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Last summer, whenever I had finished my day’s work, I used to go wandering iain roomy woods, and there I would ofte an old tryman, and talk to him about his work and about the woods, and once or twice a friend came with me to whom he would open his heart more readily than to me, He had spent all his life lopping away the witch elm and the hazel and the privet and the hornbeam from the paths, and had thought much about the natural and supernatural creatures of the wood. He has heard the hedgehog—“grainne oge,” he calls him— “grunting like a Christian,” and is certain that he steals apples by rolling about under an apple tree until there is an apple stig to every quill. He is certain too that the cats, of whom there are many in the woods, have a language of their own—some kind of old Irish. He says, “Cats were serpents, and they were made into cats at the time of some great ge in the world. That is why they are hard to kill, and why it is dange……（内容加载失败！）
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