“Where are the shadows? Where are the shadows, Ian?” he cried: “I believe you are hiding them inside yourself! Where are they? Where are they?”
“Why, you boykin, where could they be?”
“They are in your heart, Ian! I know they are! I see them! I see them!”
Ian glanced at Eilidh. Then, putting his arm round Peterkin, he laid his lips against his downy cheek and whispered:
“Yes, my little lad, you’ve guessed right.”
“Then why don’t you chase them out, Ian?”
Again Ian Mor glanced at Eilidh.
“They live there, lennavan-mo. They jumped out because of your laughter, but they are back now.”
“Then I’ll be laughing often, Ian dear, and some day I’ll catch them and drive them out into the sunshine, and then they’ll melt—ay, ay, they’ll melt for sure, Ian, and what will you be after doing then?”
“Well, like Fionula and the wild swans, Peterkin, I’ll rise up and soar away on the great flood of the sun across the sea till I come to Hy Brásil, the Isle of Youth far away in the West.”