e for you to search for
her any more."

But John went on searching still. The next day and for many days he
looked for her and tried every means to find her, but she could not be
found. Again and again his mother told him that it was of no use, but
still he said: "It might be some use, and I wouldn't be easy if I
didn't try."

By and by there came a time when even John did not think that there
was any use in trying longer. He read many papers, from many different
cities, hoping always to find something about some unknown girl who
had been found, sick or hurt or helpless, somewhere, but he said
little about her. He went on with his old work, and he and his mother
were alone and lonely in the house. Then John came to believe that
Kathleen was dead. He told his mother this and she answered: "Kathleen
is not dead."

"And how do you know that, mother?" John said. "You always say that
the Good People took her away, but that might be true, and still she
might be dead by now. And the Good People might not have taken her at
all. How do you know?"

"I don't know that the Good People took her," she answered, "though I
think they did; but I am sure she is not dead."

"And how are you sure, mother?"

"Kathleen could never die," Mrs. O'Brien said, "without I'ld hear the
banshee."

"The banshee?" said John. "There's no banshee here. There's banshees
only in Ireland."

"Our banshee is here," his mother answered. "I know she is here.
You've heard me tell of her. She's the sad, mourning woman of the Good
People that weeps and wails about the house when anybody of the family
is to die, anywhere in the world. It's true, as you say, that the
banshees mostly stay in Ireland, though they are heard to cry and moan
for those of the family who are to die in any part of the world. But
sometimes the banshee leaves Ireland with the family that she belongs
to, and so did ours. Wouldn't I know her voice? Didn't I hear her wail
and scream before your father died, so many, many years ago? Oh, I'ld
never forget it. I'ld know her voice."

"Then why didn't you hear her," John asked "before Kitty died, and why
didn't you know before that she was to die?"

"I did hear the banshee that time," his mother answered, "but I
couldn't tell that it was Kitty that was to die. It was the night
before she died. I heard a little moan, that was more like the wind
than anything else, and then it grew louder, and it was a sob and a
soft wail. It did not gro