the soft glow was resting on the bog, and there he saw two score of little men in green jackets and brown caps waiting about the pond’s edge, and everyone houlding a switch in his hands.
The little lads knew well ’twas too dark for the clergyman to read from his book any banishing prayers, and barring having too much fun, the divil a thing they had to fear!
’Twas fresh anger that came to Father Cassidy afther the first rush of surprise and wondher. He thried now to get at the Good People, to lay his hands on thim. A dozen charges at the bank his Riverence made, and as many times a score of the Little People flew up to meet him and sthruck the poor baste over the soft nose with their wands till the horse was welted back.
Long afther the struggle was proved hopeless it wint on till at last the poor baste, thrembling and disheartened, rayfused to mind the spur.
At that Father Cassidy gave up. “I surrender,” he said, “an’ I promise for the sake of my horse,” said he.
The baste himself undherstood the worruds, for with that he waded ca’m an’ quiet to the dhry land
