“Och! Domnoo Sheery! father, you wouldn’t say that to me, and I such a good son as I am.  Who told you I wouldn’t marry the girl?” says he.

But his father was gone, and the lad knew well enough that he would keep his word too; and he was greatly troubled in his mind, for as quiet and as kind as the father was, he never went back of a word that he had once said, and there wasn’t another man in the country who was harder to bend than he was.

The boy did not know rightly what to do.  He was in love with the girl indeed, and he hoped to marry her sometime or other, but he would much sooner have remained another while as he was, and follow on at his old tricks—­drinking, sporting, and playing cards; and, along with that, he was angry that his father should order him to marry, and should threaten him if he did not do it.

“Isn’t my father a great fool,” says he to himself.  “I was ready enough, and only too anxious, to marry Mary; and now since he threatened me, faith I’ve a great mind to let it go another while.”

His mind was so much excited that he remained between two notions as to what he should do.  He walked out into the night at last to cool his heated blood, and went on to the road.  He lit a pipe, and as the night was fine he walked and walked on, until the quick pace made him begin to forget his trouble.  The night was bright, and the moon half full.  There was not a breath of wind blowing, and the air was calm and mild.  He walked on for nearly three hours, when he suddenly remembered that it was late in the night, and time for him to turn.  “Musha!  I think I forgot myself,” says he; “it must be near twelve o’clock now.”

The word was hardly out of his mouth, when he heard the sound of many voices, and the trampling of feet on the road before him.  “I don’t know who can be out so late at night as this, and on such a lonely road,” said he to himself.

He stood listening, and he heard the voices of many people talking through other, but he could not understand what they were saying.  “Oh, wirra!” says he, “I’m afraid.  It’s not Irish or English they have; it can’t be they’re Frenchmen!” He went on a couple of yards further, and he saw well enough by the light of the moon a band of little people coming towards him, and they were carrying something big and heavy with them.  “Oh, murder!” says he to himself, “sure it can’t be that they’re the good people that’s in it!” Every rib of hair that was on his head stood up, and there fell a shaking on his bones, for he saw that they were coming to him fast.

He looked at them again, and perceived that there were about twenty little men in it, and there was not a man at all of them higher than about three feet or three feet and a half, and some of them were grey, and seemed very old.  He looked again, but he could not make out what was the heavy thing they were carrying until they came up to him, and then they all stood round about him.  They threw the heavy thing down on the road, and he saw on the spot that it was a dead body.