“‘Och musha! but it’s the sad man I am this day! Here’s Masther Art giv over intirely to the fairies. An’ its leprachaun catchin’, he has been onto this blissed day. Luk at him! isn’t it full iv sorra he is. Give up the fairies, Masther Art!—Do thry an make him, Misther Dick!—an’ take to fallin’ head over ears in love wid some nice young girrul. Sure, Miss Norah herself, bad as she is, ’d be betther nor none at all, though she doesn’t come up to Masther Art’s rulin’!”
This latter remark was made to Dick, who immediately asked him:—
“What is that, Andy?”
“Begor! yer ’an’r, Masther Art has a quare kind iv a girrul in his eye intirely, wan he used to be lukin’ for on the top iv Knocknacar—the fairy girrul yer ’an’r,” he added to me in an explanatory manner.
“I suppose, yer ’an’r,” turning to me, “ye haven’t saw her this day?”
“I saw nobody to answer your description, Andy; and I fear I wouldn’t know a fairy girl if I saw one,” said I, as I passed into the house followed by Dick, whilst Andy, laughing loudly, went round to the back of the house, where the bar was.
That was, for me at any rate, a very happy evening. Dick and I sat up late and smoked, and went over the ground that we had passed, and the ground that we were, please God, to pass in time. I felt grateful to the dear old fellow, and spoke much of his undertakings both at Knocknacar and at Knokcalltecrore. He told me that he was watching carefully the experiment at the former place as a guide to the latter. After some explanations, he said:—
“There is one thing there which rather disturbs me. Even with the unusual amount of rain which we have had lately, the flow or drain of water from the bog is not constant; it does not follow the rains as I expected. There seems to be some process of silting, or choking, or damming up the walls of what I imagine to be the different sections or reservoirs of the bog. I cannot make it out, and it disturbs me; for if the same process goes on at Knockcalltecrore, there might be any kind of unforeseen disaster in case of the shifting of the bog. I am not at all easy about the way Murdock is going on there. Ever since we found the indication of iron in the bog itself, he has taken every occasion when I am not there to dig away at one of the clay banks that jut into it. I have warned him that he is doing a very dangerous thing, but he will not listen. To-morrow, when I go up, I shall speak to him seriously. He went into Galway with a cart the night before last, and was to return by to-morrow morning. Perhaps he has some game on. I must see what it is.”
Before we parted for the night we had arranged to go together in the morning to Knockcalltecrore, for of course I had made up my mind that each day should see me there.
In the morning, early, we drove over. We left Andy, as usual, in the boreen at the foot of the hill, and walked up together. I left Dick at Murdock’s gate, and then hurried as fast as my legs could carry me to Joyce’s.