“But,” inquired Nancy, “did he ever appear to the rogue that chated him?”
“Every night in the year, Nancy, exceptin' Sundays; and what was more, the horse along with him—for he used to come ridin' at midnight upon the same garran; and it was no matther what place or company the other 'ud be in, the ould Square would come reglarly, and crave him for what he owed him.”
“So it appears that horses have sowls,” observed M'Roarkin, philosophically, giving, at the same time, a cynical chuckle at the sarcasm contained in his own conceit.
“Whether they have sowls or bodies,” replied the narrator, “what I'm tellin' you is truth; every night in the year the ould chap would come for what was indue him; find as the two went along, the noise of the loose shoe upon the horse would be hard rattlin', and seen knockin' the fire out of the stones, by the neighbors and the thief that chated him, even before the Square would appeal at all at all.”
“Oh, wurrah!” exclaimed Nancy, shuddering with terror. “I wouldn't take anything and be out now on the Drumfarrar road*, and nobody with me but myself.”
*A lonely mountain-road, said to have been haunted. It is on
this road that the coffin scenes mentioned in the Party
fight and Funeral is laid.
“I think if you wor,” said M'Kinley, “the light weights and short measures would be comin' acrass your conscience.”
“No, in troth, Alick, wouldn't they; but may be if you wor, the promise you broke to Sally Mitchell might trouble you a bit: at any rate, I've a prayer, and if I only repated it wanst, I mightn't be afeard of all the divils in hell.”
“Throth, but it's worth havin', Nancy: where did you get it?” asked M'Kinley.
“Hould your wicked tongue, you thief of a heretic,” said Nancy, laughing, “when will you larn anything that's good? I got it from one that wouldn't have it if it wasn't good—Darby M'Murt, the pilgrim, since you must know.”