“It’s mighty innocent you are,” he replied. “Who would I be talking about but the man and woman that used to be living with you beyond in the little house? Is it poison you gave them now, or what was it? Take a hold of your note-book, Shawn.” “Can’t you have sense, man?” said Shawn. “How would I be writing in the middle of a dark place and me without as much as a pencil, let alone a book?” “Well, we’ll take it down at the station, and himself can tell us all about it as we go along. Move on now, for this is no place to be conversing in.” They paced on again, and in another moment they were swallowed up by the darkness. When they had proceeded for a little distance there came a peculiar sound in front like the breathing of some enormous animal, and also a kind of shuffling noise, and so they again halted. “There’s a queer kind of a thing in front of us,” said one of the men in a low voice. “If I had a match itself,” said another. The sergeant had also halted. “Draw well into the side of the road,” said he, “and poke your batons in front of you. Keep a tight hold of that man, Shawn.” “I’ll do that,” said Shawn. Just then one of them found a few matches in his pocket, and he struck a light; there was no wind, so that it blazed easily enough, and they all peered in front. A big black cart-horse was lying in the middle of the road having a gentle sleep, and when the light shone it scrambled to its feet and went thundering away in a panic. “Isn’t that enough to put the heart crossways in you?” said one of the men, with a great sigh. “Ay,” said another; “if you stepped on that beast in the darkness you wouldn’t know what to be thinking.” “I don’t quite remember the way about here,” said the sergeant after a while, “but I think we should take the first turn to the right. I wonder have we passed the turn yet; these criss-cross kinds of roads are the devil, and it dark as well. Do any of you men know the way?” “I don’t,” said one voice; “I’m a Cavan man myself.” “Roscommon,” said another, “is my country, and I wish I was there now, so I do.” “Well, if we walk straight on we’re bound to get somewhere, so step it out. Have you got a good hold of that man, Shawn?” “I have so,” said Shawn. The Philosopher’s voice came pealing through the darkness. “There is no need to pinch me, sir,” said he. “I’m not pinching you at all,” said the man. “You are so,” returned the Philosopher. “You have a big lump of skin doubled up in the sleeve of my coat, and unless you instantly release it I will sit down in the road.” “Is that any better?” said the man, relaxing his hold a little. “You have only let out half of it,” replied the Philosopher. “That’s better now,” he continued, and they resumed their journey. After a few minutes of silence the Philosopher began to speak.