“How is it that these fellows are not taken?” asked another.

“Because the people protect them,” said a third; “and because they have strength and activity; and thirdly, because we have no adequate force to put them down.”

“All very sound reasons,” replied the querist; but as to Shawn na Middogue, the people are impressed with a belief that he is under the protection of the fairies, and can’t be taken on this account.  Even if they were willing to give him up, which they are not, they dare not make the attempt, lest the vengeance of the fairies might come down on themselves and their cattle, in a thousand shapes.”

“I will tell you what the general opinion upon the subject is,” replied the other.  “It seems his foster-mother was a midwife, and that she was called upon once, about the hour of midnight, to discharge the duties of her profession toward a fairyman’s wife, and this she refused to do unless they conferred some gift either upon herself personally, or upon some one whom she should name.  Young Shawn, it appears, was her favorite, and she got a solemn promise from them to take him under their protection, and to preserve him from danger.  This is the opinion of the people; but whether it is true or not I won’t undertake to determine.”

“Come, gentlemen,” said their host, “push the bottle; remember we must attend the bonfire.”

“So,” said the magistrate, “you are sending us to blazes, Mr. Lindsay.”

“Well, at all events, my friends,” continued Mr. Lindsay, “we must make haste, for there’s little time to spare.  Take your liquor, for we must soon be off.  The evening is delightful.  If you are for coffee, let us adjourn to the ladies; and after the bonfire we will return and make a night of it.”

“Well said, Lindsay,” replied the parson; “and so we will.”

“Here, you young stranger,” said the priest, addressing Woodward, “I’ll drink your health once more in this bumper.  You touched us off decently enough, but a little too much on the sharp, as you would admit if you knew us.  Your health again, sir, and you are welcome among us!”

“Thank you, sir,” replied Woodward; “I am glad to see that you can bear a jest from me or my father, even when it is at your own expense—­your health.”

“Are you a sportsman?” asked the parson; “because, if you are not, just put yourself under my patronage, and I will teach you something worth knowing.  I will let you see what shooting and hunting mean.”

“I am a bit of one,” replied Woodward, “but shall be very happy to put myself into your hand, notwithstanding.”

“If I don’t lengthen your face I shall raise your heart,” proceeded, the divine.  “If I don’t make a sportsman of you—­”

“Ay,” added the priest, “you will find yourself in excellent hands, Mr. Woodward.”

“If I don’t make a sportsman of you:—­confound your grinning, Father Tom, what are you at?—­I’ll make a far better thing of you, that is, a good fellow, always, of course, provided that you have the materials in you.”