“The other cabins are filled; not one but has its hearth crowded; will ye take us in—­the two of us?  The wind bites mortal sharp, not a morsel o’ food have ne tasted this day.  Masther, will ye take us in?”

But Teig sat on, a-holding his tongue; and the tramp of the strangers’ feet passed down the road.  Others took their place—­small feet, running.  It was the miller’s wee Cassie, and she called out as she ran by.

“Old Barney’s watchin’ for ye.  Ye’ll not be forgettin’ him, will ye, Teig?”

And then the child broke into a song, sweet and clear, as she passed down the road: 

“Listen all ye, ‘tis the Feast o’ St. Stephen,
Mind that ye keep it, this holy even. 
Open your door an’ greet ye the stranger—­
For ye mind that the wee Lord had naught but a manger. 
           Mhuire as truagh!

“Feed ye the hungry an’ rest ye the weary,
This ye must do for the sake of Our Mary. 
’Tis well that ye mind—­ye who sit by the fire—­
That the Lord he was born in a dark and cold byre. 
           Mhuire as truagh!”

Teig put his fingers deep in his ears.  “A million murdthering curses on them that won’t let me be!  Can’t a man try to keep what is his without bein’ pesthered by them that has only idled an’ wasted their days?”

And then the strange thing happened:  hundreds and hundreds of wee lights began dancing outside the window, making the room bright; the hands of the clock began chasing each other round the dial, and the bolt of the door drew itself out.  Slowly, without a creak or a cringe, the door opened, and in there trooped a crowd of the Good People.  Their wee green cloaks were folded close about them, and each carried a rush candle.

Teig was filled with a great wonderment, entirely, when he saw the fairies, but when they saw him they laughed.

“We are takin’ the loan o’ your cabin this night, Teig,” said they.  “Ye are the only man hereabout with an empty hearth, an’ we’re needin’ one.”

Without saying more, they bustled about the room making ready.  They lengthened out the table and spread and set it; more of the Good People trooped in, bringing stools and food and drink.  The pipers came last, and they sat themselves around the chimney-piece a-blowing their chanters and trying the drones.  The feasting began and the pipers played and never had Teig seen such a sight in his life.  Suddenly a wee man sang out: 

“Clip, clap, clip, clap, I wish I had my wee red cap!” And out of the air there tumbled the neatest cap Teig ever laid his two eyes on.  The wee man clapped it on his head, crying: 

“I wish I was in Spain!” and—­whist—­up the chimney he went, and away out of sight.

It happened just as I am telling it.  Another wee man called for his cap, and away he went after the first.  And then another and another until the room was empty and Teig sat alone again.

“By my soul,” said Teig, “I’d like to thravel that way myself!  It’s a grand savin’ of tickets an’ baggage; an’ ye get to a place before ye’ve had time to change your mind.  Faith there is no harm done if I thry it.”