Black Tom sat down with a complacent air, and his rasping voice came from the other side of the glass. “In the ould times gone by, girl, before Manxmen got too big for their breeches, they'd be off to bed by ten o'clock on Hollantide Eve to lave room for the little people that's outside to come in. And the big woman of the house would be filling the crocks for the fairies to drink, and the big man himself would be raking the ashes so they might bake their cakes, and a girl, same as you, would be going to bed backwards----” “I know! I know!” cried Kate, near to the ceiling, and clapping her hands. “She eats a roasted apple, and goes to bed thirsty, and then dreams that somebody brings her a drink of water, and that's the one that's to be her husband, eh?” “You've got it, girl.” Cæsar had been listening with his eyes turned sideways off his book, and now he cried, “Then drop it, I'm telling you. It's nothing but instruments of Satan, and the ones that's telling it are just flying in the face of faith from superstition and contrariety. It isn't dacent in a Christian public-house, and I'm for having no more of it.” Grannie paused in her knitting, fixed her cap with one of her needles and said, “Dear heart, father! Tom meant no harm.” Then, glancing at the clock and rising, “But it's time to shut up the house, anyway. Good night, Tom! Good night all! Good night!” Phil and Pete rose also. Pete went to the door and pretended to look out, then came back to Kate's side and whispered, “Come, give them the slip--there's somebody outside that's waiting for you.” “Let them wait,” said the girl, but she laughed, and Pete knew she would come. Then he turned to Philip, “A word in your ear, Phil,” he said, and took him by the arm and drew him out of the house and round to the yard of the stable. “Well, good night, Grannie,” said Mr. Jelly, going out behind them. “But if I were as young as your grandson there, Mr. Quilliam, I would be making a start for somewhere.” “Grandson!” grunted Tom, heaving up, “I've got no grandson, or he wouldn't be laving me to smoke a dry pipe. But he's making an Almighty of this Phil Christian--that's it.” After they were gone, Grannie began counting the till and saying, “As for fairies--one, two, three--it may be, as Cæsar says--four--five--the like isn't in, but it's safer to be civil to them anyway.” “Aw, yes,” said Nancy Joe, “a crock of fresh water and a few good words going to bed on Hollantide Eve does no harm at all, at all.” Outside in the stable-yard the feet of Black Tom and Jonaique Jelly were heard going off on the road. The late moon was hanging low, red as an evening sun, over the hill to the south-east. Pete was puffing and blowing as if he had been running a race. “Quick, boy, quick!” he was whispering, “Kate's coming. A word in your ear first. Will you do me a turn, Phil?” “What is it?” said Philip. “Spake to the ould man for me while I spake to the girl!” “What about?” said Philip.