“Sowl, thin, that’s good news! Will we wake up the masther an’ till him av it? What do yez think?”
“Dis nigga tink better not. Let um all sleep till de broke ob day. Dat can’t be far off by dis time. I hab an idee dat I see de furs light ob mornin’ jess showin’ out yonner, at de bottom ob de sky. Gora! what’s yon? Dar, dar! ’trait afore de head. By golly! dar’s a fire out yonner, or someting dat hab de shine ob one. Doan ye see it, Massa Tum?”
“Trath, yis; I do see somethin’ shinin’. It a’n’t them fire-flies, div yez think?”
“No! ’ta’n’t de fire-fly. Dem ere flits about. Yon ting am steady, an’ keeps in de same place.”
“There’s a raal fire yandher, or else it’s the willy-wisp. See! be me troth thare’s two av thim. Div yez see two?”
“Dar am two.”
“That can’t be the willy-wisp. He’s niver seen in couples,—at laste, niver in the bogs av Oireland. What can it be?”
“What can which be?” asked Trevannion, who, at this moment awaking, heard the question put by Tom to the negro.
“Och, look yandher! Don’t yez see a fire?”
“Certainly; I see something very like one,—or rather two of them.”