The Salt Lake herald. [volume] (Salt Lake City [Utah]) 1870-1909, 1893-03-26

I remember thinking that, ike the
fairies, he could only be happy when he
was alone or with those who were fond of
him, that ne would gladly have given the
comfort of the farm for the bare walls
and the scanty and crazy furniture OF his
cabin, and that he could not look back
without repining on the time when he
Stunned the village, for if he passed
through it the chattering groups and the
goSSlpS shouting conversations across the
street from their doorways grew suddenly
silent and the children ran frightened
into their homes. He had no friend left
but Larry Roman, who is a man OF SO big
and warm heart that ne loves every body
except his own wife. But Larry is
fond OF SO many that no one values his
affection.
Sometimes / found Larry sitting with
Andy under the trees. The grave courtesy
of the couple was wonderful; it was
mister Lonergan. sir - and ssNister
Ronan,' between them. For that matter
one often sees fine courtesy among the
| older peasants in Ireland. Last summer
as l was driving along the Lis
doonvarna road, q scarecrow of an old
woman, squatting on heap of stones by
the roadside, hailed my ragged driver
| Askin' your pardon, sir, - she said, "'but
did We happen to meet q loaf on the road.
Pm thinkin' L dropt one as I was COMM
"a loaf is it, ma amp he answered,
respectfully, taking off his hat with a
flourish, ga loaf, is it, ma am? Pm sorr p
| did not, them ssWho was she?'' L
asked him. "Sure, an I don't know
then, +" he said, ''tis some poor ould body
that's lost her loaf and will be goin' to
bed hungry tonight -
! As Andy grew older he talked more of
the fairies and sometimes with childish
ness that had been missing from his desc
late childhood; grew more moody and
restless, could not sit quiet while the
wind was up, and spent night after night
out of doors. Ny friend, Father Peter
Flannery, who, next to Larry Roman, is
my chief authority for this history, sold
me that often, riding on his sick calls by
night In stormy weother, he met Andy
staggering along the rough roads.
At last, one November eye-the night
when the fairies have power and the dead
wake and dance reels with them-the
| bind Deggarman started out from the
farm. An Atlantic gale was SCATTERING
seas against the cliffs, the air was salt
with foam and throbbed with the pulse OF
the breakers. Bridget tried in vain to
stop him; he said the "Little Good Peo-
ple' were calling him. She watched him
disappear into the darkness, the whim-
pering of his fiddle died into the shrieks
of the wind. 60 IT'S quare divil, he is, ,,
she said, ''God help himI''
Once in the night she thought she heard
a snatch of the Fairies Reel, . but Andy
never came back. Next morning thev
found Bonaparte whining on the edge OF
the cliffs; there was no sign OF his master
He must have gone over the cliffs in the
darkness, but the waves gave no token.
! Some folk in Moher believe that the
fairies took back their child, and that
the blind fiddler lives now in the king
dom of TyrnanOge, and makes music for
their dances in that enchanted country
where the old grow young and the blind
see. Some say that he still haunts the
cross roads, and Larry Roman, coming
back late from the Ennistimon fair, saw
black shadowy figure under the black
trees, and heard a broken-hearted voice
cry, Remember the Dark Man!O
Larry's surprise accounted for his being
found the next morning asleep in the
ditch. But it is agreed in Moher tha'
Andy left life on November eve, whether
he became the playfelIow of the fairies o.
the pIaything of the waves.