"'Tis so, bedad," says Dalton, and they both looked at the windy, and at one another--and then back again--overjoyed, in a soart of a way, and frightened all at onst.
Old Oliver was bad with the rheumatiz.

So away goes Dalton to the hall-door, and he calls "who's there ?" and no answer.

"Maybe," says Dalton, to himself, "'tis what he's rid round to the back-door;" so to the back-door with him, and there he shouts again--and no answer, and not a sound outside--and he began to feel quare, and to the hall door with him back again.

"Who's there?
do you hear?
who's there ?" he shouts, and receives no answer still.

"I'll open the door at any rate," says he, "maybe it's what he's made his escape," for they knew all about his troubles, and wants to get in without noise, so praying all the time--for his mind misgave him it might not be all right--he shifts the bars and unlocks the door; but neither man, woman, nor child, nor horse, nor any living shape was standing there, only something or another slipt into the house close by his leg; it might be a dog, or something that way, he could not tell, for he only seen it for a moment with the corner of his eye, and it went in just like as if it belonged to the place.