an' there foreninst him! right up the hill side he seen two min carryin' the chist, an' it nigh weighed thim down. But the horses an' the gun carriage was nowhere to be seen. Well! me father was stealin' out to folly thim, when he loosened a sthone an' it clattered down through the rocks at the Shnake's Pass wid a noise like a dhrum, an' the two min sot down the chist an' they turned; an' whin they seen me father one of them runs at him, and he turned an' run. An' thin another black cloud crossed the moon; but me father knew ivery foot of the mountain side, and he run on through the dark. He heerd the footsteps behind him for a bit, but they seemed to get fainter an' fainter; but he niver stopped runnin' till he got to his own cabin.—An' that was the last he iver see iv the men or the horses or the chist. Maybe they wint into the air or the say, or the mountain; but anyhow they vanished, and from that day to this no sight or sound or word iv them was ever known!"
There was a universal, 'Oh!' of relief as he concluded, whilst he drained his glass.
I looked round again at the little window—but the dark face was gone.
Then there arose a perfect bable of sounds. All commented on the story, some in Irish, some in English, and some in a speech, English indeed, but so purely and locally idiomatic that I could only guess at what was intended to be conveyed. The comment generally took the form that two men were to be
