"There aren't any," replied Dick. "Mrs Sims said there weren't."

"Mrs James," put in Emmeline, "said there were. She said she
liked to see children b'lieve in fairies. She was talking to another
lady, who'd got a red feather in her bonnet, and a fur muff. They
were having tea, and I was sitting on the hearthrug. She said the
world was getting too--something or another, an' then the other
lady said it was, and asked Mrs James did she see Mrs Someone
in the awful hat she wore Thanksgiving Day. They didn't say
anything more about fairies, but Mrs James--"

"Whether you b'lave in them or not," said Paddy, "there they are.
An' maybe they're poppin' out of the wood behint us now, an'
listenin' to us talkin'; though I'm doubtful if there's any in these
parts, though down in Connaught they were as thick as
blackberries in the ould days. O musha! musha! The ould days, the
ould days! when will I be seein' thim again? Now, you may b'lave
me or b'lave me not, but me own ould father--God rest his sowl!
was comin' over Croagh Patrick one night before Christmas with a
bottle of whisky in one hand of him, and a goose, plucked an'
claned an' all, in the other, which same he'd won in a lottery,
when, hearin' a tchune no louder than the buzzin' of a bee, over a
furze-bush he peeps, and there, round a big white stone, the Good
People were dancing in a ring hand in hand, an' kickin' their heels,
an' the eyes of them glowin' like the eyes of moths; and a chap on
the stone, no bigger than the joint of your thumb, playin' to thim
on a bagpipes. Wid that he let wan yell an' drops the goose an'
makes for home, over hedge an' ditch, boundin' like a buck
kangaroo, an' the face on him as white as flour when he burst in