“We’ll follow the Good People on,” says one of the boys, “and maybe we’ll vanquish them yet.”
So the two travelled after the riders, away towards the moor. The river flows convenient to that place, and a fine bridge spans it across. It was there that the awfullest cry rose out of the throng of the fairies, and when the boys came on to the bridge they seen it all red with my poor Bridget’s blood. The horsemen were after dashing her down on the stones to her death.
XIX
GOOD-NIGHT, MY BRAVE MICHAEL
There was a big gathering of neighbours sitting round a fire, telling stories of an evening, and some person says:
“There’s the strongest bolt and lock in all Ireland on the door there beyond, and it couldn’t be broken at all.”
With that the Good People were listening outside began for to laugh. Didn’t they whip the lock off the door and away with them through the fields.
Says the man of the house: “I’m thinking there’s danger abroad; let the lot of you stop here till dawn.”