ST. PATRICK
"Sureand it's Father Tom himself," said Norah's mother. She was in the midst of the family washing. Katie was rocking baby Patsy, and Norah was brushing up the rough mud floor. Every one stopped work at once and ran out of the cabin, the mother wiping her hands on her apron, and Norah lifting Patsy and carrying him along in her strong young arms.
The whole village had by this time turned out into the lane and gathered around the kind fat priest, who had a smile for each and all.
There were old people hobbling along with the help of sticks, men who had stopped work for the sake of a blessing from the priest,mothers with babies in their arms, and children big and little.
It was a glad day when Father Tom came to the village to see how all were getting along. There were so few people that the village had no church of its own. They went four miles every Sunday to the nearest service. Almost every one had to walk, for there were only two or three donkeys and one or two rough carts in the whole place. A visit from the priest was a great honour, a very great honour. The children knelt in his pathway that he might lay his hands on them and bless them. The men took off their hats and bowed their heads low as he passed by. The old women made as good curtsys as their stiff backs would let them.
Norah put little Patsy down on the ground, whispering, "Patsy, dear, touch the good man's robe with your little hands. It will make ye a better boy."
Father Tom must have heard the whisper. He turned around and placed his hands on the baby's curly head. Then he made a short prayer and blessed him.
"I will take a sup of tea with you, Mrs. O'Neil," he said to Norah's mother. "I am quite tired, for I have walked all the way from my home this morning."
Mrs. O'Neil was much pleased. She hurried home, while the priest and children followed her more slowly.
As she hung the kettle over the fire and set the table for the priest's lunch, he gathered the children around him and told them stories of St. Patrick, the dearest of all saints to the Irish people.
It was a long, long time ago that the King of Ireland was holding a festival in the Hall of Tara.
"Put out all the fires," he had commanded his people. "Let no light be seen till a blaze bursts forth from the hill of Tara."
Not one of his subjects would have dared to disobey the king's command.
You may judge, therefore, how surprised he was when he looked out into the darkness and saw a light. It grew stronger and stronger every moment. A great fire was blazing near by on the top of a hill!
Who could have dared to disobey the king? What was the meaning of the fire? The Druid priest for whom the king sent in haste said:
"O king, if that fire is not put out to-night, it will never die in this country."
Now it happened that the festival which the king and his people were celebrating was held on the night before Easter Sunday. Few people of Erin had at that time heard of Easter Sunday. They knew nothing of the life of the Christ Child. They were Druids, and had a strange belief of their own.
Their chief priests dwelt in the dark forestsof oak-trees, and taught their followers to worship fire as the symbol of the sun.
But a new teacher had come into their country. He had a message to the people. He wished to tell them of the Christian religion and of Jesus, who had lived and suffered and died to help all mankind.
The name of the new teacher was Patrick, and Scotland was his early home. When he was sixteen years old, he was surprised by a band of robbers. They made him their prisoner and took him with them to Ireland.
After he had been with them six months, he managed to get free and went back to Scotland.
But he was carried off a second time, and again he escaped. After he reached his own home once more, he said to himself, "I should like to help the people of Ireland. I should like to tell them of Jesus and his religion."
He began to study and prepare himself for teaching. At last he was made a bishop.
After many years, he was able to go back to Ireland. It was what he had long wished to do.
It was the eve of Easter Sunday when he lighted that great fire on the hilltop and surprised the king by his daring.
"I will send for the man who kindled that fire. Let him come before me at once," commanded the king.
Patrick was brought in haste, but he was not frightened in the least.
When the king and the princes, the nobles and the Druid priests were gathered together, he told them he had come to Erin to put out the fires of the Druids. He wished to stop the making of the pagan sacrifices in which the people then believed. He had brought something better in their place. It was the Christian religion.
What do you suppose the king replied?
He was very angry, of course. But still he asked Patrick to meet the wise men of thecountry the next day and talk the matter over. Then he could explain his belief to them.
On the next day he did meet them. He talked so well and so wisely that many of the listeners thought he knew a great deal more than they did. They became Christians then and there.
The king then gave Patrick the right to preach all over Ireland. As he went from place to place, he spoke so well that all those who listened to him felt his great power.
In a short time the whole of the people became Christians, and the strange worship of the Druids came to an end.
Father Tom told Norah and her sister many wonderful stories of the life of St. Patrick. He told of a spring of water he had visited. This spring worked miracles.
It happened that St. Patrick and St. Bridget were one day taking a walk. She said she was thirsty. St. Patrick struck the ground with hisstaff. Water instantly began to bubble up through the earth, and a spring has been there ever since.
Father Tom went on to tell of strange wriggling things called snakes. He had seen them in other countries. They were something like big worms, and were of different colours. The bite of some of them was poisonous.
"But we have none of them in our own beautiful Ireland," he said. "You may thank the blessed St. Patrick for sending them out of this country."
Norah and Katie both shivered when they thought of the snakes. How good St. Patrick was to drive the horrid creatures out of Ireland!
"There is a grand church in the city of Dublin called St. Patrick's Cathedral. When you grow up, Norah, you must surely visit it," said the kind priest, as he finished his story-telling. "It stands on the very spot where St.Patrick himself once built a church. It is a fine building, and its spire reaches higher up toward heaven than anything you have ever seen made by men.
"But, my dear little children, your mother has prepared me a nice luncheon. I must eat it, and then visit poor Widow McGee, who is very ill."
A half-hour afterward, Father Tom had left the little home, and Mrs. O'Neil was once more hard at work over her wash-tub. Norah was out in the yard amusing baby Patsy.
"Mother, mother," she called, "Mrs. Maloney is on her way here. She has just stopped at Mrs. Flynn's."
"Come in and get some petaties ready for her, Norah. I don't want to stop again in my work." (Mrs. O'Neil pronounced it "wurruk.")
Mrs. Maloney lived in a lonely cabin about two miles away. You would hardly believe it,but Norah's home was almost a palace beside Mrs. Maloney's.
There was one little window, as she would have called it. It was really only a hole in the wall. When heavy rains fell, the old woman stuffed it with marsh-grass. The thatched roof had fallen in at one end of the cabin. The furniture was a chair and a rough bedstead.
Poor old Mrs. Maloney! Once she had a strong husband and eight happy children, but, one by one, they had died, and now she was old and feeble, and had no one in the world to look after her.
Is it any wonder that the generous people whom she visited always had something to give and a kind word to speak to her?
Every few days, she went from house to house, holding out her apron as she stood in the doorway. She did not need to say a word. One kind woman would give her a bit of tea,another a loaf of bread, a third a cabbage, and a fourth a little butter.
In this way she was kept from starving, or from going to the workhouse, which she dreaded nearly as much.
As Norah dropped the potatoes into her apron, the old woman blessed her heartily. As she turned to leave, Mrs. O'Neil called after her to ask how she got along in yesterday's bad storm.
"Sure and I was that feared I dared not stay in the cabin. It was so bad I thought it would fall down on me shoulders. So I wint out and sat on the turf behind it. I was wet indade when the storm was over."
"Too bad, too bad," said Mrs. O'Neil, in a voice of pity. "We must see what can be done for you."
She did not forget. That very night she asked her husband if he could not find time to mend the old woman's hut and make it safeto live in. He promised her that as soon as the potatoes were hoed he would get his friend Mickey Flynn to help him and they would fix it all right.
"Ah! Tim, Tim," said his wife, with her eyes full of tears, "of all the eight children Mrs. Maloney has lost, there is none she grieves over like her boy John, that went to Ameriky and was never heard of again.
"Maybe he lost his life on the way there. Maybe he died all alone in that far-away land, with no kind friends near him. No one but God knows."
Mrs. O'Neil crossed herself as she went on, "Think of our own dear girl in Ameriky, and what might happen to her!"
DANIEL O'CONNELL
"O Paddy, dear, and did you hearThe news that's going round?The shamrock is forbid by lawTo grow on Irish ground."
Norahwas sitting by her father's side as the family were gathered around the fireplace one chilly evening. She was singing that song they loved so well, "The Wearing of the Green."
"I picked some shamrock leaves this morning, and I put them in the big book to press. Can they go in the next letter to Maggie, mother?" asked the little girl, as she finished singing.
She jumped down from her seat and went toa shelf, from which she took the treasure of the family. It was the only book they owned besides their prayer-books.
It told the story of a man loved by every child of Erin,—the story of Daniel O'Connell.
Opening the leaves carefully, Norah took out a spray of tiny leaves. They looked very much like the white clover which is so common in the fields of America. It was a cluster of shamrock leaves, the emblem of Ireland.
"Yes, it shall go to Maggie without fail," said Norah's mother. "It will make her heart glad to see it. The fields behind our cabin will come to her mind, and the goat she loved so well, feeding there. Oh, but she has niver seen Patsy yet!"
"Father, please tell us the story of that great man," said Norah. "I am never tired of hearing it."
Norah pointed to the big book as shespoke. The first money Maggie had sent from America had bought it, so it was doubly precious to every one in the little home.
Daniel O'Connell! What a friend he had been to Ireland! The face of Norah's father grew brighter as he began to tell the story of the brave man who had worked so hard to help his people. But the story-teller first went back in the history of Ireland to a time long before the birth of O'Connell.
The Irish had at last been conquered by England. They had fought against her for four hundred years. It was hard now to have English rulers in the country and to have English lords take their lands away from them.
It was harder still to have these rulers say, "You must worship as we worship. If you remain Catholics, we will punish you."
The hard-hearted Cromwell came to Ireland, bringing a large supply of Bibles, scythes, and firearms. The Bibles were for those who werewilling to become Protestants. The firearms were used for killing those who would not give up their religion. The scythes cut down the crops of those who did not happen to get killed and yet held to their faith.
"They shall be starved into obeying my orders," said the stern Cromwell.
As though this were not enough, forty thousand of the Irish people were driven to the seacoast. They were put on board ships and sent to Spain. Never more should they see the Emerald Isle they loved so well.
Weeping and moaning could be heard all through Ireland. But a still more pitiful sight followed. It was a procession of children who had been taken from their homes. They, too, were driven on board ships which were waiting for them. These poor helpless boys and girls were to become slaves on the tobacco plantations of the West Indies.
How their mothers' hearts must have ached!What sobs and groans must have filled many a lonely cottage of Ireland!
One hundred and fifty years passed by. They were hard years, and full of trouble.
Then the people began to whisper to each other, "A real helper has come at last."
It was the young Irishman, Daniel O'Connell, who lived the life of a country boy in a quiet place in Kerry. It was scarcely twenty-five miles from Norah's home.
An old schoolmaster taught Daniel his letters in a little village school. No one noticed the brightness of the boy's mind until long afterward, when he was sent to a college in France. After he had been there a year, the principal began to see he was not like most boys.
"He will be a great man, unless I am much mistaken," he thought. He was not disappointed.
Daniel studied hard and became a lawyer.His chief thought was always, "Ireland! Poor Ireland! How can I help my country?"
He worked early and late. He studied far into the night. He would have little chance as a lawyer unless he became very wise, and was keen and quick in his wits.
For he was a Catholic. That was much against him. The judges in the courts were Protestants and were ready to favour Protestant lawyers.
But O'Connell's heart was full of courage. He did not lose hope for a single moment.
When he began to practise law, he showed every one what a bright mind he had. He was quick to see little mistakes and point them out.
He stayed in the court-room during the whole of a trial. He would not leave it for a minute, even if he had been there many hours. He had lunch brought in to him. He was afraid if he left the court that something might be said he ought to hear.
"He is very bright." "He sees every blunder." "He is a sharp-witted fellow." People began to say things like these. Or, perhaps, some bold Irishman would tell his friend, "England can't have it all her own way much longer. Dan O'Connell will see to that."
Now, while this clever young lawyer was busy in the courts in the daytime, he was doing just as important work in the night.
Evening after evening he met with the friends of Ireland. He talked with them of the best way to help their country.
"But no blood must be shed," he would say again and again. "No blood must be shed. That would be too high a price to pay. Besides, it has been fully tried for hundreds of years, and nothing but bitterness and misery has come of it. And yet the Catholics must have equal rights with the Protestants."
He saw only one way of bringing this about.It was by getting all the people to vote alike. Then the English rulers would see how strong and how much in earnest the Irish people were.
There were years of hard work before Daniel O'Connell was able to bring about any change. At last, however, the government of England was obliged to pass a law giving Catholics the right to vote and hold office the same as Protestants.
It is said that when the king signed the law he was so angry he broke the pen with which it was done, and stamped upon it. But he knew he had to do it, and there was no way out of it.
very tall towerTHE MONUMENT TO DANIEL O'CONNELL.
Daniel O'Connell had won. He was the great Liberator of his religion in Great Britain.
He now tried to gain a separate government for Ireland. But he did not live to finish his work. He was seized with illness. This very time was the beginning of the dreadful famine.
O'Connell could not keep his mind from thinking of the sufferings of his people, and so, of course, he gained no strength. His doctors gave up hope.
The great lawyer and Liberator had but one wish now. He would like to die in Rome under the blessing of the Pope. He did not live long enough to reach the religious capital of the Catholic world, but his heart was preserved and sent there, by his own wish.
His body was sent to Ireland, where there was a grand funeral.
A great monument stands to-day in the city of Dublin. It was built in honour of Ireland's brave helper and true lover, Daniel O'Connell.
It is shaped like the round towers still standing here and there throughout Ireland. They are so old that no one knows when or why they were built. They stand tall and straight and strong and silent. But it seems as thoughthey would say, "Look at us and think of the grand old days of Erin!"
Some people think they were watch-towers from which the enemy could be discovered far away.
When the people wished to build a monument to Daniel O'Connell, they thought nothing would be more proper than a copy of the old watch-towers still standing in the country and reminding every one of the old glories of Ireland.
As Norah's father finished the story, the little girl got up softly and went to a drawer, from which she drew a picture. It was that of a white hound, the dog Daniel O'Connell loved so much.
"Father," she said, putting her arms around his neck, "if you ever see a white hound at the fair in Killarney, please buy it for your little Norah. I will love it tenderly for the sake of that great man."
KILLARNEY
"Mother, mother! Mollie says can I go with her for a day at Killarney?" cried Norah, rushing into the house quite out of breath.
And, indeed, it was no wonder. She had run every step from her friend Mollie's, which was a good half-mile away.
Mollie's father seemed quite rich in Norah's eyes. He had a farm, where he kept three cows and twenty sheep. Yes, and a horse besides. Not a donkey, mind you. Two of Norah's neighbours owned donkeys, but Mollie's father was so well off that he had a real live horse, and a jaunting-car of his very own.
When the work was not heavy, the farmer sometimes took his family for a day's pleasure.
"If it is fine weather to-morrow," he promised Mollie, "you shall ask Norah to go with us. It will be a rale treat for her."
How Norah's eyes sparkled as she told her mother of the invitation! Her cheeks were more rosy than ever, and as she laughed over the good news, her teeth looked for all the world like the loveliest of pearls.
The next morning she was out-of-doors at sunrise, to see what signs there were of good weather. Dame Nature was very kind to the little girl, and made the sun spread his loveliest colours over the eastern sky.
There was a great scrubbing and cleaning before Norah was ready to start. Her mother combed and brushed her thick, long hair, and made it into two glossy braids. What did it matter if there was no hat to wear! She was so pretty, she did not need straw or ribbon to make people stop to look at the bright, happy face, with eyes ever ready to laugh or cry.
When she was dressed in her pink cotton gown (it was the only one she had, and her mother had washed and ironed and mended it the night before, after Norah had gone to bed), she ate her breakfast, and slipped over the fields to Mollie's, as happy as a lark.
The horse and car already stood waiting at the door. Mollie and Norah, and Mollie's sister Bridget, sat together on one side of the car, while the jolly farmer, with his wife and baby, filled the other seat. Mollie's big brother Tim was the driver.
As they jogged along through the beautiful country, the party sang "Killarney" and other favourite songs. After awhile, Mollie's mother started "The harp that once thro' Tara's halls," and every one joined in with a will.
When the song came to an end, the farmer told the children about an old harper who used to go wandering through the country.He stopped at every place to play the tunes the people loved so well.
But that was before Mollie and Norah were born. Yes, before even the farmer himself was born. He had heard his mother tell about the old man, and how bright his eyes grew as his fingers drew out the tunes from the harp.
Once upon a time there were many such harpers in the country. Those were the days of the Irish kings and lords. There were feasts and dancing and music in many a stone castle in those times.
But now, alas, most of the castles are only ruins, where the kindly ivy covers the piles of stones, and the wind howls through the empty door and window places.
One castle was the grandest of all. It was called the Hall of Tara, and was built on the top of a high hill. Mollie and Norah hadoften heard of the doings in that grand building.
It was the place where the Irish princes met together to choose their king. It was there that he was crowned, upon an upright stone that actually roared during the ceremony. At least, so the story runs.
The laws of the country were made in the Hall of Tara, and a great feast was served there before commencing business each day. Three loud blasts were sounded by the trumpeter to call the people together in the great dining-room.
Not only princes and nobles met in Tara's Hall. There were also poets and wise men. For those were the days when Ireland had places of learning where many scholars gathered, to study history and poetry, the movements of the sun and stars, and many other things. Those were great days for Old Ireland.
"Oh, see! See!" cried Norah.
Mollie's brother stopped the horse to let every one see the beautiful sight before them. The lovely lakes, shut in by high mountains, were ahead of them.
"They are the jewels of Erin," cried Mollie's mother. "They are diamonds sparkling on the breast of our country."
It was no wonder she spoke as she did. It would be hard to find any spot in the world more beautiful than the Lakes of Killarney.
As the horse started up once more, they passed high stone walls covered with moss and ferns and ivy. The branches of tall trees met together over their heads, with vines wound lovingly about their trunks. The whole view was so beautiful that even the children became quiet. No one felt like talking.
"We will not spend any time in Killarney town," said Mollie's father. "This is goingto be a day outdoors, childer. We'll have a rale picnic."
Mollie and Norah clapped their hands.
"We must go to Ross Castle, that's sure. And of course you want to visit Muckross Abbey and hear the echo below the Eagle's Nest," the farmer went on.
"Castle Lough and Glenna bay,Mountains Tore and Eagle's Nest;Still at Muckross you must pray,Though the monks are now at rest."
So sang the girls in answer.
You must know that Killarney is the most beautiful part of the beautiful country of Ireland. One day is not enough to see all that is worth seeing.
No one could blame the children for not wanting to spend any of their time in the little dirty town at the end of the lakes.
The horse was driven close to the shore of Lough Lean, or the Lake of Learning. Thisis the name given it by the people of the country because two universities once stood near its shores.
The party got out of the jaunting-car and sat down at the water's edge to eat their lunch. There were no cakes or pies, but nothing could have tasted better to the hungry children than the thick slices of bread and butter, the home-made cheese, and the rich goat's milk.
And then, every time they lifted their eyes they could see the green meadows on one side, and on the other the mountains covered with purple heather and thick forests.
Out on the clear waters of Lough Lean were many little islands, looking like so many emeralds set in the silvery bosom of the lake.
"What lovely homes they would make for the fairies," whispered Norah to Mollie. She always spoke of the fairies in a whisper. Perhaps she felt they might be provoked if she mentioned them in her usual voice.
Girls sitting by lake with ruin of a castle across from themNORAH AND MOLLIE AT LOUGH LEAN.
"I believe they choose just such places to live in," answered Mollie. "I think there must be hawthorn-trees growing there."
Both Norah and Mollie believed in fairies. They had as much faith in them as many little boys and girls in America have in Santa Claus. They thought hawthorn-trees the favourite places for the midnight parties of the fairies. It was in the shade of the hawthorn-trees that these beautiful sprites feasted on dew, and danced to the music of fairy harps.
As the children sat whispering together, Molly's father began to tell the story of Lough Lean. The little girls were only too glad to listen.
He told the old legend of the time when there was no lake at all. A fine city stood here in its place, and in the city there lived a brave warrior, whose name was O'Donaghue.
Everything one could wish for was in the city except plenty of water. There was onesmall spring, to be sure. A great magician had given it to the people. But he had made one condition, which was this: whoever drew water from the spring must cover it with a certain silver vessel.
It happened one day that the brave O'Donaghue drank more wine than he should. It made him very bold. He ordered his servants to go to the spring and bring him the silver bowl that covered it.
"It will make a good bathtub for me," he said, and he laughed merrily.
"Pray don't make us do this," cried his frightened servants.
He laughed all the louder, and answered: "Don't be afraid. The water will be all the better for the fresh night air."
The silver bowl was brought to the daring warrior. But as the servants entered the house, they imagined they heard terrible sounds about them.
They shook with fear as they thought, "We are going to be punished for breaking the magician's command."
One of the servants was so frightened that he left the city and fled to the mountains. It was well for him that he did so, for when the morning came, he looked down into the valley and saw no city at all.
Not a sign of a house or living being was in sight. A sheet of water was stretched out before his astonished eyes. It was the beautiful Lough Lean.
As Mollie's father repeated the legend, the children bent over the lake. Perhaps they could see the roofs of palaces, or the tops of towers, still standing on the bottom of the water. They had heard of people who said they had seen them. But the children were disappointed.
Perhaps when they went rowing in theafternoon, they might yet catch a glimpse of the hidden city. Who could tell?
Mollie's father had more to tell of another man, whose name was also O'Donaghue. He pointed to a little island not far from the shore. It was Ross Island, and an old, old castle, called Ross Castle, was still standing there.
The stone walls were now in ruins. They were overgrown with moss and ivy. But hundreds and hundreds of years ago it was a great stronghold of Ireland's bravest warriors.
The chief of them all was the daring O'Donaghue. Even now he cannot rest easy in his grave. Every seven years he rises up, and, mounting a white horse, rides around Ross Castle. And as he rides every stone goes back into its old place, and the castle is once more as strong and grand as in its best days.
But this is only for the one night. Whenthe sun shines the next morning, a heap of ruins is standing there, where the owls and bats may keep house in comfort.
"How I should like to see the knight on his white horse!" said Norah.
"Yes, but I should be afraid, I'm sure," said Mollie. "After all, the day is the best time to be outdoors, and my bed at home is the safest place after dark."
When the lunch was eaten, the whole party crossed a bridge that spanned the water to Ross Island. The children played games over the smooth lawns, picked flowers, and told fairy stories.
Then Mollie's brother rowed the girls out on the lake. Many a time he rested on his oars while the children called out and then listened for the echo to answer them.
"There it is, hark!" said Tim.
A party of travellers came rowing toward them. They had hired an Irish piper to gowith them. As he played a slow tune, the answer came back.
Tim whistled, and the echo repeated it. Then Norah sang the first line of "Come Back to Erin," and the echo sang it back again.
But the afternoon was going fast, and the children could now hear Mollie's father calling to them from the shore. They must get back to land as soon as possible.
When they reached the car, they jumped in, and all started at once for Muckross Abbey, at the other end of the lake.
It had once been a great place of learning, but it was now in ruins. Ah! but such beautiful ruins, covered with mosses and creeping vines. How the ivy seemed to love the old stone walls!
Some of Ireland's greatest men were buried here. Poets and soldiers and wise men lie in their tombs. Norah and Mollie steppedsoftly and spoke in low tones as they walked among them, half-buried in moss and ivy.
But they did not linger long. They loved the sunshine and the brightness outside, and were glad to get back to them.
They took their places in the jaunting-car once more, and started on their homeward way.
As they drove along, they passed the grand home of a rich Englishman. A long and fine driveway led up to it from the road. It was almost hidden in a lovely grove.
Just as they drew near, a party of horsemen passed them and turned into the driveway, blowing their horns. They had been out hunting and were now returning.
"Arrah! they have a jolly life," said Mollie's mother. "Hunting and fishing and feasting. That is the way they pass their days. But, glory be to God, I have my husband and childer and our little farm, and I am content."
She might have said, also:
"I live in the most beautiful part of beautiful Ireland. I can look to my heart's content at the lovely hills and lakes, the fields filled with flowers, and the cascades rippling down the mountainsides."
Yes, let glory be to God that the poor can enjoy these blessings, and it costs them nothing.
HALLOWE'EN
"It'sjumping wid joy I am," said Norah.
It was the eve of the first day of November, and the little girl was putting on a new dress. Her father had been to the pig fair at Killarney. He had sold his pigs for a good price, and had brought home enough blue cloth to make gowns for both Norah and Katie.
But what is a pig fair? perhaps you are wondering. It is like any other fair in the old countries, except that little else is sold besides pigs.
Pigs! pigs! pigs! Big pigs and little pigs. Pigs rolling in fat and weighing a good three hundred pounds. Little baby pigs, pink and white, and too young to leave their mothers.
Streets full of men and pigs. Everybody talking, and many of them laughing and telling each other funny stories.
And all along the sides of the roads were horses and donkeys fastened to queer-looking wagons, in which the pigs had been brought to market.
Oh, a pig fair is a jolly sight, as Norah's brother would tell you.
The two blue dresses were made in a hurry by the mother, and now the whole family were going to a party at Mollie's house. It was to celebrate Hallowe'en. Patsy had to go, too, for there was no one to leave him with at home.
There was no baby-carriage for him. But that did not matter. He could go on his mother's broad back, after she had wrapped a big shawl over her shoulders.
The father led the procession. He felt very grand in a coat with long tails and a tall hat.
Of course, Norah and Katie felt fine in their new gowns. They walked behind their mother, looking from time to time at her new red petticoat, and then at their own dresses.
It seemed a longer walk than usual, because they were so anxious to get there and join in the sport.
"Hear the piper, hear the piper!" shouted Katie, as they at last drew near the farmhouse. And her little bare feet began to dance along the path.
A minute more, and the house door opened wide, and the visitors were made welcome.
The kitchen was not large, and it was already well filled. The big bed had been moved over into a corner to make room for dancing. The older people, who did not dance, sat on the edge of the bed, while the children nestled together on the floor against the wall.
The turf fire was glowing in the big fireplace,and giving a pleasant welcome to all. On the rafters overhead, some hens were fast asleep, not seeming to mind the music and laughter in the least.
The piper was playing his jolliest tunes, and two young people were dancing a jig when Norah arrived.
"Good! good!" cried the rest of the company, as the young girl went around and around the young man, her partner, never once losing the step. Her heavy shoes made a great clatter as they came down on the paved floor.
Her face grew redder and redder. Her breath came harder and harder, but she would not give up dancing till the piper himself left off playing.
"Let us bob for apples now," said the host. "We will give these young folks a chance to get their breath."
A big tub of water was brought in, andsome apples were set floating in it. Who would duck for the apples? Every one who had a chance. It did not matter how old or how young they might be.
It was such fun! One head after another went down into the water to see who could seize an apple between his teeth without using his hands to help him.
When the company grew tired of this sport, there were other games and more lively dances.
Then there were refreshments. There was plenty of tea for the big folks, and bread and cheese and potato cakes for all.
As they sat eating, the piper began to play a soft, sad tune.
"They do say he learned it of the fairies," whispered Mollie to Norah.
Just then, the children's school-teacher came and sat down beside them. He heard the word "Fairies."
"Do you believe in fairies?" he asked Norah.
She lifted her blue eyes in surprise.
"Sure, sir. They live in the hills and caves. And there be some, I have heard, who have their homes under the waves of the sea. This night they are more lively than at most times.
"Mother was careful this morning not to drain the milk-pail. She wanted to leave a drop in case the fairy folk should come along and wish for a sup. And sure, sir, father never puts the fire out at night. He says maybe the fairies might like to rest a bit on our hearth before the morning."
The schoolmaster smiled, but did not contradict the little girl. He thought it would only trouble the child.
Norah's father had once said, "The teacher is a man of great larnin'. And, strange tosay, I have heard that people of larnin' have little belief in fairy folk."
"Would you like me to tell you a story?" asked the teacher, after a moment or two.
"Oh, plaze do, indade!" said Norah and Mollie together. They loved their teacher dearly.
Their school was kept in a plain, bare little room with rough benches and desks. There was nothing bright or pretty about it. But their teacher was kind, and tried to help them learn. They were always glad to be with him and hear him talk.
"You have never been to the north of Ireland, have you?" he asked.
"Oh, no, sir. We've never been farther from home than the Lakes of Killarney," answered Mollie.
"But you know, of course, that this is an island, and if you travel to the northeasternshore of Ireland you must cross the sea if you want to go to Scotland."
"Yes, indeed, you showed that to us on the map at school."
"I will tell you of a giant named Finn McCool, who is said to have lived on that rocky shore. Do you know what a giant is?"
"Oh, yes. He's like any other man, only he's ever and ever so much bigger," answered Norah.
"Very well, then. This particular giant wished to fight another giant who lived in Scotland. He invited him to come across the sea to Ireland. But the Scotch giant was not able to swim. So he answered:
"'I would gladly come if I could, but I cannot get across.'
"'It's an aisy matter to make a road for you,' said Finn. 'It is hardly worth speaking about.'
"He set to work at once and built a road, or causeway, made of stone pillars. They were placed close together, and reached upward from the bed of the sea. Of course, the Scotch giant could not refuse to come now."
"Could we see it if we went there?" Mollie eagerly asked.
"You could see a part of it. But, according to the legend, it was broken in two by the sea. Even now, you could walk out upon it for quite a distance. But the causeway slopes downward into the water, and then seems to stop. Some people, however, believe it extends under the sea clear to Scotland.
"It is certainly a wonderful thing, and many people from other countries go to see it.
"Do you suppose it was really the work of giants, children?"
"Indade, whatever else could it be, sir? No common man could do it."
"No one knows; no one knows," said theschoolmaster, thoughtfully. "But come, let us join in the songs. We know more about them."
How sweet and clear the voices sounded, as the favourite tunes of Ireland rang through the farmhouse.
Then came fairy stories and jokes, and the party broke up just as the little wooden clock on the mantel struck the hour of midnight.