twelve-month they got a girl from us here." "But not much good to them was she," says another, speaking up, "for we left her that she couldn't speak a word." "An'," says another wee one, speakin' out, "they could soon cure her o' that; for if they would go an' take that black cock that's on the roost, an' give her three sopes[1] o' water out of his skull, she would soon speak for them."
So the young fellow he started off home, an' went straight an' pulled the black cock off the roost an' killed him. An' says his mother, "What's come on my boy? Is he losing his senses?" But the girl she laughed, an' he gave her the three sopes o' water out of the black cock's skull, an' then she spoke rightly, an' told them she w-as from Connaught, an' that she had just gone to the door for some water when the wee-folk came an' carried her wi' them, an' left a big lump in her place (her mother and all the people thought it was her lying dead, an' they buried it).
So thin the young fellow an' his mother an' the girl they all went off to Connaught, an' left Moville. An' when they got to Connaught they went straight to her mother's house, an' asked if she could lodge them for a night. At that she began to cry, an' she said she couldn't lodge them. Says she, "I can't help cryin', for Hallowe'en night was a twelve-month my daughter dropped dead at the door, an' I never saw one that minded me more on her than that girl." "Oh," says the young fellow, speaking up, "an' may be it is her!" "No," says she, "how could it be her, for she's dead and buried." "Well," says he, "had she any kind of mark on her ye would know her by." "Yes," says she, "she had a big mole on her left shoulder." "Well," says he to the girl, "show her your left shoulder." An' when the woman saw the mole she knew it was her own daughter, an' then they had the great feasting, an' the young fellow he married the girl. An' the way the people about here knew about it was that they wrote an' told them all that happened.
By the Holy that's true, for I heard my mother telling it many's the time.—Ann Hegarty, Moville, farmer's wife.
Fairy Story.—There was a man at Carrowkeel (co. Donegal), an' he left his own house for Derry to buy something he needed.
- ↑ Drinks.
