The Philosopher gazed at her for a moment.
“Kidnapping,” said he, “has been for many centuries a favourite occupation of fairies, gypsies, and the brigands of the East. The usual procedure is to attach a person and hold it to ransom. If the ransom is not paid an ear or a finger may be cut from the captive and despatched to those interested, with the statement that an arm or a leg will follow in a week unless suitable arrangements are entered into.”
“Do you understand,” said the Thin Woman passionately, “that it is your own children who have been kidnapped?”
“I do not,” said the Philosopher. “This course, however, is rarely followed by the fairy people: they do not ordinarily steal for ransom, but for love of thieving, or from some other obscure and possibly functional causes, and the victim is retained in their forts or duns until by the effluxion of time they forget their origin and become peaceable citizens of the fairy state. Kidnapping is not by any means confined to either humanity or the fairy people.”
“Monster,” said the Thin Woman in a deep voice, “will you listen to me?”
“I will not,” said the Philosopher. “Many of the insectivora also practice this custom. Ants, for example, are a respectable race living in well-ordered communities. They have attained to a most complex and artificial civilization, and will frequently adventure far afield on colonising or other expeditions from whence they return with a rich booty of aphides and other stock, who thenceforward become the servants and domestic creatures of the republic. As they neither kill nor eat their captives, this practice will be termed kidnapping. The same may be said of bees, a hardy and industrious race living in hexagonal cells which are very difficult to make. Sometimes, on lacking a queen of their own, they have been observed to abduct one from a less powerful neighbour, and use her for their own purposes without shame, mercy, or remorse.”
“Will you not understand?” screamed the Thin Woman.
“I will not,” said the Philosopher. “Semitropical apes have been rumoured to kidnap children, and are reported to use them very tenderly indeed, sharing their coconuts, yams, plantains, and other equatorial provender with the largest generosity, and conveying their delicate captives from tree to tree (often at great distances from each other and from the ground) with the most guarded solicitude and benevolence.”
“I am going to bed,” said the Thin Woman, “your stirabout is on the hob.”
“Are there lumps in it, my dear?” said the Philosopher.
“I hope there are,” replied the Thin Woman, and she leaped into bed.
That night the Philosopher was afflicted with the most extraordinary attack of rheumatism he had ever known, nor did he get any ease until the grey morning wearied his lady into a reluctant slumber.
VI
The Thin Woman of Inis Magrath slept very late that morning, but when she did awaken her impatience was so urgent that she could scarcely delay to eat her breakfast. Immediately after she had eaten she put on her bonnet and shawl and went through the pine wood in the direction of Gort na Cloca Mora. In a short time she reached the rocky field, and, walking over to the tree in the southeast corner, she picked up a small stone and hammered loudly against the trunk of the tree. She hammered in a peculiar fashion, giving two knocks and then three knocks, and then one knock. A voice came up from the hole.
“Who is that, please?” said the voice.
“Ban na Droid of Inis Magrath, and well you know it,” was her reply.
“I am coming up, Noble Woman,” said the voice, and in another moment the Leprecaun leaped out of the hole.
“Where are Seumas and Brigid Beg?” said the Thin Woman sternly.
“How would I know where they are?” replied the Leprecaun. “Wouldn’t they be at home now?”
“If they were at home I wouldn’t have come here looking for them,” was her reply. “It is my belief that you have them.”
“Search me,” said the Leprecaun, opening his waistcoat.
“They are down there in your little house,” said the Thin Woman angrily, “and the sooner you let them up the better it will be for yourself and your five brothers.”
“Noble Woman,” said the Leprecaun, “you can go down yourself into our little house and look. I can’t say fairer than that.”
“I wouldn’t fit down there,” said she. “I’m too big.”
“You know the way for making yourself little,” replied the Leprecaun.
“But I mightn’t be able to make myself big again,” said the Thin Woman, “and then you and your dirty brothers would have it all your own way. If you don’t let the children up,” she continued, “I’ll raise the Shee of Croghan Conghaile against you. You know what happened to the Cluricauns of Oilean na Glas when they stole the Queen’s baby—It will be a worse thing than that for you. If the children are not back in my house before moonrise this night, I’ll go round to my people. Just tell that to your five ugly brothers. Health with you,” she added, and strode away.
“Health with yourself, Noble Woman,” said the Leprecaun, and he stood on one leg until she was out of sight and then he slid down into the hole again.
When the Thin Woman was going back through the pine wood she saw Meehawl MacMurrachu travelling in the same direction and his brows were in a tangle of perplexity.
“God be with you, Meehawl MacMurrachu,” said she.
“God and Mary be with you, ma’am,” he replied, “I am in great trouble this day.”
“Why wouldn’t you be?” said the Thin Woman.
“I came up to have a talk with your husband about a particular thing.”
“If it’s talk you want you have come to a good house, Meehawl.”
“He’s a powerful man right enough,” said Meehawl.
After a few minutes the Thin Woman spoke again.
“I can get the reek of his pipe from here. Let you go right in to him now and I’ll stay
