In the meantime the two little girls hid behind the fairy rath and whispered together about the stockings.
Copyright by Underwood & Underwood, New York
The Hills of Donegal
The road over which Danny brought the seaweed for Farmer Flynn. [ Page 21]
“The minute the peddler drives down the road I’ll go and get the knitting, and I’ll keep the needles clickin’ while I’m out of my bed till it’s done,” Kathleen declared.
Mary Ellen held up her hand. “Whist, alanna,” she said softly, “’tis fairy music I hear.”
Kathleen listened eagerly for a moment. “True for you,” she said. “I hear it myself. Belike it’s the sea-gods over at Horn Head. There was a big storm last night, and Grandmother Barry says that after a big storm thousands of the sea-gods ride over the waves on their white-maned steeds winding their battle horns.”
It is ten miles across the country to Horn Head, which is one of the rocky headlands on the north coast of Ireland, where the waves of the Atlantic Ocean beat against the dark cliffs. Highland lakes and mountain rivers lie between, and the road over which Danny brought the seaweed for Farmer Flynn leads across purple hills that would surely deaden the sound of surf miles away.
“It’s nearer than Horn Head,” said Mary Ellen. “There may be fairies in the rath after all.”