"Why do you look so frightened ?" "Did you hear nothing ?" he again asked.
"Ha! ha!--hear!" she replied, laughing--"hear; I thought I heard something like a groan; but sure 'tis only the wind.

Lord! what a night! Listen how the wind an' storm growls an' tyrannizes and rages down in the glen there, an' about the hills.

Faith there'll be many a house stripped this night.

Why, what ails you?
Afther all, you're but a hen-hearted divil, I doubt; sorra thing else." Hanlon made her no reply, but took his hat off, and once more offered up a short prayer, apparently in deep and most extraordinary excitement.
"I see," she observed, after he had concluded, "that you're bent on your devotions this night; and the devil's own place you've pitched upon for them." "Well, now," replied Hanlon, "I'll be biddin' you good-night; but before you go, promise to get me that tobaccy-box you found; it's the least you may give it to me for Peggy Murray's handkerchy." "Hut," returned Sally, "it's not worth a thraneen; you couldn't use it even if you had it; sure it's both rusty and broken." "No matther for that," he replied; "I want to play a thrick on Peggy Murray wid it, so as to have a good laugh against her--the pair of us--you wid the handkerchy, and me wid the tobaccy-box." "Very well," she replied.

"Ha! ha! ha!--that'll be great.