The Valley of the Dead
Large dark clouds, lined and fringed with a snowy whiteness, were floating about in a starry sky, when Padna Dan vacated his chair by the glowing hearth, where faggots blazed and a kettle sang, and where his large black dog and small white cat lay asleep and snored in chorus that made a strange harmony with the crackling of the dried oak branches in the grate. When he reached the half door, the moon was hiding behind a rift of cloud; and as he watched it emerge from its hiding place and sail into a starlit region, he up and said:
“Sure ’tis myself that’s like the moon, with my goings in and my comings out, and with my exits and my entrances, and the glory that sometimes does be on my brow and the shadows that at other times hide my face. Sometimes not a single thing hinders my progress, from cock-crow to sundown, and other times everything capable of disturbing a man’s peace and quiet confronts me at every turn. But, nevertheless, I manage to steer clear of all obstacles and evade all that might upset me in any way, and show a smiling face to the world, like the moon itself.”
And then he filled a new clay pipe, that came all the way from France, and was presented to him by his youngest granddaughter, as a birthday gift, and sauntered along the boreen towards the Valley of the Dead. And as he wended his lonely way, without looking to the right or the left, and trampled down the tall grass that the sleeping cows, and the sleeping sheep, and the sleeping donkeys were dreaming about,—the very same tall grass that on the morrow they would greedily feast on,—and as his footfalls startled wandering rabbits, badgers, hares, and foxes, and they roaming from place to place at the dead of night, he only thought of the world beyond the stars and of those who had gone to dwell there. And so eerie an atmosphere did he create about himself that he might have been a fairy or an elf without care or sorrow for the past or future, but a love of the things that be. And not until he reached the top of a high hill, from which he could see in the moonlight the towering spires of distant churches, where a red light is always kept burning before the high altars, did he stand and rest. And he did not sit down until he found a comfortable seat on a projecting ledge of rock, overlooking a long winding valley covered with larch and beech trees, sloe and crabapple, and all kinds of thorny underwood.
The rising mist, as it spread through the trees along the serpentine course of the valley, seemed like some fabulous monster devouring all that came in its way. And as he sat with his feet dangling in the air, the sound of familiar footsteps caused him to look from the mist to where the sound came from near by. And lo and behold! whom did he see but his old friend Micus. And what he said, before Micus had time to say anything at all, or get over his surprise, was:
“Well, well, well! Who’d ever think of meeting any one at the dead of night like this? And the stars themselves nearly hidden by the dark clouds, that are drifting about in the spacious and likewise wondrous sky.”
“Sure ’tis disappointed as well as surprised that I am, to find any one but myself out of doors, and the whole world on its knees, so to speak, praying for the dead,” said Micus.
“This is All Souls’ Night, of course,” said Padna.
“Or the Night of All Souls, if you will,” said Micus. “And sure, ’tis we that are the queer creatures entirely, and we that does be praying for the dead and not caring a traneen about the living, unless, maybe, when we can take advantage of their decency and generosity.”
“’Tis true, indeed, ’tis true! Though ’tis with shame that I must admit it. However, don’t leave any one hear you saying so but myself,” said Padna.