“I will not,” said the Philosopher. “In certain ways sleep is useful. It is an excellent way of listening to an opera or seeing pictures on a bioscope. As a medium for day-dreams I know of nothing that can equal it. As an accomplishment it is graceful, but as a means of spending a night it is intolerably ridiculous. If you were going to say anything, my love, please say it now, but you should always remember to think before you speak. A woman should be seen seldom but never heard. Quietness is the beginning of virtue. To be silent is to be beautiful. Stars do not make a noise. Children should always be in bed. These are serious truths, which cannot be controverted; therefore, silence is fitting as regards them.” “Your stirabout is on the hob,” said the Thin Woman. “You can get it for yourself. I would not move the breadth of my nail if you were dying of hunger. I hope there’s lumps in it. A Leprecaun from Gort na Cloca Mora was here to-day. They’ll give it to you for robbing their pot of gold. You old thief, you! you lobeared, crock-kneed fat-eye!” The Thin Woman whizzed suddenly from where she stood and leaped into bed. From beneath the blanket she turned a vivid, furious eye on her husband. She was trying to give him rheumatism and toothache and lockjaw all at once. If she had been satisfied to concentrate her attention on one only of these torments she might have succeeded in afflicting her husband according to her wish, but she was not able to do that. “Finality is death. Perfection is finality. Nothing is perfect. There are lumps in it,” said the Philosopher. CHAPTER V When the Leprecaun came through the pine wood on the following day he met two children at a little distance from the house. He raised his open right hand above his head (this is both the fairy and the Gaelic form of salutation), and would have passed on but that a thought brought him to a halt. Sitting down before the two children he stared at them for a long time, and they stared back at him. At last he said to the boy: “What is your name, a vic vig O?” “Seumas Beg, sir,” the boy replied. “It’s a little name,” said the Leprecaun. “It’s what my mother calls me, sir,” returned the boy. “What does your father call you,” was the next question. “Seumas Roghan Maelduin O’Carbhail Mac an Droid.” “It’s a big name,” said the Leprecaun, and he turned to the little girl. “What is your name, a cailin vig O?” “Brigid Beg, sir.” “And what does your father call you?” “He never calls me at all, sir.” “Well, Seumaseen and Breedeen, you are good little children, and I like you very much. Health be with you until I come to see you again.” And then the Leprecaun went back the way he had come. As he went he made little jumps and cracked his fingers, and sometimes he rubbed one leg against the other. “That’s a nice Leprecaun,” said Seumas. “I like him too,” said Brigid.