'
I argued the point with her. At last I felt convinced that I was
again on the wrong track. By this time the sun had set, and the stars
were out. I had noticed that during our talk Sinfi's attention would
sometimes seem to be distracted from the matter in hand, and I had
observed her give a little start now and then, as though listening to
something in the distance.
'What are you listening to?' I inquired at last. 'Reia,' said Sinfi,
'I've been a-listenin' to a v'ice as nobody can't hear on'y me, an'
I've bin a-seein' a face peepin' atween the leaves o' the trees as
nobody can't see on'y me; my mammy's been to me. I thought she would
come here. They say my mammy's mammy wur buried here, an' she wur the
child of Fenella, an' that's why it's called Gypsy Ring. The moment I
sat down in this Ring a mullo [spirit] come and whispered in my ear,
but I can't make out whether it's my mammy or Fenella Stanley, and I
can't make out what she said. It's hard sometimes for them as has to
gnaw their way out o' the groun' to get their words out clear.
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