s shpell?' says I, bekase I did n't know.

"'Ah, bad scran to 'em,' says he; 'there's thim cows in me field agin,'
says he. 'Ax Dora, here she comes,' an' away he wint as she come in, an' I
axed her phat D. O. C. shpelt; an' she towld me her name, an' I go bail
she was surprised to find the shnail had writ thim letters on the plate,
so we marr'd the next Sunday.

"But Owld Moll is a knowledgeable woman an' has a power av shpells an'
charms. There's Tim Gallagher, him as dhrives the public car out o'
Galway, he's bought his luck av her be the month, fur nigh on twinty year,
barrin' wan month, that he forgot, an' that time he shpilt his load in the
ditch an' kilt a horse, bein' too dhrunk to dhrive.

"Whin me dawther Dora, that was named afther her mother, was ill afther
she'd been to the dance, whin O'Hoolighan's Peggy was married to Paddy
Noonan (she danced too hard in the cabin an' come home in the rain), me
owld woman wint to Moll an' found that Dora had been cast wid an avil eye.
So she gev her a tay to dhrink an' a charm to wear agin it, an' afther
she'd dhrunk the tay an' put on the charm the faver lift her, an' she was
well entirely.

[Illustration: AN' PHAT DOES THIM LETTERS SHPELL?]

AN' PHAT DOES THIM LETTERS SHPELL?

"Sure Moll towld me wan magpie manes sorrow, two manes luck, three manes a
weddin', an' four manes death; an' didn't I see four o' thim the day o'
the fair in Ennis whin O'Dougherty was laid out? An' whin O'Riley cut his
arrum wid a bill-hook, an' the blood was runnin', didn't she tie a shtring
on the arrum an' dip a raven's feather into the blood av a black cat's
tail, an' shtop the bleedin'? An' didn't she bid me take care o' meself
the day I met a red-headed woman afore dinner, an' it wasn't six months
till I met the woman in the mornin', it a-rainin' an' ivery dhrop the full
o' yer hat, an' me top-coat at home, an' that same night was I tuk wid the
roomytics an' didn't shtir a toe fur a fortnight. Faix, she's an owld wan
is Moll; phat she can't do isn't worth thryin'. If she goes fur to make a
match, all the fathers in Ireland cudn't purvint it, an' it's no use o'
their settin' theirselves agin her, fur her head's as long as a summer day
an' as hard as a shillalee.

"Did iver ye hear how she got a husband for owld Miss Rooney, the same
that married Misther Dooley that kapes the Aygle Inn in Lisdoon Varna, an'
tuk him clane away from the Widdy Mulligan an