Thady and Grace Connor lived on the borders of a large turf bog, in
the parish of Clondevaddock, where they could hear the Atlantic surges
thunder in upon the shore, and see the wild storms of winter sweep
over the Muckish mountain, and his rugged neighbours. Even in summer
the cabin by the bog was dull and dreary enough.
Thady Connor worked in the fields, and Grace made a livelihood as a
pedlar, carrying a basket of remnants of cloth, calico, drugget, and
frieze about the country. The people rarely visited any large town,
and found it convenient to buy from Grace, who was welcomed in many a
lonely house, where a table was hastily cleared, that she might
display her wares. Being considered a very honest woman, she was
frequently entrusted with commissions to the shops in Letterkenny and
Ramelton. As she set out towards home, her basket was generally laden
with little gifts for her children.
"Grace, dear," would one of the kind housewives say, "here's a
farrel[16] of oaten cake, wi' a taste o' butter on it; tak' it wi' you
for the weans;" or, "Here's half-a-dozen of eggs; you've a big family
to support."
Small Connors of all ages crowded round the weary mother, to rifle her
basket of these gifts. But her thrifty, hard life came suddenly to an
end. She died after an illness of a few hours, and was waked and
buried as handsomely as Thady could afford.
Thady was in bed the night after the funeral, and the fire still
burned brightly, when he saw his departed wife cross the room and bend
over the cradle. Terrified, he muttered rapid prayers, covered his
face with the blanket; and on looking up again the appearance was gone.
Next night he lifted the infant out of the cradle, and laid it behind
him in the bed, hoping thus to escape his ghostly visitor; but Grace
was presently in the room, and stretching over him to wrap up her
child. Shrinking and shuddering, the poor man exclaimed, "Grace,
woman, what is it brings you back? What is it you want wi' me?"
"I want naething fae you, Thady, but to put thon wean back in her
cradle," replied the spectre, in a tone of scorn. "You're too feared
for me, but my sister Rose willna be feared for me--tell her to meet
me to-morrow evening, in the old wallsteads."
Rose lived with her mother, about a mile off, but she obeyed her
sister's summons without the least fear, and kept the strange tryste
in due time.
"Rose, dear," she said, as she appeared before her sister in the old
wallsteads, "my mind's oneasy about them twa' red shawls that's in the
basket. Matty Hunter and Jane Taggart paid me for them, an' I bought
them wi' their money, Friday was eight days. Gie them the shawls the
morrow. An' old Mosey McCorkell gied me the price o' a wiley coat;
it's in under the other things in the basket. An' now farewell; I can
get to my rest."
"Grace, Grace, bide a wee minute," cried the faithful sister, as the
dear voice grew fainter, and the dear face began to fade--"Grace,
darling! Thady? The children? One word mair!" but neither cries nor
tears could further detain the spirit hastening to its rest!
[Footnote 16: When a large, round, flat griddle cake is divided into
triangular cuts, each of these cuts is called a farrel, farli, or
parli.]