As tired as he was, he had to walk, and the road was neither short nor
even. The night was darker than ever, and it was difficult to make his
way. Many was the toss he got, and many a bruise they left on his body.
At last he saw Teampoll-Ronan from him in the distance, standing in the
middle of the burying-ground. He moved over towards it, and thought he
was all right and safe, when he saw no ghosts nor anything else on the
wall, and he thought he would never be hindered now from leaving his
load off him at last. He moved over to the gate, but as he was passing
in, he tripped on the threshold. Before he could recover himself,
something that he could not see seized him by the neck, by the hands,
and by the feet, and bruised him, and shook him, and choked him, until
he was nearly dead; and at last he was lifted up, and carried more than
a hundred yards from that place, and then thrown down in an old dyke,
with the corpse still clinging to him.

He rose up, bruised and sore, but feared to go near the place again, for
he had seen nothing the time he was thrown down and carried away.

"You corpse, up on my back?" said he, "shall I go over again to the
churchyard?"--but the corpse never answered him. "That's a sign you
don't wish me to try it again," said Teig.

He was now in great doubt as to what he ought to do, when the corpse
spoke in his ear, and said, "Imlogue-Fada."

"Oh, murder!" said Teig, "must I bring you there? If you keep me long
walking like this, I tell you I'll fall under you."

He went on, however, in the direction the corpse pointed out to him. He
could not have told, himself, how long he had been going, when the dead