Shon McGann. You blunder through the world. And you'll tremble as much
to a woman's thumb in fifty years as now."

"By the holy smoke," said Shon, "though I tremble at that, maybe, I'll
not tremble, as Wendling, at nothing at all." Here Pierre looked up
sharply, then dropped his eyes on his work again. Shon lapsed suddenly
into a moodiness.

"Yes," said Pierre, "as Wendling, at nothing at all? Well?"

"Well, this, Pierre, for you that's a thinker from me that's none. I was
walking with him in Red Glen yesterday. Sudden he took to shiverin', and
snatched me by the arm, and a mad look shot out of his handsome face.
'Hush!' says he. I listened. There was a sound like the hard rattle of
a creek over stones, and then another sound behind that. 'Come quick,'
says he, the sweat standin' thick on him; and he ran me up the bank--for
it was at the beginnin' of the Glen where the sides were low--and there
we stood pantin' and starin' flat at each other. 'What's that? and
what's got its hand on ye? for y' are cold as death, an' pinched in the
face, an' you've bruised my arm,' said I. And he looked round him slow
and breathed hard, then drew his fingers through the sweat on his cheek.
'I'm not well, and I thought I heard--you heard it; what was it like?'
said he; and he peered close at me. 'Like water,' said I; 'a little
creek near, and a flood comin' far off.' 'Yes, just that,' said he; 'it's
some trick of wind in the place, but it makes a man foolish, and an inch
of brandy would be the right thing.' I didn't say no to that. And on we
came, and brandy we had with a wish in the eye of Nelly Nolan that'd warm
the heart of a tomb. . . . And there's a cud for your chewin',
Pierre. Think that by the neck and the tail, and the divil absolve ye."