The voice from the shadow spoke again. “It was a man called Dewar. There was two of them comin’ home one winter afternoon from Annalong, O’Brian and Dewar. O’Brian had been gettin’ money, and they both had their load of drink. It was dirty weather and no one on the road, and maybe they fell out about somethin’. Any way, next day they got O’Brian down below there on the stones, his face bashed in you wouldn’t know him. Him and Dewar were seen leavin’ Annalong together, and they got Dewar lying drunk in his own house, and he confessed and was hung for it.” “But how did he do it?” Gerald asked. “He smashed him on the face with a lump of rock, and then threw him down into the sea. They say there are nights when you can hear O’Brian. It’s like this.” He gave a low wail that shrilled up to a cry. “I’m goin’ home,” said Willie Breen, rising to his feet. “Wee scaldy! You’ll have to go by yourself,” jeered Sam. “And you’ll meet him as sure as death. You’ll know him, because he won’t have any face on him, only a lock of blood. And Dewar with him, with his neck broke.” Sam’s head drooped horribly to his shoulder. Willie Breen sat down. “When you talk about ghosts or spirits it’s supposed to bring them near,” said George Edge. “It gives them a kind of power over you.” “For goodness sake stop all that rubbish,” cried Katherine, indignantly. “Can’t you see you’re frightening the child out of his wits!” “Go to her, baby. Hold her hand,” mocked Sam. Willie turned angrily on his protectress. “I’m not frightened. It’s you that’s frightened. You shouldn’t be here at all. There shouldn’t be any women in the club.” “Faith, he’s right there!” Sam exclaimed. But George Edge, sitting up, pointed out to sea. “Listen,” he said impressively. We all sat still, Willie Breen with wide-open eyes. A moment after, with a blade of grass between his thumbs, Sam made an unearthly screech in the little boy’s ear. It was too much, and Willie set up a howl. At the same instant Katherine turned to Sam and he received a resounding slap on his fat face. Instantly there was tumult. Sam was on his feet, red as a turkey-cock, blustering of all he would do if Katherine were not a girl. Then he spied Gerald, and gave him a blow on the chest that almost sent him into the fire. “That’s for you, you ‘get.’” Gerald drew back, neither speaking, nor returning the blow: the other boys had surrounded them. I saw Gerald’s face, and it was very white; but he did nothing, he was afraid. That he should be disgusted me, and at the same time I was furious with Sam, whom, for that matter, I had always detested. I waited just long enough to give Gerald a chance to face him, if he wanted to; then I gave Sam a slap with my open hand on his cheek. It was the second he had received within two minutes, and somehow, even in the excitement, I couldn’t help being amused.