Murdoch’s Rath was a pleasant enough spot in the daytime, but not many persons cared to go by it when the sun was down.  And in all the years Pat was going backwards and forwards, he never once came home except by the high-road till this unlucky evening, when, just at the place where the two roads part, he got, as one may say, into a sort of confusion.

“Halt!” says he to himself (for his own uncle had been a soldier, and Pat knew the word of command).  “The left-hand turn is the right one,” says he, and he was going down the high-road as straight as he could go, when suddenly he bethought himself.  “And what am I doing?” he says.  “This was my left hand going to town, and how in the name of fortune could it be my left going back, considering that I’ve turned round?  It’s well that I looked into it in time.”  And with that he went off as fast down the other road as he started down this.

But how far he walked he never could tell, before all of a sudden the moon shone out as bright as day, and Pat found himself in Murdoch’s Rath.

And this was the smallest part of the wonder; for the Rath was full of fairies.

When Pat got in they were dancing round and round till his feet tingled to look at them, being a good dancer himself.  And as he sat on the side of the Rath, and snapped his fingers to mark the time, the dancing stopped, and a little man comes up, in a black hat and a green coat, with white stockings, and red shoes on his feet.

“Won’t you take a turn with us, Pat?” says he, bowing till he nearly touched the ground.  And, indeed, he had not far to go, for he was barely two feet high.

“Don’t say it twice, sir,” says Pat.  “It’s myself will be proud to foot the floor wid ye;” and before you could look round, there was Pat in the circle dancing away for bare life.

At first his feet felt like feathers for lightness, and it seemed as if he could have gone on for ever.  But at last he grew tired, and would have liked to stop, but the fairies would not, and so they danced on and on.  Pat tried to think of something good to say, that he might free himself from the spell, but all he could think of was: 

“A dozen hanks of grey yarn for Missis Murphy.”

“Three gross of bright buttons for the tailor.”

“Half an ounce of throat drops for Father Andrew, and an ounce of snuff for his housekeeper,” and so on.

And it seemed to Pat that the moon was on the one side of the Rath when they began to dance, and on the other side when they left off; but he could not be sure after all that going round.  One thing was plain enough.  He danced every bit of leather off the soles of his feet, and they were blistered so that he could hardly stand; but all the little folk did was to stand and hold their sides with laughing at him.

At last the one who spoke before stepped up to him, and—­“Don’t break your heart about it, Pat,” says he; “I’ll lend you my own shoes till the morning, for you seem to be a good-natured sort of a boy.”