n answered.

A young man and a young woman came in. They were neighbors--Peter
Sullivan and his wife, Ellen. "Good avenin' to you, Pether," said
John; "you're lookin' fine and hearty, and it's like a rose you're
lookin', Ellen."

"It's more like nettles than roses we're feelin'," Ellen answered,
"but something with prickles anyway, wid the bother we have every day
and all day."

"Thrue for you, it's hard times," said John; "we was speaking about
them just the minute before you came in; but we all have to bear them.
It's not you ought to complain, as long as you've good health; now
here's Kitty--I dunno how--"

"It's not the hard times I'm speakin' of now," said Ellen; "they're
bad enough, goodness knows; but it's the bother we have all the time,
and we can't tell how or why. Half the time the cow gives no milk, and
when she does, you can make no butther wid it. The pig, the crathur,
won't get fat; he ates everything he can reach, and still he looks
like a basket wid a skin over it. The smoke of the fire comes down the
chimney, the dishes are thrown on the floor, wid nobody near them, and
such noises are goin' on all night long that never a wink of sleep can
a body get. What we'll do at all if it goes on, I dunno."

"By all the books that ever was opened and shut," Peter added, "it's
all thrue what she says, and more. What wid all that and what wid the
throubles that's on the whole counthry, if I only had the money saved
to do it, I'ld lave it all to-morrow and go to the States--I would
so."

"Leave off the things you do that make you all these troubles," said
the older Mrs. O'Brien, "and you'll have no more need to go to the
States than others."

"What things are them that we do?" Ellen asked.

"Haven't I told you before this," said Mrs. O'Brien, "that it's the
Good People that trouble you? If you'ld treat them well, as we do,
they'ld never bother you. If you'ld even take good care never to harm
them, it's likely they'ld never come near you."

"It's the fairies you're speakin' of," said Peter. "Sure I don't
believe in them at all. It's old woman's nonsense that your head's
full of, savin' your presence, Mrs. O'Brien. There's no fairies at
all. Don't talk to me."

"You'ld better be more respectful to them, Peter," Mrs. O'Brien
answered. "Say less about not believing in them and don't call them by
that name, that they don't like. Call them 'the Good People' or 'the
gentry.' They don't like the name that you