, \"I can't do that. It's too wonderful for any\nof us to understand. But it's no more wonderful than many things that\nare true, and I've heard tales of it before. Often one stays in the\nland of the Good People, and in other places, too, and thinks that the\ntime has been short, when it has been long. Shall I tell you what\nhappened once to a monk--a holy man--much more wonderful than what\nhappened to you?\n\n\"One day this monk was in the garden of the monastery where he lived,\nreading in his book. He was reading in the Psalms, where it says, 'For\na thousand years in thy sight are as yesterday, which is past. And as\na watch in the night, things that are counted nothing, shall their\nyears be.'\n\n\"And he found it hard to believe that even to God Himself a thousand\nyears could seem no more than a day. As he was thinking of this, a\nbird in a tree near him began to sing, and the song was so beautiful\nthat he forgot the psalm that he had been reading and his thoughts\nabout it, and only listened to the bird. It seemed to him that in all\nhis life he had never heard any music so beautiful.\n\n\"But soon the bird flew to another tree, farther from the monastery,\nand the monk followed, to listen to its song again. Then the bird flew\nto a tree farther off, and still the monk followed. Once more the bird\nflew to another tree, and once more the monk followed it, for it\nseemed to him that as long as that bird sang he could listen to\nnothing else and could think of nothing else. But he saw that the sun\nhad gone down and he knew that it was time for him to go back to the\nmonastery. As he went back he looked at the colors that the sun had\nleft behind it in the sky, and he thought that they were as beautiful\nto see as the voice of the bird was to hear.\n\n\"They were all faded and the darkness had come on when he reached the\nmonastery and went in. And if he had wondered at the song of the bird\nand at the colors in the sky, he wondered yet more when he found\nhimself again in the place where he had lived for many years. For\nmany things about the place were changed, and the men in it were all\nchanged. There was not one face among them that he knew. One of the\nbrothers saw him and came toward him, and he said: 'Brother, why have\nall these changes been made here since this morning? And who are all\nthese whom I do not know? I scarcely know my own monastery.'\n\n\"And the other answered: 'Who are you that ask this, and why do you\ncome here? For you wear the dress of our order, but you are a\nstranger. You speak as if you knew the place, yet I myself have lived\nhere for fifty years and I have never seen you before.'\n\n\"Then the monk told his name and told how he had been at mass in the\nchapel in the morning and had then gone into the garden to read. And\nhe told how he had read in the Psalms, 'A thousand years in thy sight\nare as yesterday, which is past,' and how, while he was thinking of\nthese words, he had heard the bird singing. He told how he had\nfollowed the bird, till he saw that night was coming, and then had\ncome back to the monastery.\n\n\"And the other said: 'I remember now that when I first came into this\nplace they told me of a legend that a monk of your name had gone out\nof this monastery a hundred and fifty years before, and had never come\nback and had never been heard of again. And now, counting my own\nfifty years here, that must have been two hundred years ago.'\n\n\"Then the monk said: 'God has given me such happiness as He gives to\nfew until they are with Him in Heaven, for these two hundred years\nhave seemed to me to be only a part of a day. Now hear my confession,\nfor I know that I soon shall die.'\n\n\"So the other monk heard his confession, and before midnight he died.\nAnd this was the way that God had chosen to show him the meaning of\nHis word.\"\n\nIt was a pretty story, but Kathleen understood no more than before.\n\"No,\" said her grandmother, \"you cannot understand, and I cannot. We\nlive here such a little while and we are so shut in by time, that we\ncannot understand how it is with those who live always. But we shall\nunderstand when the right time comes, and then we shall wonder how we\ncould ever wonder. And I will tell you another story about it, not to\nmake you understand, but to show you how it is.\n\n\"Long ago Finn McCool was the great champion of Ireland. He had many\nwarriors, who were called Fenians. He had a son, Oisin, who was a\ngreat warrior, too, and besides that a poet and a minstrel. Some of\nhis poems are left to us yet. One day the Fenians were hunting, when\nthey met a beautiful girl riding on a white horse. She called to\nOisin, and he went apart from the others to speak with her.\n\n\"She told him that she was the Princess of Tir-na-n-Oge, and that she\nhad come to take him there, where she was to be married to him.\n'Tir-na-n-Oge' means 'Land of the Young,' and they say that nobody\never grows old there. The Princess was as beautiful as moonlight, and\nher voice was as sweet as the wind blowing on a harp, and Oisin was in\nlove with her and eager to go before she had done speaking.\n\n\"He went back to his father and his companions and bade them farewell.\nIt was with tears that Finn said good-by to Oisin, for I think he knew\nthat he should never see him again. But Oisin did not know. Then Oisin\nmounted the white horse and set the Princess in front of him, and the\nhorse galloped away toward the west. In a little while they came to\nthe sea, and the horse kept straight on, galloping over the water as\nif it had been a smooth road. Then some say that the water rose around\nthem and covered them and that they were in a beautiful place under\nthe sea. I am not sure of that. Lands there are under the sea, they\nsay, and no doubt there are, but I am not so sure that the real\nTir-na-n-Oge is there.\n\n\"For others say that the tops of blue hills rose before them, and\nchanged to green as they came nearer, and then Oisin saw that soft\ngrass sloped down to the very water here and there, and in other\nplaces there were tall cliffs, and trailing vines hung down from the\ntops of them, covered with bright flowers, and they swung to and fro\nin the light breeze. Beyond there were more hills, covered with rich\nwoods. Little veils of mist hid them partly and made them more\nbeautiful, and streams poured down from high places and looked like\nthin, silky tassels hung upon the hills, and they waved in the air,\nlike the waving vines, and some of them seemed never to reach the\nground at all, but to blow away into fine silver spray and to mix with\nthe mists of the hills. And golden sunlight poured down over it all,\nand there was a warm shimmer in the air that made it all look like\nsomething seen in a dream. And this was Tir-na-n-Oge.\n\n\"The horse came to the shore and galloped over soft turf till it\nseemed to Oisin that they were in the very middle of the island, and\nthere they came to a palace, and Oisin thought that it was more\nbeautiful than anything else that he had seen. It may be that the\npalace was built of marble, but to Oisin it seemed like blocks of pure\nsnow. It was so long that one might well mount his horse to go the\nlength of it, instead of walking. It had gilded domes that looked\nlike suns, with the light shining on them, and the whole palace was\ndazzling to look at. All around it were gardens, with trees and plants\nin full bloom, of all the colors of the rainbow, and colors that are\nnot in the rainbow, and other trees with only deep green leaves, and\npathways among them which led down into cool, shady hollows, with\nclear brooks running through them between banks of soft, dark-green\nmoss, sinking their quiet little song.\n\n\"Oisin got down off his horse and then lifted the Princess down, and\nthey went into the palace. There the Princess's father, the King of\nTir-na-n-Oge, made Oisin welcome and led both of them to the banquet\nhall, where a great feast was spread in honor of the Princess and the\nnew Prince. And Oisin thought that if the palace was beautiful\noutside, it was much more beautiful inside, and as for the table that\nwas before him, he could not think of any of the best things in the\nworld to eat and to drink that were not on it.\n\n\"The next day the Princess was married to Oisin. For a long time Oisin\nand the Princess lived in the palace and Oisin thought that he never\ncould be more happy than he was now. The old warriors cared much for\nwhat they ate and drank, and Oisin ate and drank better things than he\nhad ever tasted before. He walked with the Princess down through the\nshady ways among the trees and across the brooks and up the hill-sides\namong the flowers. They sat together in the garden or in the palace\nand she sang to him and told him wonderful tales of heroes and of\nprincesses of olden times. Sometimes they rode hunting together, and\neverywhere they found game, the finest that Oisin had ever seen.\n\n\"But at last Oisin began to feel that he cared less for all these\nthings than he had done at first. The grass and the flowers and the\nwoods did not seem so fair to him as they had seemed; the sunshine was\nnot such pure gold; he wished that the silver streams would not blow\naway in spray and mix with the mists; he wanted to see them come down\nyellow with the earth of the mountains and plunge into caverns with\ngreat rushing and roaring; he felt that the warm air was taking his\nstrength from him; he no longer liked the rich feasts that were spread\nbefore him every day; he longed to follow the deer through the woods,\nwith his old friends, to kill it and to cook it and eat it in the\nwoods, and then to sleep there, under the trees and the stars; these\ntrees and these gardens were beautiful, it was true, but they were too\nbeautiful; a hard way through a rough forest would have pleased him\nbetter now; he did not love the Princess less, but he longed to see\nhis father and his men again; her singing was no less sweet to him\nthan it had ever been before, but he wished that he could be again\nwhere the Fenians, after a hard day's hunt or a hard day's fight, sat\nabout the fire in their stronghold, and listened to one of\nthem--perhaps himself, for he was the best singer of them all--while\nhe sang songs of great heroes and of great fights.\n\n\"And one day, when the Princess had been singing to him, he took her\nharp from her and sang a song of one of his father's battles, a battle\nwhich he had seen himself, where Diarmuid had slain hundreds, and\nOrcur had slain hundreds, and Erin had been kept from her enemies.\nThen he said to the Princess: 'Do not think that I am ungrateful for\nall the happiness that I have had here, but I am longing to see Erin\nagain and to see my father and his men. It is not so beautiful a land\nas this, but it is my own land, and I am longing to see it. The air\nhere is sweet and the sunshine is warm, but I should like to breathe\nthe mists and to feel the chill again, if I could only see Erin once\nmore!\"\n\nMrs. O'Brien stopped a moment, with the way that she had of seeming to\nlook at things far off. Kathleen said nothing when she paused in this\nway, and in a minute the old woman went on:\n\n\"'You would not be so happy in Erin as you think,' the Princess\nanswered him. 'This is the best place for you to stay, and it would\nbreak my heart for you to go.'\n\n\"So Oisin said no more then, but the great longing grew upon him, and\nevery day the delights of Tir-na-n-Oge pleased him less. And at last\nhe spoke of it again, and asked the Princess to let him go for a\nlittle while. 'You would find Erin changed,' she said, 'and the\nFenians are all gone. How long have you been here with me?'\n\n\"'I cannot tell you to a day,' Oisin answered, 'but I know that it is\nweeks since I saw my country and my people.'\n\n\"'You have been here,' said the Princess, 'for three hundred years.'\n\n\"Oisin could not understand it, but he thought that if he could live\nso long and not know that the time had passed, the Fenians, too, might\nbe living still, and he begged again to be allowed to go. At last the\nPrincess saw that he would never be happy unless he went, so she\nbrought him the same white horse that had brought them both to\nTir-na-n-Oge. 'The horse,' she said, 'will take you to Erin. But you\nmust sit upon his back and never loose his bridle or get down upon the\nground. If you touch the ground of Erin you will be at once a weak,\nold man, you can never come back to Tir-na-n-Oge, you will never see\nme, and I shall never see you again. Will you promise me, if I will\nlet you go, that you will not get off the horse's back or let go his\nbridle?'\n\n\"Oisin promised and she let him go. Away over the water the horse\ngalloped again. Tir-na-n-Oge, with its warm sun and its sweet air, was\nleft behind. A damp sea-wind came up, and it blew the salt spray\nharshly into Oisin's face as the horse dashed along. It was a joy to\nhim. No more of the soft comforts of that weary island. This was\nsomething for a man to face. Yet he did not forget the Princess, and\nhe meant to go back to her when he had seen his land and his people\nonce more. Then the clouds and the fog drifted away and the sun shone\nout, but still the salt spray covered him, and he felt stronger as he\nmade his way against it and felt the great, free breeze from the east.\nAnd now he saw something like a little cloud on the horizon, and it\nrose higher and grew wider, and then its misty brown faded away and he\nsaw the beautiful green shores of Erin.\"\n\nThe old woman paused again and said over softly to herself: \"The\nbeautiful--beautiful green shores of Erin.\"\n\n\"The horse and the rider soon reached the land now. Oisin rode first\nto the spot where he had first met the Princess of Tir-na-n-Oge and\nwhere he had last seen his father and his companions. He did not think\nto find them there, but he felt that it was the first place to which\nhe should go. The forest had been cleared away a little, and a strange\nbuilding stood there. It was a small house, built of stone, and there\nwas a cross on the top of it. Inside he heard a sound of singing. He\nrode to the door and looked in. There were people kneeling before a\nman who stood in a higher place than the rest and held up a golden\ncup.\n\n\"This was something that Oisin did not understand, and he rode away,\nremembering what the Princess had told him, that he would find Ireland\nchanged. He wondered if he had been wise to come at all. But he went\non, and now he rode fast, in this direction and in that, to try to\nfind the Fenians. Sometimes he asked people whom he met if they could\ntell him of his father. Some of them shook their heads and said that\nthey knew no such person as Finn McCool. Others laughed at him. One or\ntwo old men told him that the Fenians had all died long ago and that\nthe man of greatest power in Ireland now was Patrick. It was hard for\nhim to believe. He would have thought himself in a dream, but a dream\nseems right and true while it lasts, and this seemed all wrong and\nfalse. Yet, when he found a place that he knew and looked for some\nfamiliar stronghold of the Fenians, he found only a low mound of\nearth, grown all over with grass, or perhaps with weeds and bushes.\nAnd everywhere he saw these houses of stone, with crosses on their\ntops.\n\n\"Then it came into his mind to find this Patrick of whom he heard so\nmuch, and to see what sort of man was now the greatest in Ireland.\nThis was an easier matter than searching for the Fenians. Everyone\nknew where the holy Patrick was, and soon Oisin came near the place\nand found that the saint was building another of the stone houses. As\nOisin came near he saw some men trying to lift a heavy stone upon a\ncar, to take it to the new building. It almost made him laugh to see\nhow small and weak the men were. He knew well that he could put the\nstone on the car alone. It was no larger than the stones that the\nFenians used to throw for sport.\n\n\"He came near and leaned down from his saddle to lift the stone for\nthe men. He took hold of it and began to raise it, but with the weight\nthe girth of his saddle broke, the saddle slipped around on the horse,\nOisin fell, and the horse ran away. Oisin lay there on the ground of\nErin, which the Princess had forbidden him to touch, an old man, weak,\nhelpless, blind, hollow-cheeked, wrinkled, white-haired.\n\n\"The men took him up and carried him to St. Patrick, who welcomed him\nkindly and kept him for a while in his own house. Many times the saint\ntalked with him and tried to make him a Christian, but Oisin could\nthink of nothing but the grand days of the Fenians. When St. Patrick\ntalked with him he would begin to tell of these, and he would make the\npoems about them that have been kept till now and give us what we know\nof Finn McCool and his heroes. And these poems Patrick would have\nwritten down. And always Oisin was mourning for the brave old days of\nFinn McCool or for the days of Tir-na-n-Oge, which seemed to him now\nstill farther off.\n\n\"Old as he was now, with the heavy weight of more than three hundred\nyears upon him, blind and weak, there was one thing in which Oisin\nfelt himself a better man that St. Patrick or any of his band. St.\nPatrick and all those who were with him fasted much, and when they ate\nit was frugally, of bread and the herbs of the field, and but little\nmeat. But this was not enough for Oisin. He remembered how he and his\nfellow-huntsmen used to follow the deer and kill it, and dress it, and\ncook it on the moor in the fresh, cool evening, and feast till it was\ntime to sleep, and then wake and follow the deer again. And so the\nfood which was given to him in St. Patrick's house seemed poor and\nscanty to him.\n\n\"He said this to the cook and others in the house, and they made sport\nof him, because so old a man as he should wish to eat so much. Then he\ntold them tales of the days of his father, how great and strong the\nmen of Erin were then, how much more fertile the land was, and of the\ngreat beasts and the great trees and plants and vines that it brought\nforth. In those days, he said, the leg of a lark was as large as a leg\nof mutton now, a berry of the wild ash was as large as a sheep, and an\nivy leaf as broad as a shield.\n\n\"They all laughed at him the more when he said these things, and they\ndid not believe a word of it all. 'Alas!' he said, 'how can I show you\nthat what I say is true? The dear heroes whom I knew are all gone. I\nam left alone to mourn for them, among men who do not even believe how\ngreat they were. Everything that I have found is changed, but there\nmay be something that is not changed. Will one of you go with me in a\nwar chariot and drive where I shall tell him, and let me see if I can\nfind anything as I knew it once?'\n\n\"Then one of them said that he would go with him. The next morning\nthey set out. Oisin told the man where to drive, till they came to a\nplace where Oisin said: 'Look around you and tell me what you can see\non the plain.'\n\n\"'I see a stone pillar,' the man answered.\n\n\"'Drive the chariot to it,' said Oisin, 'and dig at the foot of the\npillar, on the south side of it.'\n\n\"The man did as Oisin told him, and when he had dug for a while Oisin\nasked him if he had found anything. 'There is something long and hard\nhere,' said the man, 'like a wooden pole.'\n\n\"'Dig it out,' said Oisin.\n\n\"The man dug more. 'I have it out now,' he said; 'it is like a great\nspear, for it has a huge head of rusty iron. I can scarcely lift it.'\n\n\"'It is a spear such as the Fenians used,' said Oisin. 'Dig still\ndeeper.'\n\n\"The man dug again. 'Do you find anything more?' said Oisin.\n\n\"'I have found a great horn,' the man answered, 'many times as large\nas any horn that I ever saw.'\n\n\"'It is the great war-horn of my father, Finn McCool,' said Oisin.\n'Dig deeper.'\n\n\"The man dug again and said, 'I have found a lump of bog butter.'\n\n\"'Now blow the horn,' said Oisin.\n\n\"The man was scarcely able to blow the horn, but he did blow it, and\nit gave forth a harsh, terrible note, which sounded over the plain\nand was echoed back from the woods and the rocks with a hoarse,\ndreadful sound.\n\n\"'Look about you,' said Oisin, 'and tell me what you see.'\n\n\"'Oh, I see,' said the man, 'a great flock of birds coming toward us,\nand every one of them is many times as large as the largest eagle that\nI have ever seen. I fear that we cannot escape them and that they will\nkill us. The dog is nearly dead with terror and he is trying to break\nhis chain.'\n\n\"'Give him a piece of the bog butter,' said Oisin, 'and let him go.\nThen tell me what he does.'\n\n\"'He is running straight toward the birds,' the man answered, 'and\nthey are coming straight toward him and toward us, along the ground.\nAh! he has caught one of them, and all the rest have flown away! He\nhas killed the bird! He is rushing back to us, with madness in his\neyes and his mouth covered with blood and foam! I fear that he will be\nworse for us than the birds would have been.'\n\n\"'Hold the spear straight in front of you as he comes,' said Oisin,\n'and let him run upon the point of it and kill him.'\n\n[Illustration: \"HOLD THE SPEAR STRAIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU.\"]\n\n\"The man held the spear as Oisin told him, and when the dog came on he\nwas caught upon the point of it, and it went through his heart and\nhe fell dead.\n\n\"Then the man went and cut off one of the legs of the bird which had\nbeen killed, and they took it with them and started back. As they went\nthey passed a mountain ash which had berries of enormous size, and the\nman put one of them into the chariot. Then the man saw huge ivy\nleaves, and he took one of them too. So they went back to St.\nPatrick's house and showed all the men there what they had brought.\nThe leg of the bird and the berry and the ivy leaf were even larger\nthan Oisin had said. And after that they all believed the stories that\nOisin told them, and all of them agreed that a man who had lived in\nthe days when there were such trees and such beasts and such men in\nErin should be his own judge as to how much he needed to eat. And so\nafter that all of St. Patrick's men treated him as well as did St.\nPatrick himself.\n\n\"But Oisin died only a little while after that, the last of the great\nheroes of Erin. He had lived for more than three hundred years, and it\nseemed to him no more than the life of a young man.\"\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: ]\n\nX\n\nTHE IRON CRUCIFIX\n\n\nKathleen had not been at home long, of course, before Peter and Ellen\ncame to see her, and Terence came with them. It seemed to Kathleen\nthat she had never seen him look as he did then. She had never seen\nhim look so evil or so crafty or so sad. She felt afraid of him,\nbecause he looked so evil and so crafty, and she felt sorry for him,\nbecause he looked so sad. She sat in the corner of the room that was\nfarthest from him, and it was also the farthest from all the others,\nas they were all sitting near together. Then, when all the others were\nbusy talking among themselves, Terence suddenly came and sat close to\nher, and between her and the others, so that she could not get away\nfrom him.\n\n\"What did you do all the year that you was inside the hill?\" he said.\n\n\"I don't know,\" Kathleen answered; \"it seemed only a day to me, and I\ncan't remember and I can't think what it was that I did to fill all\nthat time.\"\n\n\"And how did you like the fairies?\" said Terence.\n\n\"The Good People? They were very kind to me and I liked them very\nmuch, but I wouldn't have let them keep me--I wouldn't have stayed--so\nlong, if I had known.\"\n\n\"You wouldn't have let them? You wouldn't have stayed? And what would\nyou have done?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" said Kathleen.\n\n\"And who was there besides the fairies?\" Terence asked.\n\n\"Why, there was--oh, I don't want to talk to you about it, and I don't\nthink you ought to make me.\"\n\n\"You don't need,\" said Terence. \"I know who was there. I know who he\nis and what he is, and I know the kind of talk that he talked to you.\nHe made love to you. I know that well enough. That's what he would do.\nBut do you mind the promise that your father made to my father the day\nafter we was born? I want you should remember that promise.\"\n\n\"It was no promise at all,\" Kathleen said, \"and I won't let you talk\nto me that way, and I don't see that it matters to you what he--what\nanybody said to me anywhere, and I won't tell you any more.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" said Terence; \"he did make love to you. And you think you can\ntalk any way you like to me and you won't let me talk any way I like\nto you. Do you know that his staying in that hill with the fairies\ndepends on me? Do you know that--\"\n\nTerence turned to see if anybody else was listening and saw Mrs.\nO'Brien looking straight at him. He stopped short in what he was\nsaying, and then, speaking lower, he went on: \"Don't dare to tell\nanybody what I was saying to you; you don't know what I can do, but I\nmight show you if I took the notion.\"\n\nFor the rest of the time that he stayed Terence said not a word, but\nhe sat and stared at Kathleen. And now she thought that there was\nsomething more terrible in his look than there had been before. It\nseemed to have a kind of spell about it. Kathleen had a feeling that\nshe could not move while he looked at her, although when she tried it\nshe found that she could.\n\nThe most natural thing in the world for Kathleen to do would have been\nto tell her grandmother about this and about all that Terence had said\nto her, but, whether it was because of the way that Terence had looked\nat her or for some other reason, she did not tell her. Sometimes\nafter that, when she and Terence met, he reminded her again of what he\ncalled the promise, but oftener he said nothing, or next to nothing,\nand only looked at her in that same way, and then she felt as if she\ncould do nothing of herself, and that if he told her to do anything,\nshe would have to do it.\n\nKathleen did not forget the promise which she had made to the other\nTerence in the hill, that she would come back. She had said that she\nwould come back to-morrow if she could. But when to-morrow came, so\nmany people who had heard that she was at home again came to see her,\nthat she was not left alone for a moment. It was several days before\nshe could get away from the house to go where she pleased alone. Then\nshe went straight to the little pool in the Park.\n\nIf you live in New York, perhaps you would like to know just where\nthis pool was--and still is. Well, then--go to the northwest corner of\nCentral Park and go in by the little gate at the right of the\ncarriage-drive. Then you will have to go down a flight of steps. Keep\nto the right, along the west side of the Park, and you will have to go\nonly a few steps till you come to the pool, which is a little way up\nthe bank, on the left, with the rocks behind it and the trees around\nit, as I have described it to you before. Then go back to the path and\nkeep on the way that you were going, till you have gone up two short\nflights of steps. Then, only a few feet farther on, you will see, on\nthe left, the little, shell-shaped, grassy slope where Kathleen danced\nwith the Good People. Seeing these places will prove to you that this\nwhole story is true.\n\nKathleen went straight to the pool, as I said, never thinking but\nthat, when she got there, she could walk into the hill as easily as\nshe had done before. But there was no opening at all in the rocks.\nThey were just as they had always looked before she went through them\nwith the Good People. Then she tried to step on the water, and instead\nof stepping on it she stepped into it and wet her foot. She almost\nconcluded that everything had been a dream after all. She felt\nfrightened about it, and she hurried home to look at the little box of\ngreen ointment. If she found it where she had left it, it would prove\nthat she had really been inside the hill and that it was not a dream.\nShe ran to her room to look for it, and there it was just as she had\nleft it. It was not a dream.\n\nBut how was she to keep her promise to Terence?--the Hill Terence, she\ncalled him now, when she thought of him, so as not to confuse him with\nTerence Sullivan. She went to the pool again and again and tried to\nfind the door in the rocks open and the water so that she could walk\non it, but she never found them so. Yet she could not think of any\nother way to get into the hill again. After a while it seemed so\nhopeless that she gave up going to the pool so often.\n\nThen one day a thought came to her which made it all seem so simple\nthat she was quite surprised at herself for not thinking of it before.\nTerence had told her that he came out every day to go to school. He\nhad said that the next year he was to go to the School of Engineering\nat the University. It was when she first came into the hill that he\ntold her that, and so it was next year now. Now the University was not\nvery far away, up on the hill, beyond the north end of the Park. She\ndid not know whether there was any other way to get into the hill than\nthis way through the rocks behind the pool, but if anybody were at the\nUniversity and wanted to get into the hill, this would surely be the\nnearest way. Then she felt sure that if she went to the pool at the\nright time of the day she should meet Terence when he came out or when\nhe went in.\n\nWhen she thought again she decided that she would not do anything of\nthe kind. If Terence wanted to see her, it was his business to find\nher, not hers to find him. After that she thought still more. Terence\nhad no way of finding her. She had never told him where she lived,\nand he might spend the rest of his life searching for her and never\nfind her. And then she had promised him that she would come back. She\nhad tried so hard to keep that promise already that most people would\nhave said it was right for her to give it up now, but she had a\nfeeling that a promise which she had made to Terence must be kept. She\nsaid to herself that it was because he had been so kind to her when\nshe was in the hill.\n\nSo she spent all the time she could near the pool, in the hope of\nseeing Terence. And what do you think happened? She did see him. One\nafternoon as she was walking along the same old path toward the gate\nat the corner of the Park, she saw Terence come through that gate and\ndown the steps. And now you will never in the world guess what she\ndid. I suppose you have believed this whole story till now, but I am\nafraid you will not believe this. I should not believe it myself, if I\ndid not know that it was so. But there is no doubt about it. She\nturned and walked straight back along the path, and tried to get away\nwithout letting Terence see her. Don't expect me to explain it. I\ndon't blame you for being surprised. It was the most wonderful thing I\never heard of. A sensible girl like Kathleen too!\n\nBut Terence had seen her and he walked swiftly along the path and\novertook her. \"What makes you try to get away from me?\" he said.\n\n\"I don't know,\" said Kathleen.\n\n\"Didn't you want to see me?\" he asked.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Kathleen, \"I wanted--I don't know--oh, yes, I did want to\nsee you! How is the little Prince?\"\n\n\"The little Prince is very well,\" said Terence. \"You promised that you\nwould come back, you know.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Kathleen, \"and didn't I try? But how could I get through\nthose hard rocks? I don't suppose it was your fault about the rocks,\nthough. How are they getting on with their triangles?\"\n\n\"They are not getting on at all,\" Terence answered. \"You promised that\nyou would come back, and then, when you saw me you tried to run away.\nWhat made you do that?\"\n\n\"Oh, but I tried so hard to find you!\" Kathleen said. \"You don't know\nhow hard I tried.\"\n\n\"But what made--?\"\n\n\"I don't know; I just couldn't help it.\"\n\nYou notice how uninteresting Terence and Kathleen's conversation was\ngetting. They kept on with it, however, dull as it was. They turned\nand went up over the hill to the blockhouse, and then down the steep\npath on the other side and back along the north end of the Park. \"Do\nyou come here often?\" Terence asked.\n\n\"I have been here very often,\" Kathleen said, \"trying to keep my\npromise to you.\"\n\n\"I am here,\" he said, \"nearly every day, at about this time; will you\ncome again?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Kathleen said, \"if you would like me to.\"\n\nThey were close to the pool again now. \"See that bright star up there\nin the west?\" said Terence.\n\nKathleen turned to look at it. \"It is Venus,\" she said. Then she\nturned back toward where Terence had stood. He was gone. She looked up\nand down the path and all around, but she could not find him. She went\nup to the pool. The rocks were just as usual--just as close, just as\nhard. She tried the water again to see if she could stand on it. She\ncould not. Terence was gone and she went home to think about it.\n\nShe thought about it and she thought more about it, but she could not\nunderstand it at all. So she very sensibly gave up understanding it.\nShe kept her promise and met Terence again near the pool. And then she\nmet him again and a few times more. Every time he would make her look\naway from him for a moment, or wait till she did look away, and when\nshe looked back he would be gone. It did not take her long to find\nout that he did not want her to see him go, of course, and so one day,\nwhen she turned her head away she turned it back again quickly, and\nsaw him standing close to the pool with his face toward the rocks. She\nwatched him for a moment while he stood there, and neither of them\nmoved. Then he said, without looking around: \"Let me go, Kathleen; I\ncan't go while you're looking.\"\n\nSo she turned away for another instant, and when she looked again he\nwas gone.\n\nI don't know how many times Terence and Kathleen strolled about the\nPark in this way, or what they talked about, or just how long a time\nwent by, and I suppose that all these things interest you as little as\nthey do me. But there is no doubt that one day, as they were walking\ntogether and talking together of whatever they found to talk about,\nthey came face to face with Terence Sullivan. He passed them as if he\nhad not seen them, but his face was black.\n\nThe next day he came to see Kathleen, and he said to her: \"Do you\nthink I don't know who that was with you in the Park yesterday? And\ndoes your father know? He will, if I tell him, and what will he say,\ndo you think, when he knows that you're meeting that fine boy without\nhis knowledge? If I see the two of you there again I'll tell him, and\nI'll be watching for you too. What do you say to that now?\"\n\n\"I say nothing to it,\" Kathleen answered; \"what did you think I would\nsay?\"\n\n\"What did I think you would say? What did I think you could say?\nNothing, of course. And is that all you say?\"\n\n\"That is all,\" said Kathleen.\n\nAnd that was all. He tried his best to get her to say more, but she\nwould not. But it did not take her a minute to think what to do. And\nit was so simple that she wondered why she had never thought of it\nbefore. It was a wonder, too, that Terence Sullivan did not think of\nit himself and know that she would do it. But he was not clever in\nsome ways, though he was so clever in others.\n\nThe next day Kathleen met Terence in the Park, and she said to him:\n\"Terence, we must not stay here for a single minute. You must come\nstraight home with me. I want you to see my father and my\ngrandmother.\"\n\nAnd Terence went straight home with her and she told her grandmother\nwho he was--and indeed she had told her of him before--and that she\nhad met him in the Park. Her father came soon and Terence was\nintroduced to him too.\n\nAfter that Terence came often and Kathleen seldom met him in the Park,\nthough they still walked there sometimes. Mrs. O'Brien and John were\nimmensely pleased with him. It was the strangest thing to see how much\nhe liked to be in a house, just because it was a house, and how\nwonderful the ways of people who lived in a house seemed to him. When\nhe and Kathleen sat together in a corner of the room and John sat\nreading a paper and Mrs. O'Brien knitting and reading a book at the\nsame time, it was as astonishing a sight to him as it would be to you\nto see a dozen mermaids playing at the bottom of the sea.\n\n\"Isn't it beautiful?\" he whispered to Kathleen.\n\n\"Isn't what beautiful?\" Kathleen asked.\n\n\"The way you live here,\" Terence answered. \"All these years, you know,\nI have just come out of the hill to go to school, and then I have gone\nback again. I have seen the people outside, but I never was in one of\ntheir houses before. And don't you ever dance?\"\n\n\"Why, of course we do,\" Kathleen said; \"we go to balls sometimes, and\nto parties where there is dancing, and then--\"\n\n\"But do you never dance here, where you live?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, sometimes we do, but the rooms are not large enough to do it\nvery well, you know.\"\n\n\"I never thought before,\" said Terence, \"of people's not dancing all\nthe time that they were not at work or eating or sleeping. You know\nthere in the hill they dance a good deal of the time, and I get so\ntired of it that it seems to me as if they danced all the time. I\nthink it is delightful not to dance. And what is your grandmother\ndoing? Is she studying?\"\n\n\"Why, no, she is only reading.\"\n\n\"But what does she read, if she is not studying?\"\n\n\"Why, I don't know; a story, maybe, or history, or poetry, or a\nsermon, or--it might be anything.\"\n\n\"Will you tell me about all those things some time?\" Terence asked. \"I\nhave heard people tell stories, but I never read a story, and I never\nread anything except books to help me learn to make railways and\ntelegraphs, so as to teach it to the people in the hill. That is all\nthey think of when they are not dancing.\"\n\nAnd Terence wondered like this at everything that he saw, and he often\ntold Kathleen how tired he was of living in the hill and how much he\nwished that he could live outside among the real people, as he called\nthem, instead of with the Good People. Once Kathleen tried to take\nTerence to see Peter and Ellen, and then a strange thing was\ndiscovered. Terence could not go there. When he came to the corner of\nthe street where Peter and Ellen lived, he turned straight around and\nwalked the other way. \"This is the way,\" Kathleen called, and she\nhurried back after him.\n\nWhen she came up with him he turned again and walked with her as they\nhad been going at first. \"I don't know why I did that,\" he said. \"I\ndidn't mean to. It was as if my feet turned me around and brought me\nback.\"\n\nBy this time they were at the corner again, and Terence did just the\nsame thing over. He turned square around and walked back. He could not\nhelp it. He tried it again and again and he could not turn that\ncorner. If you had been there and had seen him trying it, you would\nhave thought that it was the funniest sight that you ever saw, though\nit may not sound so funny to tell about it. Kathleen was vexed that\nTerence could not go where she wanted him to, but she laughed till she\nhad to sit down on a doorstep and rest.\n\nTerence did not understand it any more than Kathleen did, and\nafterward he tried it again, but it was of no use. He begged her not\nto tell her father or her grandmother, because, he said, it would make\nhim look so ridiculous. But one day, when he and Kathleen were on\ntheir way together to the O'Briens' house, as he came to the last\ncorner, Terence turned around and walked away. \"I can't go home with\nyou to-day,\" he said. \"I don't know why it is. I can't walk that way.\nIt is just the same as when I try to go to the Sullivans'.\"\n\nHe went back to the Park and Kathleen went home alone and found that\nPeter and Ellen were there. Then she simply could not keep herself\nfrom telling her grandmother all about it. Afterward she wished that\nshe had not told her, for her grandmother laughed a little and nodded\nand looked as if she knew everything, and she would tell nothing.\n\nSo the Hill Terence came to the O'Briens' so often that he felt quite\nat home, and everyone there was glad to have him come, and if he\nstayed away for as long as three or four days, they wondered what had\nbecome of him. And all this, you may suppose, did not improve Terence\nSullivan's temper. He and the Hill Terence never met except that one\ntime in the Park, but he knew all about it. And he talked with\nKathleen about it sometimes, too, and it made her very uncomfortable.\nHe talked in the same way that he did the day after Kathleen came back\nfrom the hill, of his having something to do with the Hill Terence and\nof the harm that he could do if he chose. He never said anything that\nKathleen could understand, but he always made her afraid. She told the\nHill Terence about it, and she told her grandmother about it. Her\ngrandmother seemed to understand it perfectly, and she told her not to\nbe afraid. Terence did not seem to understand it at all, and he told\nher not to be afraid.\n\nThen one day, when Terence Sullivan had been talking to her in the\nsame way and had been looking at her in a more terrible way than ever\nbefore, she told her grandmother that she could not bear it any\nlonger. If something could not be done to make Terence stop talking to\nher so, and looking at her so, she should ask her father to let her go\naway somewhere.\n\n\"There's nothing for you to be afraid of,\" her grandmother said, \"but\nif you are afraid and if it troubles you so much, we will see what we\ncan do.\"\n\nThen Mrs. O'Brien went to her own room and came back with something\nwhich she gave to Kathleen. It was a little crucifix, made of iron.\n\"It was this,\" she said, \"that I touched you with to bring you out of\nthe circle when you were dancing with the Good People. Hang it around\nyour neck, and if Terence troubles you, hold it up before you and\nbefore him. I have always said that Terence was one of the Good\nPeople, and I never believed it more than this minute. If he is one of\nthem, he cannot come near the cross, and the iron will be a terror to\nhim too. If he tries to come too near to you, touch him with it, and\nthen we'll see.\"\n\n\"Why can he not come near the cross?\" Kathleen asked.\n\n\"Because,\" Mrs. O'Brien said, \"the Good People are a kind of spirits,\nand no spirits can do you any harm if you hold the cross before you,\nor if you make the sign of the cross. Did I never tell you what the\nGood People were? They were angels and lived in Heaven once. When\nSatan and his angels rebelled against God and were driven out of\nHeaven, the angels that are the Good People were driven out too. They\nwere not good enough to stay in Heaven, and they were not bad enough\nto fall as Satan and his angels fell, so some of them stayed on the\nland and some of them stayed in the sea. And so they will live till\nthe Day of Judgment, and then, some say, they will vanish like dew\nwhen it dries away; and some say that they will be saved like the\nsouls of Christians. But we do not know.\"\n\n\"You do not know,\" Kathleen repeated, \"if the Good People will be\nsaved or not? They were very good to me, though they kept me away from\nhome so long, and I should like to believe--\"\n\n\"I have read of one of them,\" Mrs. O'Brien went on, \"who looked in at\nthe gate of Heaven, and an angel told him that he could come in, if\nhe could bring with him the thing which was counted in Heaven the most\nprecious in all the world. And he found it and brought it and went\ninto Heaven. But for the most of them--the Good People themselves do\nnot know whether they are to be saved, and we common people do not\nknow, but they say that priests know. And sometimes the Good People\nthemselves have tried to find out from them.\n\n\"There was a troupe of fairies dancing one night on a green near a\nriver, and they were all having the merry kind of time that you know\nbetter than I do, Kathleen. But they stopped all at once and ran to\nhide themselves among the grass and behind leaves and weeds. For they\nknew, in the way that they have of knowing, that a priest was coming,\nand the Good People cannot bear to be near a priest.\n\n\"The priest who was coming had been on some errand at a long distance\nfrom home, and he was a long way from home still. Indeed, he was just\nmaking up his mind that, as it was so late, he would not try to go\nhome at all that night, but would ask for a supper and a bed at the\nfirst cabin he should come to. And well he knew he would find it and\nwelcome.\n\n\"And true for him, close by where the Good People had been dancing, he\ncame to a cabin and knocked at the door. The man and his wife who\nlived there were proud enough to see the priest in their house and to\ngive him all that he asked, and the trouble that was on them was that\nthey had no more to give. For there was nothing to offer him but\npotatoes, though they were as good potatoes as there were in Ireland.\n\n\"It was only a little while ago that the man of the house had set a\nnet in the river, and he thought that there would hardly be a fish in\nit so soon. But then he thought that there could be no harm in\nlooking, so down to the river he went to try could he find something\nfor the priest's supper more than the potatoes. And true enough, there\nin the net was the finest salmon he ever saw. He was about to take him\nout, when the net was pulled away from him by something that he could\nnot see, and away went the salmon swimming down the river.\n\n\"It may be that he said things to the fish that I wouldn't like to be\nsaying after him, and at the same time he looked around to see what it\nwas that was pulling his net. And then he saw the Good People.\n\n\"'Give yourself no trouble about the fish,' one of them said to him.\n'If you'll only go back to your house and ask the priest one question\nfrom us we'll see that he and you have the finest supper that was ever\nseen.'\n\n\"Now the man thought that it was not safe to be talking and making\nbargains with the Good People, so he said: 'I'll not have anything to\ndo with you at all.' And then he thought neither was it safe to make\nthem angry with him, and so he said again: 'I've no wish to offend you\nand I thank you for your offer, but I can't take it from you, and I\ndon't think his Reverence would like me to do that same.'\n\n\"Then the one that had spoken first said: 'We'll not ask you to take\nanything you don't want, but will you ask the priest one question for\nus?\"\n\n\"'I see no harm in that,' said he, 'for sure he needn't answer it if\nhe doesn't like; but I'll not take your supper.'\n\n\"'Then,' said the little man, 'ask him if we are to be saved at the\nDay of Judgment, like the souls of Christians, and bring us back word\nwhat he says, and we'll be grateful to you forever.'\n\n\"He went back to his cabin and found his wife and the priest sitting\ndown to supper. 'Your Reverence,' said he, 'might I ask you one\nquestion?'\n\n\"'And what might that be?' said the priest.\n\n\"'Will you tell me,' said he 'will the Good People be saved at the Day\nof Judgment, the same as Christians?'\n\n\"'You never thought of asking that yourself,' the priest said; 'who\ntold you to ask it?'\n\n\"'It was the Good People themselves,' said the man, 'and they are down\nthere by the river, waiting for me to tell them what you answer to\nit.'\n\n\"'Go and tell them, then,' said the priest, 'that if they will come\nhere and ask me that or any other question themselves, I will answer\nthem.'\n\n\"So he went back and told them what the priest said, and the instant\nthey heard it they all flew away over the grass and up into the air\nand vanished. Then he went back to eat his potatoes with the priest,\nstill feeling sorry that he had lost the salmon.\"\n\n\"But still I don't see,\" Kathleen said. \"You say that the cross will\nhelp me against Terence if he is one of the Good People, because they\nare a kind of spirits. But why wouldn't it help me against him just as\nmuch if he wasn't one of the Good People--if he was just a bad man?\"\n\n\"No, no,\" said the old woman; \"that little bit of iron will keep you\nagainst any evil spirit, and never one of them dare come near it; but\nno poor human creature with a soul to save, no matter how wicked, was\never turned away from the blessed cross, or ever will be. The cross\nwas made for them. And now, dear, you have been crying and your eyes\nare all red. Go to your room and try to make them look better. There\nmight be someone to see you before long, and you wouldn't like your\neyes to look that way.\"\n\nSomeone did come to see Kathleen before long, but, as it happened,\nneither she nor her grandmother stayed to see him.\n\nKathleen scarcely knew that she had been crying till her grandmother\ntold her, but she had. She went to her room and looked in the glass\nand was surprised to see how red her eyes were. And just at the same\ninstant she saw the little gold box of green ointment, just under the\nglass, where she had left it, and where it had been ever since that\nnight when she came back from the hill. Then she remembered how the\nFairy Queen had given it to her to put on the little Prince's eyes,\nand how she had done it, and how bright his eyes looked when she\ntouched them with the ointment. She wondered if it would make her eyes\nlook bright, too, and take the marks of the tears away from them. She\ntook a tiny bit of the ointment on her finger and just touched each\neye with it. It did make them look brighter; there was no doubt about\nit.\n\nThe next instant Kathleen started away from the mirror and across the\nroom with a little frightened gasp. For, looking in the glass, she\nhad seen a dark form pass behind her, as if it had just come in at the\ndoor of the room. She knew who it was without turning around. It was\nTerence Sullivan. He was still close to the door now, and she was\nacross the room. She had the little iron crucifix in her hand and she\nturned and faced him.\n\n\"What are you doing here?\" she said.\n\nTerence only stared at her, for an instant, more surprised than she\nwas herself. Then he stammered: \"What--what am I--\"\n\n\"What are you here for?\" said Kathleen. \"Why do you follow me like\nthis? I won't let you. Go away.\"\n\nTerence was a little more himself now. \"Which eye do you see me with?\"\nhe cried.\n\n\"With both eyes, of course,\" said Kathleen.\n\n\"This for both of them, then!\" Terence cried, and he struck at\nKathleen's eyes with his fist.\n\nShe raised her hand quickly to ward off the blow, and Terence's hand\ntouched the iron crucifix. The blow did not reach her eyes. Terence\nstarted back from her and fell upon the floor. Only for an instant\nKathleen saw his face. His eyes blazed, but the rest of it was as if\nhe had been dead. Somehow he found his way out of the room, Kathleen\ncould scarcely see how. He did not rise, but he seemed to run like a\nbeast running for its life. Kathleen followed him out of the room and\nto the stairs. She saw him just leaving the house by the door. And yet\nshe could not see how he went, for the door was shut.\n\nKathleen ran downstairs to find her grandmother and to tell her what\nhad happened. Mrs. O'Brien listened and then she said: \"Kathleen, you\nhave been thinking too much about Terence and you have got too\nnervous. Nobody has come into the house since you left me, only a few\nminutes ago.\"\n\n\"But I saw him, grandmother,\" Kathleen answered, \"and it was all just\nas I told you. How could I see him if he did not come?\"\n\nMrs. O'Brien sat and thought for a few minutes. \"What did you do\nbefore you saw Terence?\" she asked.\n\nKathleen thought for a minute, too, for she was so much excited that\nshe could scarcely remember. \"I had been crying,\" she said, \"as you\ntold me, and I put some of the ointment in the little gold box on my\neyes to see if it would make them look better.\"\n\n\"It was that,\" said Mrs. O'Brien. \"I've heard the like of it before.\nWhen you have touched your eyes with that ointment you can always see\nthe Good People, whether they want you to or not. That was why he\ntried to strike your eyes, and if he had struck them he would have put\nthem out. You will always see the Good People now wherever you meet\nthem. They don't like to be seen except when they choose, and so they\nmay try to do you harm, and you must be careful. Keep the little cross\nalways by you.\n\n\"And now come with me,\" the old woman went on. \"I have had enough of\nthis, and I will have no more.\"\n\n\"Come with you where, grandmother?\" Kathleen asked.\n\n\"To the Sullivans,\" the old woman answered.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt was only a little while after they had gone when the Hill Terence\ncame to the door. \"Mrs. O'Brien and Miss Kathleen have gone to the\nSullivans',\" the servant told him.\n\n\"Will they be back soon?\" he asked.\n\n\"I don't think so,\" the servant said; \"it was only a few minutes ago\nthat they went away.\"\n\n\"I will go to the Sullivans' and find them,\" Terence said.\n\nNow that, you know, was about the most remarkable thing that Terence\ncould say. He had tried to go to the Sullivans' so many times and had\nfound so many times that his feet simply would not take him there,\nthat he had given up trying long ago. But now he resolved that he\nwould go, and, more than that, he had a feeling such as he had never\nhad before that he must go.\n\nHe knew the street and the number, though he had never been there. He\nstarted off as if there could not be the slightest doubt of his going\nwherever he wished to go. He walked quickly through the Park and past\nthe little pool as if he had never seen the place. He came out of the\nPark at the other side and went on till he came to the corner which he\ncould never turn before. He turned it as if it had been any other\ncorner. It did not even surprise him to find that he could. He thought\nthat he was doing all this just because he was so determined to go\njust where he chose, but he had never felt anything like the force or\nthe determination or whatever it was which was drawing him straight\non.\n\nHe reached the house and went up the steps. The door was open, and,\ninstead of ringing, he went straight in. But what he did next was the\nstrangest of all. He could not have told you why he did it any more\nthan he could have told you why he did anything else. Instead of\nknocking at the door or going into any room that he passed, he went\ndownstairs to the door of the kitchen. There, just for one instant,\nhe stopped--the first instant that he had stopped since he left the\nO'Briens' house. Then, still without knocking, he pushed the door open\nand went in.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: ]\n\nXI\n\nTHE OLD KING COMES BACK\n\n\nWhen Mrs. O'Brien and Kathleen left home they walked through the Park\nand to the Sullivans'. Peter was away. Terence half sat and half lay\non the floor in a corner. He held his right hand behind him and\ncovered his face with his left arm. His whole body shook as if he were\nriding in a cart over a rough road. Ellen sat close to him, trying to\nsoothe him and trying to get him to tell her what was the matter.\n\nWhen Mrs. O'Brien and Kathleen came in Terence seemed to try to make\nhimself smaller, but he did nothing else. \"Ellen,\" said Mrs. O'Brien,\n\"come outside the room here for a moment; I have something to tell\nyou.\"\n\n\"Look at Terence there,\" Ellen answered; \"how can I leave him when\nhe's that way?\"\n\n\"Leave him,\" said Mrs. O'Brien, \"and come out here with me.\"\n\nShe took Ellen by the hand and led her, and Ellen followed. There was\nsomething in Mrs. O'Brien's look now that told her she would have to\ncome. \"Now look at me,\" said Mrs. O'Brien, when they were out of the\nroom; \"do I look as if I would mean every word I said, or do I not?\"\n\nEllen did not answer, and Mrs. O'Brien said: \"Ellen, when it was only\nyour own affair I told you what you ought to do, but I let you take\nyour own way. But now it is Kathleen's affair and John's and mine, and\nit is time that I had my way. Look at me, Ellen, and tell me, do I\nlook as if I meant to have it?\"\n\nAgain Ellen looked in the old woman's face and said nothing for an\ninstant. Then she looked down again in a confused way, and said: \"I\nmust go back to Terence.\"\n\n\"Ellen,\" said the old woman, \"go down to the kitchen. We'll follow\nyou, and Terence can come, too, if he likes, and I think he will.\"\n\nWithout a word Ellen went down the stairs. Mrs. O'Brien called to\nTerence: \"We are going to the kitchen; you can come if you like.\"\n\nMrs. O'Brien and Kathleen followed Ellen, and Terence followed them.\nHe slipped down the stairs like a bundle of rags. He stole into the\nkitchen after the others and half sat and half lay in the corner, as\nhe had done in the room above, only he did not cover his face with his\narm, but kept his eyes on Mrs. O'Brien to see what she was going to\ndo.\n\n\"Now, Ellen,\" Mrs. O'Brien whispered, \"put your largest pot on the\nfire, put water in it, and let it boil.\"\n\nEllen looked at the old woman as if she were begging her not to do\nthis. The old woman looked back at her, and then she did it. She put\nthe pot on the fire and the water in the pot. \"Now bring all the eggs\nyou have in the house,\" Mrs. O'Brien said.\n\nEllen was past asking questions now, and she brought the eggs. It\nalways takes a long time for water to boil, and it seemed to all of\nthem as if it took hours for this water to boil. While they were\nwaiting not one of them spoke and they scarcely moved. Terence was all\nbut holding his breath, and his eyes, red and staring, were now upon\nMrs. O'Brien and now upon Ellen, and never at rest. Kathleen looked at\nTerence and clutched the little crucifix in her hand. But she need not\nhave been afraid of Terence; he knew the crucifix as well as he cared\nto know it.\n\nAfter a long time the water boiled. Mrs. O'Brien waited till it was\nboiling as hard as ever it could, and then she whispered to Ellen:\n\"Break the eggs now; keep the shells and throw away the rest.\"\n\nPoor Ellen could not guess what it all meant, but she broke the eggs,\nlaid the shells carefully aside, and threw away the rest.\n\n\"Now,\" said Mrs. O'Brien, \"put the shells in the pot.\"\n\nEllen did as she was told.\n\n\"What are you doing, mother?\" Terence called from his corner.\n\n\"Tell him you are brewing,\" Mrs. O'Brien whispered.\n\n\"I'm brewing, Terence,\" said Ellen, scarcely loud enough to be heard.\n\n\"And what are you brewing?\" Terence asked again.\n\n\"Say egg-shells,\" Mrs. O'Brien whispered.\n\n\"Egg-shells, Terence,\" Ellen said.\n\nTerence sprang to his feet. \"Egg-shells!\" he cried. \"For near six\nthousand years I have lived on this earth, and never till this minute\ndid I see anybody brew egg-shells!\"\n\nMrs. O'Brien had turned upon him before he had done speaking. \"Six\nthousand years, is it, that you've been on this earth?\" she cried.\n\"Then go and spend the rest of the years where you spent the six\nthousand! You've been long enough here! And send back the child that\nwas stolen when you came here!\"\n\nTerence sprang toward a window. Ellen stood in his way; he struck her\nin the face with his open hand and threw her on the floor. After that\nnobody saw him but Kathleen. She saw him go toward the window. It was\nopen just a little crack. Before her very eyes he grew smaller and\nsmaller, till he scrambled and rolled and slipped through the crack\nand was gone.\n\nThat very instant the door opened and the Hill Terence came in. He saw\nEllen lying on the floor, and, without noticing anyone else, he went\nto her and lifted her up. Ellen looked in his face, started back from\nhim for an instant, still gazing in his face, and then caught him in\nher arms and cried, with her voice all full of tears, \"It's my own\nboy--my own boy--the one I always saw in my dreams! Don't come near\nme, any of you, or you'll wake me and it'll be another dream! Oh, let\nme keep this dream while I can!\"\n\n\"You'll keep this dream always, Ellen, dear,\" the old woman said.\n\"Have no more fear. This is the dream that's for all your life and\nforever.\"\n\nIt was about that time, or it may have been a little later, that Peter\ncame in. They told him all about it as well as they could. \"It's glad\nI am that it all came out so,\" Peter said, after they had completely\nbewildered him by trying to make him understand the story; \"it's glad\nI am. And yet I did like to hear Terence play the fiddle.\"\n\n\"I can play the fiddle a little too,\" the new Terence said.\n\n\"Oh, yes, indeed he can!\" said Kathleen. \"Bring the fiddle and he will\nshow you.\"\n\nPeter brought the fiddle and Terence played, and the fiddle sang a\ngreat song of gladness--the song of a soul born to find itself a full\nman all at once.\n\n\"Ah! don't you see now? Don't you see now?\" Kathleen cried. \"That\nmeans something!\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe fairies in the hill were dancing their endless dance, when\nNaggeneen, as if he had been lifted up in the air and dropped, was\nsuddenly among them. They stopped the dance and gathered around him.\n\"What for are you back here?\" the King asked.\n\n\"They drove me out!\" Naggeneen cried. \"I knew they would! I told you\nthey would! I told you you could do nothing and I could do nothing!\nIt's the only wonder that they didn't drive me out long ago.\"\n\n\"What do you keep your hand behind you for?\" the King asked.\n\n\"I couldn't tell you that,\" said Naggeneen; \"I couldn't say the words\nthat I'ld have to say to tell you.\"\n\n\"And how did they drive you out?\"\n\n\"By brewing egg-shells.\"\n\n\"And do you mean,\" the King cried, \"that you let them catch you with\nthat old trick? I thought you was clever.\"\n\n\"Let them catch me! I couldn't help what they did! I tried to help it,\nbut it's a spell that's too strong for me or for any of us. If I was\nto get a soul by it, I couldn't help saying: 'What are you doing,\nmother?' and then I couldn't help saying how long I had been on the\nearth. Ah, didn't I always tell you mortals was more powerful than us,\nif they only knew how? What are our spells and our charms to theirs?\"\n\n\"And where is Terence, then?\" the King asked.\n\n\"He's not come in yet,\" somebody answered.\n\n\"You know where he must be by this time,\" said Naggeneen. \"He's back\nwith his father and his mother by now. Where else could he be?\"\n\n\"There'll be no geometry to-night,\" the King said. \"It's all done;\nwe've failed in that. We'll always be as we are, as you told us,\nNaggeneen. So now be as you were yourself and give us a tune to dance\nby. We was dancing when you came in, but it was no good music we had.\"\n\n\"I'll not play any more,\" Naggeneen said; \"that's all done too. But I\nhave something more to tell you. Kathleen O'Brien can see us, whether\nwe like it or not. Some fool of you must have given her the ointment\nwhen she was here, and now she has used it on her eyes. She saw me\nwhen I meant to be invisible, and by the same token she can see any of\nyou any time, whether you want to be seen or not. Now you know it's\nthe rule that she must be blinded in some way. Any of you can do it\nthat likes. I've had enough and I warn you. She carries something that\nnone of you can face, if she uses it. But you can watch your chance\nand do it when she's asleep or in some way off her guard.\"\n\nAn angry murmur ran around when Naggeneen said this. The King was\nabout to speak, but the Queen spoke first. \"Never a one of you shall\nharm her,\" she said. \"Look what she did for me and the little Prince,\nat that time when we can do nothing for ourselves. And how good her\ngrandmother has always been to us; and her mother, when she was alive.\nI don't care if she sees everything we do; no one of us shall ever\nharm her or anyone that belongs to her.\"\n\n\"You are right,\" the King said, \"and it's ordered as you say.\"\n\n\"And she's not to be blinded, then?\" said Naggeneen.\n\n\"She's not to be harmed,\" the King answered. \"I forbid you ever to\ntouch her, Naggeneen, and none of us ever will.\"\n\n\"Don't fear for me,\" said Naggeneen. \"I'll never go near her. I've had\nenough.\"\n\n\"And we've all had enough,\" said the King; \"so now, Naggeneen, play\nfor us.\"\n\n\"Leave me be,\" said Naggeneen; \"I'll never play for you again. King,\ndid you ever lose what you cared for more than all the world? When you\ndo, you'll know more than you know now, with all your age and with all\nyour power. I told you once how I carried off the Princess of France\nand how Guleesh na Guss Dhu stole her from me. I cared nothing for\nher. It was only the soul that I'ld get from her that I wanted. And\nthis time it was only the soul that I wanted, too, at first, but I\nloved this one in the end. But a soul will always find out another\nsoul, and there's nothing for one like us, that has no soul. Oh, I\ncouldn't even tell her like a man. All I could do was to be always\nfrightening her and threatening her, and I knew all the time that it\nwould drive her away from me at last, or me away from her. And I'll be\nlike the rest of you till the Last Day, and then it's not even a\nlittle smoke that there'll be left of us. Dance and play and do what\nyou like, but leave me be.\"\n\nNaggeneen turned away from the King, pushed his way through the crowd,\nand threw himself down in a corner of the hall, with his face against\nthe wall. The rest did not dance any more that night. Naggeneen had\nfrightened them, as he always frightened them when he chose.\n\nAfter that for a time everything went with the fairies as it had gone\nat first, except that Naggeneen was not among them. Sometimes he was\nin the hall by himself and sometimes he was out of it by himself, but\nhe never danced with the others, he never talked with them, and he\nnever played for them.\n\nOne day the King came to him as he sat in his corner alone and said,\n\"Naggeneen, we are all going to the wedding. Will you come with us?\"\n\n\"Leave me be,\" said Naggeneen. \"Why would I want to see it? I don't\nknow if I'll ever go with you or do anything with you again, or with\nanyone, but I know I'll not now.\"\n\nAll the people who were passing St. Patrick's Cathedral could tell by\nthe looks of things that if they waited long enough they would see\nsomebody come out. So a good many waited. After a while they saw\nTerence and Kathleen come out and get into a carriage.\n\n\"Look,\" said Kathleen: \"do you see them? They are the Good People!\nDon't you see them all around us, in the street and in the air, and\neverywhere? I remember every one of them--the funny little men and the\npretty little girls. Oh, you goose, you have lived with them all your\nlife, and still you can't see them except when they want you to. But\nmy eyes are different, and I can see them always. Here is one of them\ncoming close to the carriage. It is the King. Yes, Your Majesty. What\ndo you think he says, Terence? He says that they are never going to\ntry to put my eyes out and are never going to do me any harm at all,\nand that I am never to be afraid of them.\"\n\nPresently the people who were waiting outside the Cathedral saw John\nO'Brien and his mother come out and get into another carriage.\n\"Shaun,\" said the old woman, \"I'm wishing that poor Kitty--Heaven rest\nher soul!--could be here to-day.\"\n\n\"I was thinking that same, mother,\" said John.\n\n\"I think she sees it all,\" said his mother.\n\n\"I think so,\" said John.\n\n\"Shaun,\" said the old woman again, \"isn't it all as well as it could\nbe? Isn't my old King back with us, and isn't it the luck of\nO'Donoghue that we've found again?\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nBY THE SAME AUTHOR\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nFAIRIES AND FOLK OF IRELAND. $1.50\n\nTHE KNIGHTS OF THE ROUND TABLE. $1.50.\n\nTHE COURT OF KING ARTHUR. $1.50.\n\nTHE WAGNER STORY BOOK. $1.50.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nPROFUSELY ILLUSTRATED CATALOGUE\n\nOF BOOKS FOR YOUNG\n\nPEOPLE SENT ON APPLICATION\n\nNew and Standard Books\n\nfor Young Readers\n\n\nCHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS, Publishers\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nA NEW BOOK BY PAUL DU CHAILLU\n\nThe World of the Great Forest\n\nHow Animals, Birds, Reptiles and Insects Talk, Think, Work and Live.\nWith over 50 illustrations by C.R. Knight and J.H. Gleeson. Square\n12mo, $2.00.\n\n     Undoubtedly the masterpiece of the well known explorer, in\n     which his young friends may read how his companions of the\n     great African Forest describe in their own language their\n     characteristics, feelings, manner of life, means of\n     subsistence, etc., etc., as if they were actually endowed\n     with the gift of speech and had made him their confidant.\n\nFORMER BOOKS BY MR. DU CHAILLU\n\nThe Land of the Long Night\n\nWith 34 full-page illustrations. Square 12mo, $2.00.\n\nIvar the Viking\n\nA Romantic History, based upon Authentic Facts of the Third and Fourth\nCenturies. 12mo, $1.50.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nA NEW BOOK BY KIRK MUNROE\n\nBrethren of the Coast\n\nA Tale of West Indian Pirates. Illustrated by R.F. Zogbaum. 12mo,\n$1.25\n\n     The scene of this new story is laid in Cuba, in the early\n     part of this century. It is a stirring account of the\n     adventures and experiences of a wealthy planter's son with a\n     band of pirates known as Brethren of the Coast.\n\nOTHER BOOKS BY KIRK MUNROE\n\nMidshipman Stuart\n\nOR, THE LAST CRUISE OF THE \"ESSEX.\" A Tale of 1812. Illustrated. 12mo,\n$1.25.\n\nIn Pirate Waters\n\nA Tale of the American Navy. Illustrated. 12mo, $1.25.\n\nWHITE CONQUEROR SERIES\n\nWith Crockett and Bowie\n\nOR, FIGHTING FOR THE LONE STAR FLAG. A Tale of Texas. Illustrated.\n12mo, $1.25.\n\nThrough Swamp and Glade\n\nA Tale of the Seminole War. Illustrated. 12mo, $1.25.\n\nAt War with Pontiac\n\nOR, THE TOTEM OF THE BEAR. A Tale of Redcoat and Redskin. Illustrated.\n12mo, $1.25.\n\nThe White Conquerors\n\nA Tale of Toltec and Aztec. Illustrated. 12mo, $1.25.\n\n_The set, 4 vols., in a box, $5.00._\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nA NEW BOOK BY W.H. FROST\n\nFairies and Folk of Ireland\n\nIllustrated by S.R. Burleigh. 12mo, $1.50.\n\n     Mr. Frost here applies his attractive methods to re-telling\n     for young and old the fascinating myths and legends of Irish\n     folk-lore. As in his previous books, these fresh and\n     delightful materials are incorporated in a narrative setting\n     hardly less interesting than themselves.\n\nOTHER BOOKS BY MR. FROST\n\nEach illustrated by S.R. Burleigh. 12mo, $1.50.\n\nThe Knights of the Round Table.\n\nThe Court of King Arthur. Stories from the Land of the Round Table.\n\nThe Wagner Story Book. Firelight Tales of the Great Music Dramas.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nA NEW BOOK BY DANIEL C. BEARD\n\nThe Jack of All Trades\n\nOR, NEW IDEAS FOR AMERICAN BOYS. Profusely illustrated by the author.\nSquare 8vo, $2.00.\n\n     No author possesses to such a degree the ability to describe\n     and make interesting to boys all the various ingenious\n     devices for amusement and new games. Over 30,000 copies have\n     been sold of his two previous books.\n\nOTHER BOOKS BY MR. BEARD\n\nThe Outdoor Handy Book\n\nFor Playground, Field and Forest. New edition of \"The American Boy's\nBook of Sport.\" With more than 300 illustrations. Square 8vo, $2.00.\n\nThe American Boy's Handy Book\n\nOR, WHAT TO DO AND HOW TO DO IT. With more than 300 illustrations by\nthe author. Square 8vo, $2.00.\n\nBY LINA AND ADELIA B. BEARD\n\nThe American Girl's Handy Book\n\nOR, HOW TO AMUSE YOURSELF AND OTHERS. With more than 300 illustrations\nby the authors. _New and Enlarged Edition._ Square 8vo, $2.00.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nBY ERNEST SETON-THOMPSON\n\nThe Trail of the Sandhill Stag\n\nWith 8 full-page illustrations (one in color), and numerous marginal\nillustrations from drawings by the author. Square 8vo, $1.50.\n\n***Japan Edition of the above, limited to 250 copies, bound in\nleather, on hand-made paper. $6.00 _net_.\n\nWild Animals I Have Known\n\nWith 200 illustrations from drawings by the author. _51st Thousand._\nSquare 12mo, $2.00.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nTHREE NEW HENTY BOOKS\n\nWith Buller in Natal\n\nOR, A BORN LEADER. Illustrated by W. Rainey, R.I. 12mo, $1.50.\n\nIn the Irish Brigade\n\nA Story of the Reign of Louis XIV. Illustrated, 12mo, $1.50.\n\nOut with Garibaldi\n\nA Story of the Liberation of Italy. Illustrated. 12mo, $1.50.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nPREVIOUS VOLUMES\n\nEach, with numerous illustrations, handsomely bound, olivine edges.\n12mo, $1.50.\n\nWon by the Sword. A Story of the Thirty Years' War.\n\nA Roving Commission; OR, THROUGH THE BLACK INSURRECTION AT HAYTI.\n\nNo Surrender. A Tale of the Rising in La Vendee.\n\nUnder Wellington's Command. A Tale of the Peninsular War.\n\nAt Aboukir and Acre. A Story of Napoleon's Invasion of Egypt.\n\nBoth Sides the Border. A Tale of Hotspur and Glendower.\n\nWith Frederick the Great. A Tale of the Seven Years' War.\n\nA March on London. A Story of Wat Tyler's Rising.\n\nWith Moore at Corunna. A Story of the Peninsular War.\n\nCochrane the Dauntless. A Tale of the Exploits of Lord Cochrane in\nSouth American Waters.\n\nAt Agincourt. A Tale of the White Hoods of Paris.\n\nOn the Irrawaddy. A Story of the First Burmese War.\n\nThrough Russian Snows. A Story of Napoleon's Retreat from Moscow.\n\nA Knight of the White Cross. A Tale of the Siege of Rhodes.\n\nThe Tiger of Mysore. A Story of the War with Tippoo Said.\n\nIn the Heart of the Rockies. A Story of Adventure in Colorado.\n\nWhen London Burned. A Story of Restoration Times and the Great Fire.\n\nWulf the Saxon. A Story of the Norman Conquest.\n\nSt. Bartholomew's Eve. A Tale of the Huguenot Wars.\n\nThrough the Sikh War. A Tale of the Conquest of the Punjaub.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nCharles Scribner's Sons--Publishers","title":"Fairies and Folk of Ireland","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":72520}