“Sure the pot-bellied stone haythin sits as firm on his sate as iver he did.” “O Wurra-Wurra!” said Finola, with hands clasped in gratitude. “Lave off your heretical supplications,” said Keth harshly, “an’ hand over me missage from Patrick.” [Illustration] [Illustration] “’Tis this,” said Finola, givin’ him a tinder look from her eyes. “Another bunch of poor loonatics have started down Glanngalt to lave their troubles with Wurra-Wurra. Patrick follows with his household, but too late to heal thim with the spirit of the Four Gospils before they feel the spell of the sacred grotto. So ye’re to let thim, for this wance, resayve their easemint from Wurra-Wurra, as of old—for sure, Patrick says, the great idol is an instrumint of God, not yet to be destroyed.” [Illustration] [Illustration] [Illustration] “So be it,” said Keth, dissimbling again. “Go you back to Patrick an’ I will wait for ye beside the grotto.” Finola flung hersilf upon his neck. “’Tis like the owld swate Keth,” she said. “Ah, Keth, why are ye not always true to the gintleness an’ hilpfulness that shines in your face so like Wurra-Wurra’s own?” * * * * * Thin she kissed him and lift him, an’ Keth wint slowly back to the grotto, with his chin on his brist, wonderin’ how he was to restore the idol’s broken head on his shoulders. He gathered up the pieces an’ mixed some clay an’ tried to patch thim together, but ’twas no use—too well had the handstone done its work! An’ now Keth could hear the fresh bunch of loonatics comin’ shriekin’ an’ moanin’ down the valley. ’Twas even a worse predicamint he was in, for, crowdin’ the loonatics on all sides were scores an’ hundreds of maids weepin’ for their gallivantin’ swatehearts, an’ old dames lamintin’ sheep with the foot rot, cows with calves miscast an’ such like troubles which ’twas in the minds of thim to shoulder off on Wurra-Wurra. [Illustration] “Sure, ’tis a tight place I’m in,” thought Keth Mac Maragh. “The loonatics, an’ the maids, an’ the old women will be after bashin’ the head of me as I bashed their haythin idol. True, I have me handstone, but what is wan handstone for all that crazy bunch?” [Illustration] [Illustration] An’ then suddenly it flashed across his mind about what Finola had said of his face raysimblin’ that of Wurra-Wurra. “Sure, ’tis only the fondness of her foolish little haythin heart,” thought Keth. But as ’twas the only chance, an’ the first of the loonatics bein’ now close to the grotto, Keth Mac Maragh wint behind the headless idol an’ leaned over with his neck in the hollow between the shoulders which the handstone had cut as though through a bog-cured cheese. He brought his chin down near to the idol’s navel, prissed the cheek of him against the opin ear that remained so providentially, hid his arms an’ body behind the great bulk of the image—an’ thin upon the face of him he spread the gintlest and tinderest smile that was in him. [Illustration]