“I do,” said the Philosopher, “and for this reason-most of the races of the world have at one time or another—”
“It’s my little daughter, Caitilin, sir,” said Meehawl.
“I’m attending to her,” the Philosopher replied.
“I thank you kindly,” returned Meehawl.
The Philosopher continued “Most of the races of the world have at one time or another been visited by this deity, whose title is the ‘Great God Pan,’ but there is no record of his ever having journeyed to Ireland, and, certainly within historic times, he has not set foot on these shores. He lived for a great number of years in Egypt, Persia, and Greece, and although his empire is supposed to be world-wide, this universal sway has always been, and always will be, contested; but nevertheless, however sharply his empire may be curtailed, he will never be without a kingdom wherein his exercise of sovereign rights will be gladly and passionately acclaimed.”
“Is he one of the old gods, sir?” said Meehawl.
“He is,” replied the Philosopher, “and his coming intends no good to this country. Have you any idea why he should have captured your daughter?”
“Not an idea in the world.”
“Is your daughter beautiful?”
“I couldn’t tell you, because I never thought of looking at her that way. But she is a good milker, and as strong as a man. She can lift a bag of meal under her arm easier than I can; but she’s a timid creature for all that.”