THE HERON 
their steps. Then sometimes Andy went home 
silently at cock-crow, and drank more whisky 
to chase the winter damps from his limbs ; but 
more often he clapped his hands, and yelled 
with delight to see the grey Corr iasc flap 
majestically from the tarn. 
Andy was speaking to a turf cutter one day 
he seldom spoke to other men now when the 
heron flew overhead. Andy broke off in what 
he was saying and gripped his companion's arm. 
" Do ye see him ? Do ye see him ? " he whis- 
pered, cunningly. 
" Shure, it's only a Corr iasc," said the other, 
wondering. 
" Bejabers ye're right, Casey, ye're right. 'Tis 
a Corr iasc shure enough, and not a divil at all. 
A divil wouldn't stand the holy wather." 
He went away, muttering ; and the word went 
round anew that Andy Hogan was mad. 
He used to go down to Ballongarry every day. 
At first there were no devils there, but later they 
followed him thither, and walked with him all 
the time. Most especially he saw them in the 
big Beech Wood, where the grey trunks rose 
stately like ghosts, and the leaves under foot 
were wet and red. All the time when he was 
not talking to the devils he was thinking about 
Cornelius Geoghegan and hating him. Gradu- 
ally his poor fear-ridden illogical brain could 
235 
