He stood listening, and he heard the voices of many people talking
through other, but he could not understand what they were saying. "Oh,
wirra!" says he, "I'm afraid. It's not Irish or English they have; it
can't be they're Frenchmen!" He went on a couple of yards further, and
he saw well enough by the light of the moon a band of little people
coming towards him, and they were carrying something big and heavy with
them. "Oh, murder!" says he to himself, "sure it can't be that they're
the good people that's in it!" Every _rib_ of hair that was on his head
stood up, and there fell a shaking on his bones, for he saw that they
were coming to him fast.

He looked at them again, and perceived that there were about twenty
little men in it, and there was not a man at all of them higher than
about three feet or three feet and a half, and some of them were grey,
and seemed very old. He looked again, but he could not make out what was
the heavy thing they were carrying until they came up to him, and then
they all stood round about him. They threw the heavy thing down on the
road, and he saw on the spot that it was a dead body.

He became as cold as the Death, and there was not a drop of blood
running in his veins when an old little grey _maneen_ came up to him and
said, "Isn't it lucky we met you, Teig O'Kane?"

Poor Teig could not bring out a word at all, nor open his lips, if he
were to get the world for it, and so he gave no answer.

"Teig O'Kane," said the little grey man again, "isn't it timely you met
us?"