He came back presently, turning the corner of the stanchions in a depressed and rambling way, quite at variance with his accustomed swinging gait. He hung his head, too, and shook it over and over again perplexedly. “Abner 'n' me'll be bringin' in the stove,” he said. “'Tis not fit for you to go out wid that sickness on ye.” “Well, anyway,” I retorted, “you see I wasn't wanderin' much in my mind.” Hurley shook his head again. “Well, then,” he began, lapsing into deep brogue and speaking rapidly, “I've meself seen the woman wid the head of a horse on her in the lake forninst the Three Castles, an' me sister's first man, sure he broke down the ditch round-about the Danes' fort on Dunkelly, an' a foine grand young man, small for his strength an' wid a red cap on his head, flew out an' wint up in the sky, an' whin he related it up comes Father Forrest to him in the potaties, an' says he, ‘I do be suprised wid you, O'Driscoll, for to be relatin' such loies.’ ‘I'll take me Bible oat' on 'em!’ says he. ‘'Tis your imagination!’ says the priest. ‘No imagination at all!’ says O'Driscoll; ‘sure, I saw it wid dese two eyes, as plain as I'm lookin' at your riverence, an' a far grander sight it was too!’ An' me own mother, faith, manny's the toime I've seen her makin' up dhrops for the yellow sicknest wid woodlice, an' sayin' Hail Marys over 'em, an' thim same 'ud cure annything from sore teeth to a wooden leg for moiles round. But, saints help me! I never seen the loikes o' _this_! Haggydorn is it? _Ould_ Haggydorn! _Huh!_” Then the Irishman, still with a dejected air, started off across the yard through the snow to the cow-barns, mumbling to himself as he went. I had heard Abner's heavy tread coming along the stanchions toward me, but now all at once it stopped. The farmer's wife had followed him into the passage, and he had halted to speak with her. “They ain't no two ways about it, mother,” he expostulated. “We jest got to put the best face on it we kin, an' act civil, an' pass the time o' day as if nothing'd ever happened atween us. He'll be goin' the first thing after breakfast.” “Oh! I ain't agoin' to sass him, or say anything uncivil,” M'rye broke in, reassuringly. “What I mean is, I dont want to come into the for'ard end of the barn at all. They ain't no need of it. I kin cook the breakfast in back, and Janey kin fetch it for'ard for yeh, an' nobody need say anythin', or be any the wiser.” “Yes, I know,” argued Abner, “but there's the looks o' the thing, _I_ say, if you're goin' to do a thing, why, do it right up to the handle, or else don't do it at all. An' then there's the girl to consider, and _her_ feelin's.” “Dunno't her feelin's are such a pesky sight more importance than other folkses,” remarked M'rye, callously.