“Make haste, make haste!” said the corpse; and Teig hurried forward as well as he could to the graveyard, which was a little place on a bare hill, with only a few graves in it.  He walked boldly in through the open gate, and nothing touched him, nor did he either hear or see anything.  He came to the middle of the ground, and then stood up and looked round him for a spade or shovel to make a grave.  As he was turning round and searching, he suddenly perceived what startled him greatly—­a newly-dug grave right before him.  He moved over to it, and looked down, and there at the bottom he saw a black coffin.  He clambered down into the hole and lifted the lid, and found that (as he thought it would be) the coffin was empty.  He had hardly mounted up out of the hole, and was standing on the brink, when the corpse, which had clung to him for more than eight hours, suddenly relaxed its hold of his neck, and loosened its shins from round his hips, and sank down with a plop into the open coffin.

Teig fell down on his two knees at the brink of the grave, and gave thanks to God.  He made no delay then, but pressed down the coffin lid in its place, and threw in the clay over it with his two hands, and when the grave was filled up, he stamped and leaped on it with his feet, until it was firm and hard, and then he left the place.

The sun was fast rising as he finished his work, and the first thing he did was to return to the road, and look out for a house to rest himself in.  He found an inn at last; and lay down upon a bed there, and slept till night.  Then he rose up and ate a little, and fell asleep again till morning.  When he awoke in the morning he hired a horse and rode home.  He was more than twenty-six miles from home where he was, and he had come all that way with the dead body on his back in one night.

All the people at his own home thought that he must have left the country, and they rejoiced greatly when they saw him come back.  Everyone began asking him where he had been, but he would not tell anyone except his father.

He was a changed man from that day.  He never drank too much; he never lost his money over cards; and especially he would not take the world and be out late by himself of a dark night.

He was not a fortnight at home until he married Mary, the girl he had been in love with, and it’s at their wedding the sport was, and it’s he was the happy man from that day forward, and it’s all I wish that we may be as happy as he was.

* * * * *

GLOSSARY.—­Rann, a stanza; kailee (ceilidhe), a visit in the evening; wirra (a mhuire), “Oh, Mary!” an exclamation like the French dame; rib, a single hair (in Irish, ribe); a lock (glac), a bundle or wisp, or a little share of anything; kippeen (cipin), a rod or twig; boreen (boithrin), a lane; bodach, a clown; soorawn (suaran), vertigo. Avic (a Mhic)=my son, or rather, Oh, son.  Mic is the vocative of Mac.