ere carrying
between them a long box. Under the tree they came, set the box down,
opened it, and who should they bring out but--Patrick Rooney. Never a
word did he say, and he looked as pale as old snow.

Well, one gathered brushwood, and another took out tinder and flint,
and soon they had a big fire roaring, and my grandfather could see
Patrick plainly enough. If he had kept still before, he kept stiller
now. Soon they had four poles up and a pole across, right over the
fire, for all the world like a spit, and on to the pole they slung
Patrick Rooney.

"He'll do well enough," said one; "but who's to mind him whilst we're
away, who'll turn the fire, who'll see that he doesn't burn?"

With that Patrick opened his lips: "Andrew Coffey," said he.

"Andrew Coffey! Andrew Coffey! Andrew Coffey! Andrew Coffey!"

"I'm much obliged to you, gentlemen," said Andrew Coffey, "but indeed I
know nothing about the business."

"You'd better come down, Andrew Coffey," said Patrick.

It was the second time he spoke, and Andrew Coffey decided he would
come down. The four men went off and he was left all alone with Patrick.

Then he sat and he kept the fire even, and he kept the spit turning,
and all the while Patrick looked at him.

Poor Andrew Coffey couldn't make it all out at all, at all, and he
stared at Patrick and at the fire, and he thought of the little house
in the wood, till he felt quite dazed.

"Ah, but it's burning me ye are!" says Patrick, very short and sharp.

"I'm sure I beg your pardon," said my grandfather "but might I ask you
a question?"

"If you want a crooked answer," said Patrick; "turn away or it'll be
the worse for you."

But my grandfather couldn't get it out of his head; hadn't everybody,
far and near, said Patrick had fallen overboard. There was enough to
think about, and my grandfather did think.

"ANDREW COFFEY! ANDREW COFFEY! IT'S BURNING ME YE ARE."

Sorry enough my grandfather was, and he vowed he wouldn't do so again.

"You'd better not," said Patrick, and he gave him a cock of his eye,
and a grin of his teeth, that just sent a shiver down Andrew Coffey's
back. Well it was odd, that here he should be in a thick wood he had
never set eyes upon, turning Patrick Rooney upon a spit. You can't
wonder at my grandfather thinking and thinking and not minding the fire.

"ANDREW COFFEY, ANDREW COFFEY, IT'S THE DEATH OF YOU I'LL BE."

And with that what did my grandfather see, but Patrick unsl