“Never a merrier—as bouncing a grass widow as ever there was in sweet ‘Tyrone among the bushes.’”
Finn gave a short, good-humoured cough, and laughed most heartily to show her how much he was delighted that she made herself happy in his absence.
“An’ what brought you home so soon, Finn?” said she.
hy, avourneen,” said Finn, putting in his answer in the proper way, “never the thing but the purest of love and affection for yourself. Sure, you know that’s truth, anyhow, Oonagh.”
Finn spent two or three happy days with Oonagh, and felt himself very comfortable considering the dread he had of Far Rua. This, however, grew upon him so much that his wife could not but perceive something lay on his mind which he kept altogether to himself. Let a woman alone in the meantime for ferreting or wheedling a secret out of her good man when she wishes. Finn was a proof of this.
“It’s this Far Rua,” said he, “that’s troublin’ me. When the fellow gets angry and begins to stamp he’ll shake you a whole townland, and it’s well known that he can stop a thunderbolt, for he always carries one about with him in the shape of a pancake to show to anyone that might misdoubt it.”
As he spoke he clapped his thumb in his mouth, as he always did when he wanted to prophesy or to know anything.
“He’s coming,” said Finn; “I see him below at Dungannon.”