Bridget took up the dropped thread and went on. "An' afther that the leprechaun reaches for his crock o' gold an' pulls out a penny. Ye can buy anythin' i' the whole world wi' a faery penny." "Anythinks!" said Michael, skeptically. "That's what I said." "Could yer buy a dorg?" Peter asked, opening one renegade eye. "Sure--a million dogs." "Don't want a million. Want jus' one real live black dorg--named Toby--wiv yeller spots an' half-legs--an' long ears--an' a stand-up tail--an' legs--an' long--long--long--" The renegade eye closed tight and Peter was smiling at something afar off. An antiphonal chorus of yawns broke the hush that followed, while Bridget worked herself back under the covers. "A ken the penny micht be buyin' a hame," came in a drowsy voice from Sandy's crib. "'Twad be a hame in Aberdeen--wi' trees an' flo'ers an' mickle wee creepit things--an'--Miss Peggie--an'--us--" "Sure, an' it could be buyin' a grand home in Irelan', the same," Bridget beamed; and then she added, struck forcibly with an afterthought: "But what would be the sense of a home anywheres but here--furninst--within easy reach of a crutch or a wheeled chair? Tell me that!" Sandy grunted ambiguously; and Bridget took up again the thread of her recounting. "Ye could never be guessin' half o' the sthrange adventures we'll be havin'! Like as not Sandy 'll be gettin' his hump lifted off him. I mind the story--me mother often told it me. There was a humpy back in Irelan', once, who went always about wi' song in his heart an' another on his lips; an' one day he fetched up inside a faery rath. The pipers were pipin' an' the Wee People was dancin', an' while they was dancin' they was singin' like this: 'Monday an' Tuesday--an' Monday an' Tuesday--an' Monday an' Tuesday'--an' it sounded all jerky and bad. 'That's a terrible poor song,' says the humpy, speakin' out plain. 'What's that?' says the faeries, stoppin' their dance an' gatherin' round him. ''Tis mortal poor music ye are making' says the humpy ag'in. 'Can ye improve it any?' asked the faeries. 'I can that,' says the humpy. 'Add Wednesday to it an' ye'll have double as good a song.' An' when the faeries tried it it was so pretty, an' they was so pleased, they took the hump off him." Sandy had curled up like a kitten; his eyes were shut, and he was smiling, too. Every one was very quiet; only Rosita moved, reaching out a frightened hand to Bridget. "Fwaid," she lisped. "All dark--fwaid to do."