The night was calm and still;
there was not a breath of wind stirring, nor a sound to be heard except
the hum of the insects flitting past, or the whistle of the plovers, or
the hoarse scream of the wild geese as they winged their way far
overhead. Above the white fog the moon rose like a knob of fire in the
east, and a thousand thousand stars were twinkling in the sky. There was
a little frost in the air, the grass was white and crisp and crackled
under foot. Guleesh expected to see the fairies, but they did not come.
Hour after hour wore away, and he was just bethinking him of going home
to bed, when his ear caught a sound far off coming towards him, and he
knew what it was in a moment. The sound grew louder and louder; at first
it was like the beating of waves on a stony shore, then it was like the
roar of a waterfall, at last it was like a mighty rushing wind in the
tops of the trees, then the storm burst upon the rath, and sure enough
the fairies were in it. The rout went by so suddenly that Guleesh lost
his breath; but he came to himself and listened. The fairies were now
gathered within the grassy bank of the rath, and a fine uproar they
made. But Guleesh listened with all his ears, and he heard one fairy
saying to another that a magic herb grew by Guleesh's own door, and that
Guleesh had nothing to do but pluck it and boil it and give it to his
sweetheart, the daughter of the King of France, and she would be well,
for just then she was lying very ill.
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