banshee’s comb halted the lad in the middle of the road an’ sint him fumblin’ with narvous hands in his weskit pocket. There, sure enough, was the piece of the banshee’s comb. The broken bit had lain forgotten in the lad’s pocket since Halloween; an’ now, as he felt it there next his thumping heart an’ buried undher pipefuls of tobaccy, the rayalisation almost floored him with consthernaytion. All rushed over his sowl like a flood.
Who else could it be but the banshee that guv Sheelah Maguire that turrible batin’ mintioned by the tinker? An’ what was that bating for, unless the banshee a-ccused Sheelah of stealing the ind of the comb? An’, mother of Moses! ’Twas sarchin’ for that same bit of comb it was that brought the ghosts up from Croaghmah an’ med the whole townland ha’nted.
Was ever such a dangerous purdicament! Here he was, with ghosts in the threes above him an’ in the hedges, an’ maybe lookin’ over his chowlder, an’ all of them sarchin’ for the bit of enchanted comb that was in his own pocket. If they should find out where it lay what awful things they would do to him. Sure, they might call up the Costa Bower an’ fling
