Our Little Irish Cousin

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, and some 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 to say, 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 northeastern shore 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 the schoolmaster, 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.

CHAPTER VII