thecrowsflewpasthimbyhundredsacrosstheoldtrees,andscreamed,"krah!da!-krah!da!"

andhewentoutofthegardenandoverthegrass-plotoftheyard,intothealdergrove;therestoodalittlesix-sidedhouse,withapoultry-yardandaduck-yard.inthemiddleoftheroomsattheoldwomanwhohadthemanagementofthewhole,andwhoknewaccuratelyabouteveryeggthatwaslaid,andabouteverychickenthatcouldcreepoutofanegg.butshewasnotthestoryofwhichthemanwasinsearch;thatshecouldattestwithachristiancertificateofbaptismandofvaccinationthatlayinherdrawer.

without,notfarfromthehouse,isahillcoveredwithred-thornandbroom.hereliesanoldgrave-stone,whichwasbroughtheremanyyearsagofromthechurchyardoftheprovincialtown,aremembranceofoneofthemosthonoredcouncillorsoftheplace;hiswifeandhisfivedaughters,allwithfoldedhandsandstiffruffs,standroundhim.onecouldlookatthemsolong,thatithadaneffectuponthethoughts,andthesereacteduponthestones,asiftheyweretellingofoldtimes;atleastithadbeensowiththemanwhowasinsearchofthestory.

ashecamenearer,henoticedalivingbutterflysittingontheforeheadofthesculpturedcouncillor.thebutterflyflappeditswings,andflewalittlebitfarther,andthenreturnedfatiguedtosituponthegrave-stone,asiftopointoutwhatgrewur-leavedshamrocksgrewthere;thereweresevenspecimensclosetoeachother.whenfortunecomes,itcomesinaheap.hepluckedtheshamrocksandputtheminhispocket.

"fortuneisasgoodasredgold,butanewcharmingstorywouldbebetterstill,"thoughttheman;buthecouldnotfindithere.

andthesunwentdown,roundandlarge;themeadowwascoveredwithvapor.themoor-womanwasatherbrewing.

itwasevening.hestoodaloneinhisroom,andlookedoutuponthesea,overthemeadow,overmoorandcoast.themoonshonebright,amistwasoverthemeadow,makingitlooklikeagreatlake;and,indeed,itwasonceso,asthelegendtells-andinthemoonlighttheeyerealizesthesemyths.

thenthemanthoughtofwhathehadbeenreadinginthetown,thatwilliamtellandholgerdanskeneverreallylived,butyetliveinpopularstory,likethelakeyonder,alivingevidenceforsuchmyths.yes,holgerdanskewillreturnagain!

ashestoodthusandthought,somethingbeatquitestronglyagainstthewindow.wasitabird,abatoranowl?thosearenotletin,evenwhentheyknock.thewindowflewopenofitself,andanoldwomanlookedinattheman.

"what'syourpleasure?"saidhe."whoareyou?you'relookinginatthefirstfloorwindow.areyoustandingonaladder?"

"youhaveafour-leavedshamrockinyourpocket,"shereplied."indeed,youhaveseven,andoneofthemisasix-leavedone."

"whoareyou?"askedthemanagain.

"themoor-woman,"shereplied."themoor-womanwhobrews.iwasatit.thebungwasinthecask,butoneofthelittlemoor-impspulleditoutinhismischief,andflungitupintotheyard,whereitbeatagainstthewindow;andnowthebeer'srunningoutofthecask,andthatwon'tdogoodtoanybody."

"praytellmesomemore!"saidtheman.

"yes,waitalittle,"answeredthemoor-woman."i'vesomethingelsetodojustnow."andshewasgone.

themanwasgoingtoshutthewindow,whenthewomanalreadystoodbeforehimagain.

"nowit'sdone,"shesaid;"butishallhavehalfthebeertobrewoveragainto-morrow,iftheweatherissuitable.well,whathaveyoutoaskme?