"Who was he? Faith, I niver saw him but the wan time, an’ thin I had only a shot at him as he was turnin’ a corner, for it was as I was lavin’ Cormac’s chapel the time I wint to Cashel on a pinance, bekase av a little throuble on me mind along av a pig that wasn’t mine, but got mixed wid mine whin I was afther killin’ it. But, as I obsarved, it was only a shot at him I had, for it wasn’t aften that he was seen in the daytime, but done all his work in the night, an’ it isn’t me that ’ud be climbin’ the Rock av Cashel afther the sun ’ud go to slape. Not that there’s avil sper’ts there, for none that’s bad can set fut on that holy ground day or night, but I’m not afther wantin’ to meet a sper’t av any kind, even if it’s good, for how can ye tell about thim. Sure aven the blessed saints have been desaved, an’ it’s not for a sinner like me to be settin’ up for to know more than thimselves. But it was the long, bent body that he had, like he’d a burdhen on his back, as they say, God be good to him, he had on his sowl, an’ a thin, white face wid the hair an’ beard hangin’ about it, an’ the great, blue eyes lookin’ out as if he was gazin’ on the other worruld. No, I didn’t run down the rock, but I didn’t walk aither, but jist bechuxt the two, wid a sharp eye round the corners that I passed. No more do I belave there was harrum in him, but, God’s prisence be about us, ye can’t tell. "He was a man o’ Clare be the name av Paddy O’Sullivan, an’ lived on the highway betune Crusheen an’ Ennis, an’ they do say that whin he was a lad, there wasn’t a finer to be seen in the County; a tall, shtrappin’ young felly wid an eye like a bay’net, an’ a fisht like a shmith, an’ the fut an’ leg av him ’ud turn the hearts o’ half the wimmin in the parish. An’ they was all afther him, like they always do be whin a man is good lookin’, sure I’ve had a little o’ that same exparience mesilf. Ye needn’t shmile. I know me head has no more hair on it than an egg, an’ I think me last tooth ’ull come out tomorrer, bad cess to the day, but they do say that forty years ago, I cud have me pick av the gurruls, an’ mebbe they’re mishtaken an’ mebbe not. But I was sayin’, the gurruls were afther Paddy like rats afther chaze, an’ sorra a wan o’ thim but whin she spied him on the road, ’ud shlip behind the hedge to shmooth her locks a bit an’ set the shawl shtraight on her head. An’ whin there was a bit av a dance, niver a boy ’ud get a chance till Paddy made his chice to dance wid, an’ sorra a good word the rest o’ the gurruls ’ud give that same. Och, the tongues that wimmin have! Sure they’re sharper nor a draggin’s tooth. Faith, I know that well too, for I married two o’ them an’ larned a deal too afther doin’ it, an’ axin’ yer pardon, it’s my belafe that if min knewn as much before marryin’ as afther, bedad, the owld maid population ’ud be greatly incrased.