Excerpt from John Sherman and Dhoya
The maker of these stories has been told that he must not bring them to your himself. He has asked me to pretend that I am the author. I am an old little Irish spirit, and I sit in the hedges and watch the world go by. I see the boys going to market driving donkeys with creels of turf, and the girls carrying baskets of apples. Sometimes I call to some pretty face, and we chat a little in the shadow, the apple basket before us, for, as my faithful historian O"Kearney has put it in his now yellow manuscript, I care for nothing in the world but love and idleness.
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