"This is just the place."
"For what?"
"For—for an Irish jig," she laughed with sudden merriment. "Come, try a step upon these old timbers."
"For heaven's sake take care!" cried Sam. "There may be a trap-hatch where you stand, and these boards are rotten through and through. Ten minutes ago you were mournful," he added, in wonder at her change of mood.
"Was I?" She broke out suddenly into elfish song—
"'Och! Pathrick O'Hea, but I'm sad, Bedad!
Och! darlint, 'tis bad to be sad.'
'Hwat's this?' says he.
'Why, a kiss,' says she.
''Tis a cure,' says he.
'An' that's sure,' says she.
'Och! Pat, you're a sinsible lad, Bedad!
Troth, Pat, you're a joole uv a lad!'"
"'Och! Pathrick O'Hea, but I'm sad, Bedad!
Och! darlint, 'tis bad to be sad.'
'Hwat's this?' says he.
'Why, a kiss,' says she.
''Tis a cure,' says he.
'An' that's sure,' says she.
'Och! Pat, you're a sinsible lad, Bedad!
Troth, Pat, you're a joole uv a lad!'"
She broke off suddenly and shivered.
"Come, let us go; this place suffocates me."
She turned and ran up the crazy ladder. At the top she turned and peered down upon the dumbfounded Sam.