The Intermountain Catholic. (Salt Lake City [Utah] ;) 1899-1920, 1909-01-23
Continued.
The VILLAGE Weaver.


on the old rookery before his house. He
is very small man, with broad,
smiling mouth, and the eyes, large and
pensive, are, shaded by blue Spectacles.
The shoulders are stopped and the tall
hat. brown and creased, with age and
usage, rests on the back of the head
and neck. As you gaze at at him you
feel fnstinctively that the figure lean
1ng there is a mild and timorous man
and you would be right; for Peter Toole
the weaver is the mildest and most
timid man 1 have ever known. The
smallest child in the village has more
courage and verify believe that if you
gave Peter all the wealth of Roths-
child, you could not induce him TO go
out alone on dark night lat the witch
ing hour when graveyards Yawn-" He
was firm believer in spooks and fair
ies, and to him the old raths and grave
yards were objects of the utmost dread,
but most dreaded of all was the lone
bush that stood sentry as it were upon
the high road just outside the village.
Tradition had it that three men were
hanged there in the troublesome times
of 1885, and Peter firmly believed in all
the blOOd-cuTdling tales that were told
about that harmless old tree. His one
topic when the neighbors called into his
house at night to have a smoke and
friendly chat with him was leprechauns
spooks and fairies Sitting on an old
fashioned chair in the corner close to
the fire with his elbows resting on his
knees, and his pensive eyes fixed on
the blaze. he disCOuTsed on these sub
loctS, and If you were at all timorouS,
well. his talk would impaTt to your
composition the shivers. Many a night
have I sat at Phfl's humble f1reside and
liSteued to his stories. and | well re-
member the feelings of dread that ran
through me as that old man peopled
each old rath and fort and graveyard
with occupants of the spirit world, and,
ah, when he came 20 the most tragic
part of his story, his voice would fall
10 a whisper and his head would turn
TO the door with a timorous look which
as, much as said: 4 would not wonder
if these spirits were outside the door
now When the time came for me to
leave Peters house, l would have given
great deal TO be at my own fireside
for the night, after such tales did not
look inviting, to say the least, and L,
think that my sprints of these 100 yards
that separated Peters house from
mine nearly broke the record. l flew,
that's what / did, with a cold shivering
Of dread all over me, and my hair al
most standing on an end. Peter never
went outside his own door after dark
ness covered the land since the event
full night on which he paid a visit to
Phil Mcguire, the tailor's house, which
was about q quarter of a mile away.
Phil Mcguire gave a party to a few
old cronies OF celebrate the battle of
Benburb. Every year Phil celebrated
the overthrow Of the English under
Munroe on that historic field
ME ancestors fought there wud the
crate Owen Roe O'Neil, an tonight
Wen drink to their inmorthial memo
Ties around me humble board. Phil
would say. 81 would to God an crate
Saint James that the words ov the
song wor true ov him today;
owen Roe O'Neil. our own O'NeiI,
He treads once more our land
The sword in his hand is ov Spanish
steel
Bud the hand is an Irish hand"
And Phil, as he delivered the above,
would career around the kitchen in his
excitement and. Clapping the weaver on
the back, he would say: "Yis, Peter Nv
the gineral wor back he'd make me
next in command, and Peter, I'd make
yeh me aide-day-kong an we'd rout
the SaXons, horse-foot an artillery
Peter Toole was one of the tailor's
guests on this eventful night that 1
speak Of, and whether it was the
speeches or the good old Irish poteen
that kept him beyond his usual hour of
departure / do not know, but when he
did arise to go and opened the door and
saw the darkness he drew back apaAed
and whispered to Jim Scully:
Jim, avic, it's as dark as Erebus,
an wud yeh mind having me at home?''
Phil Mcguire heard Toole's whisper
and. rising from his seat, addressed the
latter thus:
'Oh, yeh unworthy descendent ov the
CRATE O'Toole. I'd blush for yeh, iv I
had a blush. Yere a poltroon, that's
what yeh are. an Ireland wants none
ov yer sort in this hour ov her tribu-
lashun. 1t shall never be said me house
sheltered a coward. Go home now, wud
yer, Peter Toole. an never darken me
dure agin' anc Phil Mcguire kicked
down the chat DO as sitting on in his
indignation.
"Aisy now, I'D -, Phil Mcguire.
Yere indignaut tai what yeh are,
an don't underst ID human nature,
bud | can read ii Is aisy as I'd sWal-
low a pint ov slori and Jim Scully
knocked the ashes from his pipe and
arose from his sea- with:
I'll accompany veh home, Peter
Toole bud afore / 60. i assure this hon
orable assembly that the sperit never
yet walked thar cud brighten me noble
frind Toole. Am 1 not spanking the
truth, Peter Toole?" as Scully gave the
latter a rousipg slap on the back
I'm not afraid ov sperits, Jim and
poor Peter looked shiveringly to the
window pane. mo, no, I'm not, bud
in the dark l might miss my way
Say no more, Peter Toole, ov course
we believe yeh, an now I'll go wud yeh
an ~ we meet any sperits we'll settle
them between the froth an the water"
Jim and Peter departed having
wished their friends goodnight, and
when they were well on their way,
Scully said:
'Toole, I never liked to pass the lone
bush since the night / saw the three
men hanging there. I'm not narvous, [
tell yeh, bud yet I feel a little afraid.
so when were passin' we won't look at
it. bud I'll grasp yer hand for courage
I'd like to grasp it now, Jim, iv yeh
Go not mind, for ] feel a little wake"
and the shivering Peter drew near to
Scully.
Were near it now, Peter: aisy, avic.
wen steal by on our tippy-toes, ah,"
and ScuIly screeched out: There they
are, an, Toole. they're comm down
from off the branches. oh, all yeh an
gels an saints rr-a "a rye mo l,,,d tn,