his round stone, amongst the still untouched heap of pots and pints, his
pock-marked face very pale, his single eye staring, his hands clasped
and shaking, and moisture on his forehead.

"What!" she cried, "the pewther just as I left it, over again!"

"O Cauth! Cauth! don't mind that now--but spake to me kind, Cauth, an'
comfort me."

"Why, what ails you, Jer _a-vous neen_?" affectionately taking his hand,
when she saw how really agitated he was.

"O Cauth, oh, I had such a dhrame, now, in earnest, at any rate!"

"A dhrame!" she repeated, letting go his hand, "a dhrame, Jer Mulcahy!
so, afther your good dinner, you go for to fall asleep, Jer Mulcahy,
just to be ready wid a new dhrame for me, instead of the work you came
out here to do, five blessed hours ago!"

"Don't scould me, now, Cauth; don't, a-pet: only listen to me, an' then
say what you like. You know the lonesome little glen between the hills,
on the short cut for man or horse, to Kilbroggan? Well, Cauth, there I
found myself in the dhrame; and I saw two sailors, tired afther a day's
hard walking, sitting before one of the big rocks that stand upright in
the wild place; an' they were ating or dhrinking, I couldn't make out
which; and one was a tall, sthrong, broad-shouldhered man, an' the other
was sthrong, too, but short an' burly; an' while they were talking very
civilly to each other, lo an' behould you, Cauth, I seen the tall man
whip his knife into the little man; an' then they both sthruggled, an'
wrastled, an' schreeched together, till the rocks rung again; but at