“'Faith, it's thrue!” answered Larry.
“You never saw it,” said Goggins.
“The Lord forbid!” returned Larry; “but it's thrue, for all that. For you see the big house near this barn, that is all in ruin, was desarted because Jim's ghost used to walk.”
“That was foolish,” said Goggins; “stir up the fire, Jim, and hand me the whisky.”
“Oh, if it was only walkin', they might have got over that; but at last one night, as the story goes, when there was a thremendious storm o' wind and rain—”
“Whisht!” said one of the peasants, “what's that?”
As they listened, they heard the beating of heavy rain against the door, and the wind howled through its chinks.
“Well,” said Goggins, “what are you stopping for?”
“Oh, I'm not stoppin',” said Larry; “I was sayin' that it was a bad wild night, and Jimmy Barlow's appearance came into the house and asked them for a glass o' sper'ts, and that he'd be obleeged to them if they'd help him with his horse that slipped his shouldher; and, 'faith, afther that, they'd stay in the place no longer; and signs on it, the house is gone to rack and ruin, and it's only this barn that is kept up at all, because it's convaynient for owld Skinflint on the farm.”
“That's all nonsense,” said Goggins, who wished, nevertheless, that he had not heard the “nonsense.”