to a moodiness.

"Yes," said Pierre, "as Wendling, at nothing at all? Well?"

"Well, this, Pierre, for you that's a thinker from me that's none. I was
walking with him in Red Glen yesterday. Sudden he took to shiverin', and
snatched me by the arm, and a mad look shot out of his handsome face.
'Hush!' says he. I listened. There was a sound like the hard rattle of
a creek over stones, and then another sound behind that. 'Come quick,'
says he, the sweat standin' thick on him; and he ran me up the bank--for
it was at the beginnin' of the Glen where the sides were low--and there
we stood pantin' and starin' flat at each other. 'What's that? and
what's got its hand on ye? for y' are cold as death, an' pinched in the
face, an' you've bruised my arm,' said I. And he looked round him slow
and breathed hard, then drew his fingers through the sweat on his cheek.
'I'm not well, and I thought I heard--you heard it; what was it like?'
said he; and he peered close at me. 'Like water,' said I; 'a little
creek near, and a flood comin' far off.' 'Yes, just that,' said he;
'it's some trick of wind in the place, but it makes a man foolish, and
an inch of brandy would be the right thing.' I didn't say no to that.
And on we came, and brandy we had with a wish in the eye of Nelly Nolan
that'd warm the heart of a tomb.... And there's a cud for your chewin',
Pierre. Think that by the neck and the tail, and the divil absolve ye."

During this, Pierre had finished with the button. He had drawn on his
coat and lifted his hat, and now lounged, trying the point of the needle
with his forefinger. When Shon ended, he said with a sidelong glance:
"But what did you think of all that, Shon?"

"Think! There it was! What's the use of thinkin'? There's many a trick
in the world with wind or with spirit, as I've seen often enough in ould
Ireland, and it's not to be guessed by me." Here his voice got a little
lower and a trifle solemn. "For, Pierre," spoke he, "there's what's more
than life or death, and sorra wan can we tell what it is; but we'll know
some day whin--"

"When we've taken the leap at the Almighty Ditch," said Pierre, with a
grave kind of lightness. "Yes, it is all strange. But even the Almighty
Ditch is worth the doing: nearly everything is worth the doing; being
young, growing old, fighting, loving--when youth is on--hating, eating,
drinking, working, playing big games. All is worth it except two
things."

"And what are they, bedad?"