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“And who might yez be?” he inquired in a rich brogue, directing a keen Irish eye on Dan and me.

We explained our situation as briefly as possible and asked for the shelter of some outbuilding for the night.

“Faith, and ye’re wilcome to the house. Sure and it’s large enough for tin and but three av us to fill it.”

As he spoke there came a tapping and a little old woman with snapping black eyes skipped like a bird to his side.

“An’ indade they shall not come inside this house the night. Murdthered in me bed I will not be.”

“Hush, Katie,” querulously chided the ancient. “This is no time for to be exercisin’ yer conthrary timper.”

But the little old woman braced herself in the doorway as though to defy the world, and I hastened to state that we only wanted to sleep in the barn.

“Well, if so ye will. Arrah, the house is open save for this old spalpeen.” With that he shuffled off to fetch a lantern.

I turned to thank our guide, but he had disappeared.

Soon we were inside the big barn that we had passed coming in. The wavering rays of the lantern disclosed huge, cob-webbed recesses, rows of empty stalls, a tumble-down carriage, and near the sliding door, a small hillock of well packed hay. Otherwise the place was empty. On this hay we made our bed and were soon asleep.