The other childher by now were sitting boult upright, stiff as ramrods, and staring wild-eyed at Mickey.
“The coachman’s head is cut off an’ he houlds the reins this away,” says the child, lettin’ his hands fall limp an’ open at his side. “Sometimes it’s all wisable, an’ then agin it’s unwisable, but always whin it comes one can hear the turrible rumble of its wheels.” Mickey’s woice fell and, spreading out his hands, he spoke slow an’ solemn. “One Halloween night in the woods down at the black pond, Danny Hogan heard it coming an’ he jumped behind a stone. The threes couldn’t sthop it, they wint right through it, an’ as it passed Danny Hogan says he saw one white, dead face laned back agin the dark cushions, an’ this is the night—All Sowls’ night—whin it’s sure to be out; now don’t I know?” he says, thriumphant.
At that Bridget started to her feet. For a minute she stood spacheless with vexation at the wild, frighting notions that had got into the heads of her childher; then “Glory be!” she says, looking hard at Darby. You could have heard a pin dhrop in the room. Ould Malachi, the big yellow cat, who until this time lay coiled asleep on a stool, was the best
