while shouting, though they did not like to exhibit their fear to their companions.  In the first place, she lived completely alone in a hovel on the mountain side, where, save heath, rock, and fern, there was not a single thing on which the eye could rest; then, no one knew from whence she came, and lights were frequently seen shining through her unglazed windows at hours when spirits were supposed to be abroad; besides, more than once a group of dark figures had been observed standing at twilight near her door, and were always set down as ministering demons, awaiting the pleasure of their mistress.  Whenever a cow ceased giving milk—­whenever a lamb or pig got any disease and died—­it was unanimously attributed to the spite and venom of “Nanny the witch;” in fact, no human being could be viewed, with more mingled feelings of fear and hate than she was by all the inhabitants of the village.  The boys still continued their unfeeling attack; and she now was silent and gloomy, and did not menace nor even mutter a curse, but her firmness had not left her, for her brow was darkly bent, and her small black eyes emitted a flash of wild though concentrated anger and revenge.  Nor did those who passed from time to time, by word or gesture discourage the young urchins from their attack; sometimes they even stood looking complacently on, wondering at the reckless courage of the boys, as they would not for worlds dare to rise a hand against one so very powerful.  Suddenly a louder whoop than any they had yet given, told that they had just invented some new mode of annoyance, and a short, hard-featured, red-headed boy, whom they called Briney, ran whooping and hallooing towards them, bearing a large hairy cap, which he triumphantly declared was full of rotten eggs—­those delicious affairs which smash so delightfully off an unprotected face, and which used to be in great demand when pillories were in fashion.

“I must have first shot!” roared Briney, as he placed his burden down in the midst, and seized one of the eggs it contained.

“Sorra a bit, Briney!” screamed another, striding before him—­“I’ve a betther aim nor you.”

“You a betther aim!” scornfully retorted he; “thry id:”  and his hand was upraised in the act of pelting, but was as suddenly stopped and withheld, as a pretty, tiny, fair-haired child, tripped forward from an opposite stile; and perceiving what was going on, ran quickly to the old woman, and laying down a pitcher that she bore, stood before her, facing the crowd of boys, her mild, soft blue eye flashing displeasure, and her cheeks flushed with a deep pink suffusion.

[Illustration:  Page 124—­ “Shame! oh, for shame!” were the first exclamations]

“Shame! oh, for shame!” were the first exclamations that escaped her, and her sweet voice trembled with anger.

“Bedad, it’s purty Minny herself, sure enough!” muttered one urchin to another, as they hesitated what to do, each evidently unwilling to encounter the reproaches they were sure of receiving; and one or two scampered off the instant she spoke.