no GARRYOWEN 



wheezy voice. " Who are you, lettin' the draught 

 in on me? Oh! glory be to God, it's Mr Michael 

 himself—" 



" Come in," said French, and the girl followed 

 him into the one room where Mrs Moriarty kept 

 herseK and her hens — two of them were roosting on 

 the rafters — and where she was sitting now over a 

 bit of fire, with her bonnet on to keep the " cowld " 

 from her head, and a short black pipe between her 

 teeth. It was an appalhng place, considered as a 

 human dwelling. The floor was of clay, the 

 window had only one practicable pane, the rest 

 were broken and stuffed with rags. A heap of 

 rags in the corner did duty for a bed. By the fire, 

 and beside the old lady, who was sitting on a stool, 

 a bantam hen brooding in the warmth cocked one 

 bloodshot eye up at the visitors. 



" I've brought a young lady to see you, 

 Kate," said Mr French. " Talk to her and tell 

 her of the fairies, for I'm going down the road to 

 see Mr James, and I won't be a minute, and I'll 

 send you a drop of whisky from the inn to warm 

 your gizzard when I get back." 



" Sure, it's welcome she is," said the old woman. 

 " But it isn't a seat I have to ask her to sit on, and 

 I stuck to this ould stool wid the rheumatiz in me 

 legs. Get out wid you, Norah " — making a dive 

 with a bit of stick at the bantam, which, taking 

 the hint, fluttered into a corner — " and make way 

 for the young lady. You'll excuse her, miss; 

 she's the only one of siven I brought up wid me 



