workmen to go home.

'He got sick at last, and his death was drawing near; and he asked one
request of his master, and that was, that after his death he would put
his body on a car, but not direct it anywhere; but to let it go what way
the horse would bring it.

'So the master did that; and they put the body on a car, and the carman
went along with it; but he did not direct the horse, but let it go what
way it liked.

'And it went on a long way; and then they came to a path that was all
full of spearheads sticking up through the ground. But the horse went
on; and wherever it went, the spearheads would sink away before it.

'They came at last to a house, and the horse stopped at the door; and
the people of the house came out and brought in the body; and the carman
went along with it, and he lay down and slept awhile.

'And when he rose up, he said he would go back to his friends. But the
people of the house said: "You can go back if you like, but you will
find none of your friends before you; for your sleep has lasted for
seven hundred years."

'So he went back; and there was nothing but grass and bushes in the
village he came from. And he knelt down and made his repentance; and he
was let up to heaven for the sake of the steward that was so good, and
that made the Sunday begin at noon on Saturday.'

1902.

ON THE EDGE OF THE WORLD

Just where the road that runs by the bay turns northward to run by the
Atlantic, a few white houses on either side turn it for a moment into a
street. The grey road was not all grey yesterday, in spite of stones,
and sea, and clouds, and a mist that blotted out the hills; for July had
edged it with yellow rag-weed, the horses of the Sidhe, and with purple
heather; and besides the tireless turf-laden donkeys, there were men in
white and women in crimson flannel going towards the village. One woman
sitting in a donkey-cart was chanting a song in Irish about a voyage
across the sea; and when someone asked her if she was to try for a prize
at the _Feis_, the Irish festival going on in the village, she only
answered that she was 'lonesome after the old times.'

At the _Feis_, in the white schoolhouse, some boys and girls from
schools and convents at the 'big town' many miles away were singing; and
now and then a little bare-footed boy from close by would go up on the
platform and sing the _Paistin Fionn_, or _Is truag gan Peata_. People
from the scattered houses and villages ab