“They do say, surr, that the fairies does take quare shapes; and your fairy girrul may have gone to Shleenanaher. Fairies may want to take the wather like mortials.”
“Take the water, Andy! what do ye mean?”
“What do I mane! why what the quality does call say-bathin’. An’ maybe, the fairy girrul has gone too!”
“Ah! no, Andy,” said I, in as melancholy a way as I could, “my fairy girl is gone. I shall never see her again!”
Andy looked at me very keenly; and then a twinkle came in his eye and he said, slapping his thigh:—
“Begor! but I believe yer ’an’r is cured! Ye used to be that melancholy that bedad it’s meself what was gettin’ sarious about ye; an’ now it’s only narvous ye are! Well! if the fairy is gone, why not see Miss Norah? Sure wan sight iv her ’d cure all the fairy spells what iver was cast. Go now, yer ’an’r, an’ see her this day!”
I said with decision, “No, Andy, I will not go to-day to see Miss Norah. I have something else to do!”
“Oh, very well!” said he with simulated despondency. “If yer ’an’r won’t, of course ye won’t! but ye’re wrong. At any rate, if ye’re in the direction iv Shleenanaher, will ye go an’ see th’ ould man? Musha! but I’m thinkin’ it’s glad he’d be to see yer ’an’r.”
Despite all I could do, I felt blushing up to the roots of my hair. Andy looked at me quizzically; and said oracularly, and with sudden seriousness:—
“Begor! if yer fairy girrul is turned into a fairy complately, an’ has flew away from ye, maybe ould Joyce too ’d become a leprachaun! Hould him tight whin ye catch him! Remimber, wid leprachauns, if ye wance let thim go ye may niver git thim agin. But if ye hould thim tight, they must do whatsumiver ye wish! So they do say—but maybe I’m wrong—I’m itherfarin’ wid a gintleman as was bit be a fairy, and knows more nor mortials does about thim! There’s the masther callin’. Good bye, surr, an’ good luck!” and with a grin at me over his shoulder, Andy hurried away. I muttered to myself:—