Jeremiah. Power to ye, Michael avick! And did ye win to-day?
Michael. Is it win? And will ye tell me why wouldn't we win?
[Sheila is about to speak, but checks herself as a thin piping voice is heard chanting outside.
The Voice.
"There is a little man
In a dirty wee shebeen,
And the spalpeens do be leppin' in the bog."
[The voice ends on a high note, which quavers away into silence.
Sheila. The blessed Saints preserve us! What was that?
Mrs. M'Gann. Musha, don't be frightened, child! Sure, it's only poor ould Blithero[1] Pat. (She goes to the door and opens it.) Come in, Pat, and have a bite an' a sup to warm ye this terrible night.