and Nelly washing the potatoes for their dinner, or "beatling" clothes
in the little stream that flows in the hollow close by, they saw the
pretty face of little Billy peeping in archly at the door, and smiling
silently at them, and as they ran to embrace him, with cries of
delight, he drew back, still smiling archly, and when they got out
into the open day, he was gone, and they could see no trace of him
anywhere.

This happened often, with slight variations in the circumstances of
the visit. Sometimes he would peep for a longer time, sometimes for a
shorter time, sometimes his little hand would come in, and, with
bended finger, beckon them to follow; but always he was smiling with
the same arch look and wary silence--and always he was gone when they
reached the door. Gradually these visits grew less and less frequent,
and in about eight months they ceased altogether, and little Billy,
irretrievably lost, took rank in their memories with the dead.

One wintry morning, nearly a year and a half after his disappearance,
their mother having set out for Limerick soon after cockcrow, to sell
some fowls at the market, the little girl, lying by the side of her
elder sister, who was fast asleep, just at the grey of the morning
heard the latch lifted softly, and saw little Billy enter and close
the door gently after him. There was light enough to see that he was
barefoot and ragged, and looked pale and famished. He went straight to
the fire, and cowered over the turf embers, and rubbed his hands
slowly, and seemed to shiver as he gathered the smouldering turf
together.

The little girl clutched her sister in terror and whispered, "Waken,
Nelly, waken; here's Billy come back!"