It was a profitless task. Two hours after I had started I returned to the top of the hill as ignorant as I had gone, and the richer only by some dozen or more drinks of milk, for I found that the acceptance of some form of hospitality was an easy opening to general conversation. The top was still empty, but I had not been there a quarter of an hour when I was joined by Andy. His first remark was evidently calculated to set me at ease:—
“Begor, yer ’an’r comes to the top iv this hill nigh as often as I do meself.”
I felt that my answer was inconsequential as well as ill-tempered:—
“Well, why on earth, Andy, do you come so often? Surely there is no need to come, unless you like it.”
“Faix! I came this time lest yer ’an’r might feel lonely. I niver see a man yit be himself on top iv a hill that he didn’t want a companion—iv some kind or another.”
“Andy,” I remarked, as I thought, rather cuttingly, “you judge life and men too much by your own experience. There are people and emotions which are quite out of your scope—far too high, or perhaps too low, for your psychic or intellectual grasp.”
Andy was quite unabashed. He looked at me admiringly.
“It’s a pity yer ’an’r isn’t a mimber iv Parlyment. Shure, wid a flow iv language like that, ye could do anythin’!”
As satire was no use I thought I would draw him out on the subject of the fairies and pixies.
“I suppose you were looking for more fairies; the supply you had this morning was hardly enough to suit you, was it?”