“They are down there in your little house,” said the Thin Woman angrily, “and the sooner you let them up the better it will be for yourself and your five brothers.” “Noble Woman,” said the Leprecaun, “you can go down yourself into our little house and look. I can’t say fairer than that.” “I wouldn’t fit down there,” said she. “I’m too big.” “You know the way for making yourself little,” replied the Leprecaun. “But I mightn’t be able to make myself big again,” said the Thin Woman, “and then you and your dirty brothers would have it all your own way. If you don’t let the children up,” she continued, “I’ll raise the Shee of Croghan Conghaile against you. You know what happened to the Cluricauns of Oilean na Glas when they stole the Queen’s baby—It will be a worse thing than that for you. If the children are not back in my house before moonrise this night, I’ll go round to my people. Just tell that to your five ugly brothers. Health with you,” she added, and strode away. “Health with yourself, Noble Woman,” said the Leprecaun, and he stood on one leg until she was out of sight and then he slid down into the hole again. When the Thin Woman was going back through the pine wood she saw Meehawl MacMurrachu travelling in the same direction and his brows were in a tangle of perplexity. “God be with you, Meehawl MacMurrachu,” said she. “God and Mary be with you, ma’am,” he replied, “I am in great trouble this day.” “Why wouldn’t you be?” said the Thin Woman. “I came up to have a talk with your husband about a particular thing.” “If it’s talk you want you have come to a good house, Meehawl.” “He’s a powerful man right enough,” said Meehawl. After a few minutes the Thin Woman spoke again. “I can get the reek of his pipe from here. Let you go right in to him now and I’ll stay outside for a while, for the sound of your two voices would give me a pain in my head.” “Whatever will please you will please me, ma’am,” said her companion, and he went into the little house. Meehawl MacMurrachu had good reason to be perplexed. He was the father of one child only, and she was the most beautiful girl in the whole world. The pity of it was that no one at all knew she was beautiful, and she did not even know it herself. At times when she bathed in the eddy of a mountain stream and saw her reflection looking up from the placid water she thought that she looked very nice, and then a great sadness would come upon her, for what is the use of looking nice if there is nobody to see one’s beauty? Beauty, also, is usefulness. The arts as well as the crafts, the graces equally with the utilities must stand up in the marketplace and be judged by the gombeen men.